Page 167 of Forgotten Comeback
“You have to check your purse.” I’m stopped immediately.
“Oh, I’d rather not.” In case I’d like to leave quickly.
“It’s a rule; if you want in, you can’t have a bag or a phone.”
On a huff, I hand over my purse in exchange for a tag. What am I supposed to do with a tag and no purse to put it in? Obviously a man came up with the policy.
I shift my body, trying to discreetly place the ticket in my bra cup as the employee hands over two additional tickets. “Forgive me, what are these for?” I accept them.
“Drink tickets. Two drink maximum,” he explains.
So much for drinking my troubles away.
After clearing the entrance hurdles, I’m already frazzled as I reach the bar and climb onto a stool. A bartender turns around, a knockout of a man, but it’s his eyes that startle me. Gray eyes, with vibrant gold rings encircling the pupils.
I’ve only seen two other men in my life with gray eyes. My stomach twists with unease.
“Martini. Dirty,” I tell him with a steady voice, shaking off my unease.
The bartender gets to work on my drink as a masked partygoer takes the empty stool beside me.
“Hello,” he tells me with a smile. He’s an attractive man in his early thirties, wearing a designer suit and green tie.
“Hello,” I say stiffly. It’s been so long since I flirted, I’m not sure if I even remember how.
“Martini, dirty.” The bartender presents my drink. “Ticket?”
“Ah, yes,” I tell him, tearing one off and sliding it over.
“What can I get you?” The bartender turns to the man seated next to me.
“Nothing now, thanks.”
The bartender moves to the other end of the bar, and I sip my drink as my barstool neighbor watches me. “Nice tie,” I comment, for lack of anything else to say.
“Thank you. And I love the dress. You’re stunning.” He eyes appreciatively the green scrap of material I’m wearing; the salesgirl assured me emerald green was theitcolor of the season.
“Thank you,” I say demurely, my cheeks heating.
“Would you like to accompany me to the green room?”
“I’m sorry, what’s the green room?”
His eyebrows lift the mask. “You’re wearing a green dress, and you don’t know?”
I bristle. “Should I?”
He flashes a smile, like a cat who got the canary. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
A little voice is telling me to leave, but a bigger voice is telling me I’m wearing a damn revenge dress for a reason, and so I follow the man.
We pass a red room with partygoers dressed in red chatting over their champagne glasses.
A yellow room, with a couple dressed in yellow making out.
And a green room, where…
Oh.
