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“Why am I getting the notion that it was more than that?”
“What do you mean?” I ask her, my brows furrowed.
“This man you talk about in this manner, I might not know him, but I feel like you wanted to slap him and kiss him at the same time.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. I can't believe Meghan had been so quick to pick up on that. I had been trying so hard to not think about it. I had given Mr. Vaughn a piece of my mind, and even then, I still wasn’t able to forget that desire in me.
“Wow,” Meghan said. “You fancy the pants off your student's parent.”
“It is just plain admiration.” I argue.
“You didn't imagine kissing him, huh?”
“I didn't,” I tell her truthfully.
The truth is, I hadn't. I had been too busy being furious to think about what his lips tasted like.
Meghan quickly pulls out her phone, completely ignoring me. She begins to type something on her phone browser. Out of curiosity, I watch her screen until several pictures of Mr. Vaughn pop up. I can’t resist looking, shifting my eyes closer to her phone. There are a ton of articles about him. He has even been featured in Vogue. Wow. This confirms that Vaughn could definitely have me killed and my body thrown into the deepest ocean if he wishes.
Unable to look away, I allow my eyes to run over the man who looks extremely powerful in a tux. He glares at me through the barrels of the camera as if we are about to have another standoff.
“Oh my God. This man's a snack.” Meghan says after several minutes of gawking. I can't blame her; I am guilty of the same thing.
I punch her lightly on the shoulder as I fight another blush.
“Don't say things like that, Meghan.”
“Why can't I? It's the literal truth.”
“It doesn't mean I want to hear it.”
“That doesn't mean you're not considering it. I see the way your pupils dilate when you talk about him.”
I cover my face with my hands as it heats up.
“My eyes do not do that!”
Meghan laughs.
“Oh my God, it is so easy to rile you up. Though I have to confess that you have somehow managed to get on the bad side of one of the most influential men in the state. I don't know how you managed that, but congrats.”
“He's going to kill me and throw my body into the ocean, isn't he?”
“I wouldn't put that past him. You messed with the wrong person, bestie.”
“Girl, I know. But I guess talking about it makes me feel better. So, gee, thanks.”
It was a lie. Talking hasn't helped. Meghan has only managed to confirm my fears and make them even more glaring.
“You're welcome.”
I roll my eyes and grab my drink, fingers shaking slightly as I take another sip. I have begun to feel a low, steady buzz and suddenly feel the need to dance. If talking can’t help me feel better, shaking my body certainly will.
“Let's dance.” I decide as I promptly stand.
“I'm old, Paislee,” Meghan complains, even though she is already on her feet and moving toward the center of the room.
I giggle to myself because we both look awkward and stand out like a sore thumb. This might be because we are the only two women swinging our hips from side to side while the other patrons just sit and watch. It works and I start to feel better because minutes later we are laughing, now slightly drunk, and moving our bodies on the dance floor however we please. In no time I’ve completely forgotten about the events of the day and just throw my hands up in the air and dance like no one is watching.
