Page 42 of The Hot Shot
“Stripper?” James sounds appalled. “This here is The King. Show some respect.”
“He needs a crown, then,” a woman with poufy hair and wearing a green dress says as we walk past her.
Inside, it’s crowded and close with people. The furniture is nineteenth century, with gilded framed portraits hanging on the walls. Cigarette smoke hovers overhead, several people smoking in groups and holding cocktails. And I swear, I feel a moment’s trepidation, as if I really did fall into some freaky time warp.
“Why is everyone dressed like they’re auditioning for aMad Menreunion?” I ask James.
“It’s standard attire for Cocks and Cocktails,” he says as we stop at a side table set up with a bar. “Want a beer?”
“Sure, but... Cocks and Cocktails?”
James hands me a bottle of beer before fixing himself a gin and tonic. “It’s a cocktail party. Only you wear your best vintageduds.” He sweeps a hand over his black-and-white pinstripe suit, topped with a hot pink bow tie. “Point is to be the sharpest dressed cock of the walk, so to speak.”
Given that I’m in jeans and a plain gray long-sleeve shirt, I’m grossly underdressed. Since I’m also about a foot taller than everyone here, I stick out like a sore thumb.
“Don’t sweat it,” James says, clearly reading me well. “When someone looks as good as you, no one gives a damn how the window is dressed.”
I eye his suit again. “Somehow I think this will go over your head, but sometimes it’s nice to get lost in the crowd.”
James smirks, taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe. Then again, if that were true, you wouldn’t have someone looking at you the way that particular lady is right now.”
I turn toward the direction of his gaze, and there she is. Any response I can give James is gone; I’m at a loss for words. Up until now, I’ve seen Chess in jeans and casual tops. This version of Chess is like a present.
She makes her way to me, and my heart knocks against my chest like it’s trying to break free. Her usually stern expression is lighter, green eyes smiling. “Trish was babbling about someGQmodel looking for me,” she says in greeting. “I assumed it was either you, or it was my lucky night.”
“It was both,” I finally answer, too aware that my voice is thick.
She’s wearing a dress, a black velvet bodice that hugs her slim torso and hangs off the curves of her shoulders. The skirt is a white cloud that ends midcalf.
“You’re staring, Finn.”
“Rear Window,” I blurt out, making her blink. “That dress. Grace Kelly wore a dress like that inRear Window.”
James laughs. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you picked that up.”
I take a sip of beer to wet my dry throat. “It’s my mother’s favorite movie.”
I don’t add that I might have had a small crush on Grace Kelly when I was a preteen.
A soft flush of pink colors Chess’s cheeks. “Most people haven’t figured it out. They expect the ice-blond hair, too.”
Her ink-black hair is swept up in one of those twisty buns pinned to the back of her head that exposes the long line of her neck. She is fucking beautiful, and I tell her so.
The pink in her cheek deepens, but she shrugs off my compliment. “You find the place all right?”
She seems flustered, her gaze darting around to the people staring at us. At me. The attention prickles on the back of my neck. I ignore everyone but her.
“Yep.” I dip my head, and the light scent of her perfume tickles my nose. “I could have dressed up too, you know.”
Her cherry red lips pinch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it when we were texting.”
I can’t resist teasing her. “Hmm... And here I thought maybe you were afraid I’d back off once I heard ‘Cocks and Cocktails.’”
The corner of her mouth quirks. “Well, maybe not the cocktails part.”
“It’s okay, Chester.” The urge to touch the soft curve of her cheek has me gripping my beer. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Chess fiddles with the strand of pearls around her neck. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Malcolm, our host. He’s an antiques dealer.”
