I heard a throat clear, and belatedly noticed a statuesque blonde standing next to him, her arm hooked in his. Her expression was very readable; it said, “Hands off, this one is mine.”
“Bo,” Ginger stated, causing my eyes to snap back from the blonde to reevaluate Ginger’s ex.
The throat clearing became more demanding, and brought Bo out of his stupor. “Oh, uh, hey, Ginger … This is Candy. Candy, Ginger.”
“Hey,” Candy said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetener.
I stepped up next to Ginger and put a supportive hand on her arm. I saw her blink rapidly, then let the tension slowly ease out of her as she responded, “Nice to meet you. Bo, this is my friend, Belle.”
“Hi,” I said, bringing my free hand up to give Bo a little finger wave. I have no idea why, it just seemed like a good idea at the time.
“Hi, Belle, you from Vegas?” Bo asked, acknowledging me with a friendly smile.
“Just passing through, really,” I replied vaguely. Luckily, he seemed to only ask to be polite. He nodded at my answer, then turned his attention back to Ginger.
They stared awkwardly at a few more seconds, then Candy must have gotten tired of it, because she complained, “I’ve got to go, Bo.”
Bo nodded wordlessly and allowed his girlfriend to pull him around us toward the exit. “See you later,” he called over his shoulder with one last long look at Ginger.
“Later,” she whispered as we watched the door shut behind them.
“Are you okay?” I asked, searching her face for signs of an impending breakdown.
“Candy,” she muttered with a frown. “Her name is Candy.”
“Of course it is,” I replied with a smirk. “Now forget about them. We’ll find the perfect clothes to go with our fabulous new hair, and when the guys get a load of you tonight, those two will be nothing but a memory. Okay?”
“Okay!” Ginger answered, and I was happy to see her face brighten at the prospect of shopping and our night ahead.
“Let’s get to it, then,” I cajoled, and pulled her toward a rack of short, sexy dresses in the back of the shop.
Chapter 11
Ginger must have caught me at a weak moment, because I couldn’t believe that I was actually wearing this dress out in public.
The quintessential Little Black Dress, it was short, sexy, and revealed much more than I was used to. It wasn’t quite as va-va-va-voom as Ginger’s LBD, but it was pretty hot for a widowed woman in her thirties, at least in my mind.
“Are you sure I look all right?” I asked Ginger for the umpteenth time as I tried to pull the skirt down to at least somewhere in the vicinity of my knees.
“Sugar, you are smokin’!” Ginger assured me with a saucy grin as she swung her full, wavy hair over her shoulder and walked into the crowded bar.
I was immediately cloaked with the sounds of acoustic guitar and a sweet, tangy voice, which brought an automatic smile to my lips. I looked around the bar as we navigated through the sea of people, and noticed that Ginger and I looked quite a bit overdressed.
“Um, Ginger,” I muttered in her ear as she leaned up against the bar. “I think we overdid it…”
Ginger turned to me with a wink and replied, “Just wait and see…”
She ordered our drinks from a bartender dressed in wrangler jeans and snap-up flannel shirt, and the cutest cowgirl boots I’ve ever seen. A couple minutes later, when a Long Island was placed in front of me, I felt a moment of surprise that Ginger had ordered without asking me. Then I realized we’d been together for five days, and in that time I’d been pretty predictable with my drink order.
“Thanks,” I said, unsure how I should feel about the drink, but grateful to have it.
“Sure thing, Belle. I see Jean over there with some of her friends, let’s go over.” Ginger gestured to a large half-circle booth in the corner, where I noticed Jean’s blonde head swaying to the music.
I simply nodded, then let Ginger lead the way.
A few hours, about three drinks, and about four line dances later, I was feeling great. I hadn’t danced and laughed so hard in ages, and I was having a blast with Ginger, her sister, and their friends.
I was just coming back to the table after two-stepping with a sexy young man named Landon, when Ginger took me by the hand and pulled me through the crush of people to the bathroom.
“Landon is perfect!” she squeed, not caring that there were a gaggle of women in the restroom waiting for a turn.
“He’s definitely hot,” I agreed, then asked, mildly confused, “Perfect for what?”
“To take you home tonight and give you a fabulous orgasm!”