Page 23 of Holiday Hopefuls
“Jo.”
“Don’t you think your baby sister, your parents, and—” she waves around the table “—all of us have it pretty good when it comes to the holidays? Even if we end up sitting at home staring at one another with no fancy resorts or vacations?”
I blink at my friend.
Beside me, John chokes on a laugh. “C’mon, man. Surely you don’t want to be alone forever.”
Rearing back, I feign outrage. I throw a hand to my chest. “I am hardly alone.”
“Nacho doesn’t count,” he retorts.
“She’ll be offended when I tell her that. Besides, she’s?—”
“Your best girl,” Rindy finishes as she rolls slightly glazed eyes before throwing back the last of her wine. “We know. Butdon’t you think you might want, I dunno, a human woman at some point?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes as I take another drink. “It’s not like I’ve never dated.”
“No one serious,” John mutters.
Sending a few optical daggers his way, I try to come up with a name. Any name. “There was … no, wait. Okay, well, what about … no, I don’t think we ever actually ended up going out. How many dates count as dating?”
Rindy crosses her lithe arms. “How many women have you taken home to meet your family—” a quick survey of the room “—you know, for the holidays?” She snickers. “AKA the ultimate potential partner test.”
Huh. “Well, none as an adult, I guess.” I swallow the confession with a mouthful of alcohol. “Unless?—”
“High school doesn’t count,” she interjects. I bite my lip and Rindy slaps a victorious palm on the table. “I knew it!”
Joanna tilts her head toward the dance floor. Long caramel waves kiss the table as my friend zeros in on some target in the distance. “What about the redhead?”
Half of my mouthful of beer is now down my shirt. “What?” The back of my hand becomes a napkin without a second thought. Not that it’s really doing much good, but Rindy stole the rest of the napkins earlier when she dumped pizza dip into her lap.
Just like that, three pairs of eyes are on me.
“Yeah, the one you keep watching over. Tall? Pretty? Fills the room with sunshine when she smiles?” Jo nods toward Ms. Rutherford, who’s currently dancing with her third partner as the band plays on.
Not that I’m counting.
“Ci’s teacher. Callie?” John looks a little too smug for my liking.
Eyes sliding back toward the woman in question, I grumble, “She didn’t ask me to call her that.” I take another swig.
“That’s right,” Rindy says, pretending this is fresh information. Turning to her wife, Rindy places a hand on John’s shoulder. “John and I can call her Callie—sorry,Calloway, if you listen to her siblings.”
“Unique name,” Jo interjects.
“Right? But Ollie, here, wasn’t extended that invitation. So I guess she’ll just be ‘Ms. Rutherford’ to him.” An irritatingly smug smile is flashed my way.
Joanna’s light brows shoot up, inquisitive eyes finding mine. “And how does that make you feel, Oliver?”
The entire table busts out in laughter, but with the bar this crowded, no one even bothers looking our way. Not that most of them would even know who we are. There are plenty of locals here, but the nearby university and tourists keep a steady stream of new faces around.
Catching his breath, John polishes off the drink in front of him. “And what was with trying to get in a lightning round of personal trivia, anyway?” Like his sister, John’s scrutinizing eyes peer in my direction. Our group may have an unspoken rule to not psychoanalyze one another, but that doesn’t mean we can just turn it off. “I’ve never seen you act that way.”
“Especially not with someone you just met,” Rindy agrees, “unless they’re a patient.”
My gaze bounces between them a moment too long.
“You’ve met her before.” It’s Jo that blows my cover.
