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Her eyes are green today, and I don’t even mind being wrong about their color last week, because they make everything else in the roomfade.
And that’s what I was looking for as I drifted through this place. Something to anchor on to. Where everyone else is hollow, a Russian doll, she’s flesh and bone andmatter.
“You’re wearing white in October,” Jaketeases.
“Oh no. The club will never let me back in.” She taps a finger against a lower lip stained the color ofraspberries.
I don’t eat enoughraspberries.
Her amused stare finds me, doing a once over that’s too slow for this formal room, before returning to myface.
I’ve never wanted attention unless I had something to say. A false statement argued or a point needing to be made in a lecture or class. Now, there’s nothing on my mind or mylips.
She’s watching me anyway, with the kind of surprise and anticipation that has me wondering if she sees something I’vemissed.
I fuckinglikeit.
“Dr. Strange. Don’t you cleanup.”
I resist the urge to clear my throat. “All my tweed’sdirty.”
“Your mother seen this yet?” Jake asksmildly.
That’s when I notice the sign next toher.
Speed dates. $250.
“She couldn’t make it, but I’ll send her a picture.” Rena winks. “That’s where you come in, Dr.Strange.”
“You want my brilliant matchmaking expertise?” I step up to the table, resting my fingertips on the pale gold cloth as Jake excuseshimself.
“I want you to document forposterity.”
“No one would pay that much for three minutes of company in the middle of aparty.”
She lifts her chin. “People want to think someone’slistening.”
“And you listen tothem.”
Rena’s gaze flicks to the room before coming back to me. Her lowered voice is just audible over the music and laughter. “Come on, Wes. It’s three minutes of company in the middle of a party. But yes, while they’re here, Ilisten.”
“I suppose it’s a lostart.”
“Company?”
“Listening.”
I scan the posters behind her—banner murals, really—and Rena gestures to the first. It’s a backdrop of cobblestones, flowers in a riot of pinks and whites, and a bustling street. “It starts at a little café in Paris,” she says, and I round the table to get a closer look. “Then goes to Prague, Sydney, Tokyo. It ends right here in NewYork.”
“Where did you even findthese?”
“Oh, I had themprinted.”
Her dedication impresses me. “You’re very committed tothis.”
“I have to be. Jamie and I have a bet going for who brings in the most money for charity.” She turns, her shoulder brushing mine as she nods at an unrealistically giant man in a tux offering hammers to people who want to test their strength against amachine.
“I’m surprised he found a tux to go over his musclesuit.”
