Page 20 of Ex Marks the Spot
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Something, otherwise you wouldn’t have smirked.”
Holding my gaze, he arcs a brow and points to a display of rubber duck keychains near the entrance.
Oh.
Oh.
Asha plucks two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and gives one to me. “I’d bet half of the people in this room could use hundred-dollar bills as toilet paper and never make a dent in their bank account.”
“True, but someone’s sponsoring the open bar, so I don’t mind.”
“Well you know what they say—one man’s drunken bid is another school’s treasure.”
“Cheers to that.” I clink my glass against hers.
Proceeds from Central Tennessee State College’s eighth annual New Year’s Eve gala will go to public schools in the Green Valley area with struggling arts programs. Last year, they raised a little over a million dollars thanks to the pay-it-forward premise: everything, from the swanky hotel ballroom itself, to the catered food, to the items up for bid in the silent auction, was donated. That’s where Asha and I (along with a dozen other students) come in—she created two designer dresses, and I painted four canvases. We won’t see any money from the auction, but it’s a hell of a confidence boost to see the current bids for my art running at least seven thousand dollars higher than the rest.
Although I think Court might have something to do with that.
For the last hour, he’s meandered through the crowd of patrons mingling near the pop-up gallery saying things like, “Don’t you just love the way Miss Billings captures the essence of longing for one’s inner potential?” and, “Her brushstrokes and use of texture are absolutely illuminating.” I know this because I was standing next to him trying not to laugh. Eventually, I gave up and excused myself while he continued schmoozing art aficionados for the greater good.
“Have you found your midnight kiss yet?” I ask Asha.
I’m surprised no one has approached her yet, but that could be because this is the first time she’s stood still all night. Objectively speaking, she’s freaking gorgeous—flawless skin, a million-dollar smile, and cheekbones for days—but her heart is equally beautiful and she’s one friend I hope to keep up with after we graduate.
Lips curving into a sly grin, she says, “I have my eye on a couple of prospects.”
“And they are . . . ?”
Before she can reply, my phone buzzes. I set my half-empty champagne glass on a nearby table and open my clutch to find a text from Court.
You are absolutely breathtaking.
Asha reads the message over my shoulder (an easy task given that she’s nearly six-feet tall) and fans herself through a swoon. “If he has any brothers, please send them my way.”
“Just a younger sister,” I reply with a conciliatory smile.
“Figures. Guess that means I should narrow down tonight’s choices before it’s too late.”
I wave her off with a laugh and turn my attention to my phone.
Me: You’re pretty sexy yourself. You should wear a tux more often.
Court: I’m actually looking forward to taking it off. Along with that little black dress of yours.
He’d said the same thing when he picked me up earlier this evening. Well, it was more like, “I can’t wait to peel off this dress later tonight.” Naturally, I’d considered turning around and making a beeline for my bedroom to get a head start onlater tonight.Instead, he’d reminded me that the evening’s cause was important, and my dress—a sequined number with an open back and a thigh-high slit—was worth showing off.
Butlater tonightis technicallynow,which means it’s time to go. But first, I need to find Court.
Me: Where are you?
Court: Turn to your left.
I do as I’m told.