“Well, it’s not going to work this time. I’m keeping my martini.” Libby narrows her eyes, which are ringed in heavy black liner and some silver glittery stuff that emphasizes how enormous they are. It’s a look that’s way more rock-star than kindergarten teacher and also decidedly…odd. For her, anyway.
I can’t remember the last time I saw Libby wearing makeup or tight clothing. She’s a “layers of linen draped around her until she looks like an adorable bag lady or a hippie pirate” kind of girl. I’m used to the Libby who wears ruffly dresses, clogs, and crocheted sweaters, and totes her knitting bag with her everywhere she goes.
This new look is so unexpected that I’m distracted long enough for Laura to snatch my scotch right out of my hand.
“Hey, give that back,” I say, scowling as she dances out of reach. “It’s an open bar, psycho. Go get your own scotch.”
“But it’s more fun to steal yours,” Laura says. And then, with the gleeful giggle of a woman who is going to be very hungover tomorrow morning, she turns and flees into the throng of dancers writhing to the music, tossing, “Come get me when it’s time to break and enter! You know you want to,” over her shoulder.
Libby sighs heavily, and I turn back to see her watching me with that same anxious expression, making my heart lurch. “I don’t want to talk about Sylvia,” I say, cutting her off before she can ask.
“Okay,” she says, letting me off the hook far more easily than I expect her to. “But can we talk about something else? Something kind of…private?”
“Um, sure.” I do a quick scan of our immediate surroundings. Aside from a couple making out in the shadows about ten feet away, we’re alone. Everyone else is either out on the dance floor, queued up at the bar, or lounging on the couches near the fire pit on the other side of the patio, soaking in the view of the city.
“Thanks.” Libby smiles nervously as she lifts her glass. “Just let me down a little more liquid courage first.”
“All right,” I say, wondering who this woman is and what she’s done with my sweet, rarely drinks more than one drink, doesn’t own a stitch of black clothing, would never leave the house without putting on a bra Libby.
I really don’t think she’s wearing a bra under that lacy shirt. And I really can’t stop staring, trying to solve the bra or no-bra mystery, and I’m swiftly becoming way too fixated on Libby’s breasts for my personal comfort.
“Maybe I should get a drink, too.” I start for the bar, needing a moment to pull myself together, when Libby puts a hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry,” she says, but I have no idea what she’s apologizing for, only that her touch feels different than it did before. As different as the Libby I’ve known since she was a kid is from this seriously sexy woman standing in front of me.
Chapter Two
Justin
Libby pulls her hand away, fiddling with the stem of her martini glass, and the flash of heat her touch inspired vanishes. I shake my head, certain I must have imagined it. I’ve known Libby forever. She’s like a little sister to me. It’s probably just the alcohol on an empty stomach catching up with me.
“I tried to keep Laura from ordering a third martini,” Libby continues, cluing me in as to why she’s sorry. “But she swore her tolerance was better than it used to be.”
I arch a brow. “And you believed her?”
“Good point.” She laughs. “Though to be fair, you should have known better than to invite her to a party with an open bar.”
“I did,” I say with a grin. “But I did it anyway. Neither of us can be trusted to make good decisions. You know that. It’s one of the reasons we’re friends.”
“Partners in crime is more like it.” Libby shakes her head as she brushes her glossy brown hair over her shoulder, bringing my attention back to that wicked little tank top.
Jesus, it’s tight.
I force my gaze back to her face—the only part of Libby that I should be staring at—as she says, “Promise me you won’t let her up on the real roof, okay? There probably aren’t any guardrails up there, and she needs enclosed spaces right now.”
“I promise.” I lean against the wall behind me as I do another quick scan of rocker Libby. “So, what’s with the new look, Libs? Did you get attacked on the street by one of those makeover shows?”
“No, I wasn’t attacked on the street.” She rolls her eyes, shrugging as she takes a sip of her martini. “I just thought it was time to try something new.”