Meg, her best friend, leaned over and tapped her shoulder. “Best. Idea. Ever.”
Grace laughed. “You need a bib. You’ve got a little something right—” she dragged her thumb across Meg’s chin “—there.”
Meg grimaced as heat burned across her cheeks. “Did you see Nick?”
“Just as much of him as you did.”
“I’ve never seen a man move that way.” Meg fanned herself. “I’d come back frequently if I wasn’t moving to Baltimore.”
“And I’ll be following you as soon as this practicum is over.” Grabbing her margarita, she took a healthy sip.
Two weeks. After that, she had some decisions to make. The kinds of decisions she’d been looking forward to making for as long as she could remember. She was moving to Baltimore with Meg, completely stepping away from the life she’d been trapped in since birth and becoming something, someone, more. All she’d ever wanted was the ability to choose for herself who she’d be instead of living as an unwanted by-product of her mother’s environment and choices.
Determination was all she’d had to see her through the hard years, the hungry nights, the lonely holidays. And if determination had carried her this far, there was no reason to think it wouldn’t carry her as far as she wanted to go. She’d carve out her own niche, do something special after a life that had been less than noteworthy. If only she could figure out what, and where, her niche was. There wasn’t room to make a mistake—not with the deferment of her student-loan payments ending and her housing situation dire for the next two weeks.
Frowning into her glass, she fought the urge to curse. She’d been forced to move in with her mother when the man she and Meg had been subletting their apartment from returned from his Doctors Without Borders trip early. It wasn’t a big deal for Meg; she’d just gone home. It was more...complicated for Grace. Home had never been the safe place it was supposed to be. The word had never conjured feelings of security, and it had never been a place of refuge. Her mother had only been a parent in the biological sense. Nurture and love had never been part of that woman’s vocabulary.
She rolled her head back and forth and took a deep breath. Two weeks. You can do anything for two weeks.
“Ladies, you’re in for a real treat.” The MC’s voice, deep and dark, dragged her out of her reverie and settled the crowd’s chatter to an anxious hum. “It seems a Beaux Hommes crowd favorite has decided to unveil a new alter ego this evening, and he’s going to be choosing one lucky lady to help with the introductions.”
“I wonder if Nick would understand if I volunteered,” Meg murmured.
Grace chuckled, watching as the spotlight whisked across the crowd. Hands were up in the air, women waving like crazed matadors in the face of angry bulls as they tried to garner the operator’s attention. She shook her head and bent forward to grab her purse. Virgin or not, her drink could use refreshing. Might as well do it while they were setting up for the next dancer.
Air whispered around her as the owner of black wingtips stopped in front of her chair. She froze. Cologne, musky and rich, tickled her nose. The spotlight pinpointed her, and she swore it burned hot as the noonday sun.
A work-roughened finger hooked under her chin and gently lifted.
This was not happening. She didn’t want to be chosen to help the policeman or chef or magician or whatever he was going to be dressed as take off his clothes. She just wanted to watch. And tip. And watch some more. But be part of the act? No.