“Hi. I’m Ligaya!”
She has to scream to be heard. Sean gives her his big boyish grin that he saves for the puck bunnies. With zero subtlety, I shove myself between Sean and Ligaya. He can try to charm any woman in this bar, but this one is busy carrying my children.
“We’ve got a quieter spot upstairs,” Gordon says to Ligaya. “Come hang out with us.”
“My friends are down here,” she says.
“Bring them.”
That’s how two very different groups blend into one clumsy, glitter-stained parade up the stairs and into the VIP lounge.
The second we enter, I’m pulled to talk to PR folks and sponsors.
“Do your thing, Tristan. I’ll see you later.”
She walks away, hips swaying. I make the rounds as quickly as I can before joining Ligaya on a velvet bench.
“Sorry about that. How are you?” I ask, squatting down to her level.
“Great! The lounges up here are way more comfortable. Can I ask you a favor? I can’t seem to get the bartender’s attention. Do you mind grabbing me a water, please?”
“On it.”
I head to the bar, squeezing past two people in LED bunny ears and some girl aggressively twerking. The bartender’s swamped, so I post up, trying to catch her eye. When she glances in my direction, I point to the Fiji water in her beverage fridge.
While I wait, Marnie Kensington, head of the ticketing office, sidles up to me.
“Having fun, Tristan?” she asks with a slight slur. Her hand rests on my forearm.
“Yeah. You?” I crank my neck to see where the bartender went. How hard is it to get a freaking bottle of water? For fuck’s sake, there’s a pregnant woman who needs to hydrate!
“Better now,” she purrs, looping her arm around mine. “The countdown is in a few minutes. Care to join me?”
“I’m here with someone,” I say, gently untangling from her clutches.
A voice cuts through the haze behind me. “He’s taken. Trust me.” It’s Toby with his impeccable timing.
I mouththank youto him and walk past Marnie. The opening to the bar is up, so I slip by to grab the cold bottle myself.
“Hey!” It’s the slow bartender, finally willing to do her job.
“Put it on my tab,” I say flippantly before walking away.
“Thanks,” Ligaya says with a slight smile. She takes a sip, but her eyes follow my movement as I pull a chair to face her. I lean forward, elbows on my thighs so I can watch her closely. It’s been a long night, and I want to make sure she hasn’t overexerted herself.
“Are you tired?”
“I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
“I took the best nap today.”
“The New Year is in a few minutes. Are we counting down together?”
“We don’t have to, if your dance card is full. You sure you don’t want to greet the New Year with someone more . . . available?”
She swipes her temple twice. I’m starting to realize Ligaya does that when she’s feeling either stressed or uncertain. Her tone’s cool, yet there’s tartness to her delivery.
