Page 9 of My Puckin' Luck
“Misty is so talented.”
“She is. But I’m not talking only about the costume. You radiate this glow each time I see you. I find it very attractive.” I lean in for this next part, opening myself up. “In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t help but stare at you whenever you’re near.”
“I’ve noticed. Or is that a line you use on all the women?”
I chuckle and put space between us before her feminine jasmine scented perfume gets me too high. “No. Reserved that one just for you.”
“Hm. Who was that woman you were talking with when I first arrived?” She asks.
“Observant.”
“Always.”
“Jealous?”
“Should I be?” Her eyes jab me with a color almost mossy green now. One corner of my lips turns up.
“Nope. I asked you here as my date. That means my attention is only on you. No one else matters. And, for the record, that was my sister.”
“Oh.” She pushes hair behind her ears and shifts foot to foot. “Are you going to introduce us?”
“Maybe later. I want you all to myself for now. Dance with me.” That wasn’t a question. I take her drink and deposit both flutes on the nearest table. I hold my hand out to her, and she takes it. Her satin white glove does nothing to shield me from the energy flowing between us.
“Does the devil know how to dance?” There’s a glimmer of tease back in her eyes.
“Hold on tight and find out.” I hardly take another step before the music ends, though. Mom takes the stage with a microphone in hand. Worst timing ever.
“Rain check on that dance?” Anastasia asks, clapping along with the rest of the crowd as Barbara St. James begins to speak. Most people know her as the beloved star of daytime’s longest running soap opera on television. Twenty years on the show, twelve times nominated for an Emmy, but never awarded, which became a running joke in certain comedy circles. But her extremely loyal fan base isn’t deterred from continuing to hope.
“What a wonderful crowd we have tonight,” she starts, her obnoxiously huge diamond earrings catching the lights. She holds a gold sequined mask in one hand, matching her gown, and the mic in the other. “Look at the fabulous array of costumes?—”
One guest shouts, “What is your costume, Barbara?”
“Oh, honey, everyone knows who I am. Why bother covering up perfection?”
The crowd laughs at her flirty comeback. I roll my eyes.
“Most of you know, I’m Barbara St. James, and I have the honor of playing Erica Osborne on the award-winning show, The Light of Day.”
Cheers and clapping and whistles spread through the room.
“Wait. Is that your mother? I never put it together until now.” Anastasia gapes up at me, star-struck.
“Please tell me you’re not having a fangirl moment.”
“Um. Okay. I’ll keep it to myself. But I’ve watched her show for years. Even Misty’s Nana is a fan. Wait until I tell her about this.” She enthusiastically claps with the crowd, then produces her phone from a satin purse hanging on her wrist and takes photos.
Great. My night’s ruined. Anastasia was perfect until she revealed herself as my mother’s number one fan.
Mom waits until the noise dies down to speak. “I cannot thank you enough for attending tonight’s soiree. I created this foundation in the aftermath of my husband’s stroke and heart attack. My family was fortunate enough to get through such a trying time. But there are many families who are not prepared when tragedy strikes.”
Her words twist a knife into my heart.
Anastasia gasps and reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “You went through so much, Saint. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about your loss.”
I shift my hand to rest on her lower back and play it off like I haven’t lived with a hole in my heart for years. “It’s okay, but thanks.”
She doesn’t know everything of what I’ve been through, but she’s redeemed herself now. I’m sure if I tell her the truth about my mother, she’ll drop her fascination with the star altogether. Then we’ll be back to normal with me pursuing her like crazy until I have her in my bed.
