Page 38 of Play With Me
Nora nods. “Good.”
“Good I might take off at any moment?” I regret the words the minute they’re out. I’m being uncharitable. But being around Nora has put me in a mood again, like I have ever since I got here.
“Good you gave her a chance.” Then she lifts her chin as if this part of the conversation is over. “You’ll want to say hi to Sasha?”
Before I can say anything else, she turns to head down the hall. A wave of anger rushes through me. I hate being like this with her. I hate that I don’t know what she’s thinking. But she’s already rounded the corner, and the group of women are calling me from down the hall.
The living room is packed with people perched on all seating surfaces, and several more standing around in little clusters. They all look smart. A bunch of them wear turtlenecks and blazers. I feel dopey in my dark green button-down and jeans, even though Cap assured me I looked great. Maybe I should have worn better socks. I’m wearing Santa socks. Cap insisted. Maybe I need to stop taking fashion advice from my seven-year-old. Though he’s usually on point.
Sasha breaks free from one of them when she sees me, coming over and throwing her arms around me like we’re old friends. “Jude!” Her hair’s done in ringlets like Shirley Temple, but she’s wearing a little black dress and spike heels. “I’m so glad you came. And you met my friends!” Her eyebrows waggle. The women I met are the girlfriends she was talking about. Despite her wanting to set me up, I’m glad for her exuberance. At least someone seems genuinely happy to see me.
“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims when she sees my socks. “Those are adorable!!”
Hah.
I hand her the wine. “Thanks for having me.” My eyes scan the room looking for Nora, but I’ve lost her.
“Jude, help yourself to a drink, or some snacks…” Sasha says. “But first, let me introduce you.”
Normally, I wouldn’t care about that; I’d even give a little royalty wave. But right now, I don’t know if I can put on my normal fun-loving persona. Sasha grasps the bottle of wine, holding it like a microphone. She even taps it. “This thing on?”
“Everyone, we have another celebrity in our midst.”
Another? I follow Sasha’s gaze to where a dude in a tweed jacket and beard is smiling and waving a hand.
“Meet tennis star, Jude Kelly!”
The women I was with gasp.
“Former tennis player,” I correct. But I still can’t help smiling at their reaction. That is until I glance to the adjoining kitchen and see Nora standing next to not one, but two youngish professor-type dudes. One leans in to say something to her and she smiles.
I feel a pressure at my temples. Who the fuck are those guys? And what did they just say to her?
But now I’m swarmed by a handful of people, all of them shaking my hand and telling me they watched my games, and do I still play? Do I offer private lessons? How’s my knee?
Normally, I’d be on the top of my game here. I feed off attention. I can fly with any conversation. But now everyone’s talking about books and libraries and politicians and countries I’ve never heard of. And they’re blocking my view of the kitchen. All the words blur around me, and I feel myself nodding and smiling blandly, only half trying to look like I’m paying attention. All I can do is stare at Nora and those two fucking guys.
“Jude, what do you think about Guy Plimpton’s motivations in the Span-Tek corruption scandal?”
“What?” The question is loud enough that it cuts through my distraction. I turn to see a woman with frizzy dark hair and black-framed glasses looking at me pointedly. She’s serious.
The man behind her smirks. “You’ve obviously heard the chatter?” he asks. “Their shareholders are up in arms. Wouldn’t you be?”
Heat floods my cheeks.
He thinks I’m a dumb jock, and hell, he’s not far off.
“Sorry, I don’t do much chattering,” I toss back, which at least makes the woman giggle.
I feel a tug on my arm. “Jude, wanna dance?” It’s one of the women from the hallway, shooting a look at the couple who were talking to me. “Jingle Bell Rock” is playing, and the middle of the living room has turned into an impromptu dance floor. I’m a good dancer. I like dancing. I couldn’t give a shit about it right now, but I appreciate her rescuing me.
I smile. “Of course.”
But as I move onto the dance floor, I find I can’t move my limbs. My eyes go back to Nora, as if drawn by a magnet. She looks away quickly, like she was looking over here. Then she laughs. One of the men leans back on the counter, arms folded easily now, the other telling a story. It’s probably about fucking Socrates or something. Is one of them Sasha’s brother?
The man telling the story lowers a hand on her shoulder. His hand. Her bare skin.
And suddenly, I see red. I don’t care who he is.
