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A man I don't recognize approaches Charles, spreading his arms wide. The pair share a masculine, around-the-shoulders hug before backing off.
“I'm glad you made it.” The man turns to me, his kind, light hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alisha, I’ve heard so many wonderful things.” He takes my hand and lightly pats my knuckles with his palm while studying my face.
“This is the proud father, Arson,” Charles says to me in a low voice.
I smile. “Congratulations! How is Laurel doing?”
Arson leans in like he's imparting a secret. “She's not feeling too well and snuck off to the lady’s room, but she'll be back soon.”
I glance at Charles. “Maybe I should go see if she's doing okay,” I say.
He nods and I make my way to the women’s room. As I walk I notice they've made quite a few changes to the club. I’d been here before the stages and poles were put in. I imagine it's a good touch and good for business. Seems a little tacky to me though. Although I guess I shouldn't say that it's tacky, given the kind of club it is - the whole concept might be tacky.
I hurry to the little girl’s room and push inside, catching sight of Laurel as she wipes her lips with a wet wipe. She smiles at me. “I wasn’t sure if he’d bring you or not! I was going to send you an invitation, but I wanted Charles to bring you as his plus one, and Arson told me that he would.” She lowers her voice. “We may have bet on if he would or not.”
“I hope you didn’t lose too much money,” I joke, not at all offended by their little competition. Life is far too short to take anything personally.
She shakes her head. “Fortunately, I’m smart enough to minimize losses when things are not a sure bet. I am glad you’re here, though.”
“How are you feeling?” My words feel like a silly question given I know that she was obviously in here throwing up.
She pats her lips one more time, nodding her head while looking like she's about to gag. “Oh, I feel fantastic. Did you know that the smell of onions can be a trigger in pregnancy?”
I nod my head, well aware of that phenomenon; I’d suffered from the same one while I was pregnant with Evie.
“So someone orders a Gibson Martini and it’s all over.” She says the words on a sigh, and I’m surprised.
“I didn't even think about that.” The thought that those little sweet onions would trigger the nausea both surprises me and makes sense. “But I imagine most women don't spend much time at bars while they’re pregnant.”
“Which is true, I think, for women whose husbands don’t own a place with a bar.” She lets out a laugh and I join her.
“I imagine that does make it tougher to avoid.”
She angles her body in my direction. “The worst part is that I’m craving the scent of dark red wines. I don’t drink them, but I want to just sniff them all day long.”
I lift both shoulders. “So do it. There’s no harm in that.” It’s not like she’s drinking, and even if she did, I’ve heard that drinks in moderation are safe.
She laughs. “Can you imagine how crazy people would think I am if I just sat sniffing wine all night?”
“I don't think you should care what other people think or say.” I mean, other people’s opinions shouldn’t have any bearing on how we live our lives. “Imagine how many good things you'd miss in life if you let other people’s opinions dictate what you can or can’t do?”
Her face lights up and I see her resolve harden. “You know what? You're right. I don't care what other people think. What do you say we get out of here?” She tilts her head toward the door, and I nod.
Together we walk back out into the main room of the club and my heart nearly stops as I come toe to toe with a familiar face.
“Are you okay?” Laurel sounds worried and I nod my head, my mouth so dry I'm not even sure I could speak. But I have to try because I doubt she's going to accept my offer, and I don't want her to draw any more attention to us than I already have with my freeze response.
Still locked on his bright green eyes I speak to Laurel. “I’ll, uh, catch up with you in just a minute.”
“Okay. Just let me know if you need anything.” I feel her gaze shift from him to me and back again before she walks away.
The moment no one is paying attention anymore, he places his hands on my hips and ushers me backward toward the wall. I move with him, feeling the support of the wall as I stare up into his eyes, unsure what he’s doing... or why. His fingers wrap around my wrists before sliding up my hands and his palms press flat to mine, pinning me to the wall as he speaks into my ear in a low voice.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Hi, Methew! How's your wife doing?” The only way I can think of to get this whole interaction back on track is by drawing attention back to the fact that he’s married and whatever he's doing with me right now is inappropriate.
He takes a step back, looking at me as if I've slapped him. “That's what you have to say to me right now?” he asks, his tone incredulous.
