night,” Gabe said, drawing me out of my musing. “How was it?”
“Great. You’ve been to my parties. Everyone likes them.”
“What’s not to like? River of good booze, pounds of boiled shrimp and most of Fort Worth’s upper crust.”
As part of my party package, I always included top-shelf liquors and my favorite caterer served nothing but fresh, premium gourmet fare. For what I charged my customers and clients, I believed they expected as much, though I economized where I could.
I gave a playful gasp. “You jest. Seriously, we had a good turnout. Everyone loved the condo and the building, too. We had endless champagne. And my fave, a chocolate fountain.”
“Why do you always have a chocolate fountain at the parties you throw? You don’t eat sweets.”
And I didn’t most of the time. I had to keep my body in shape. Besides running my small business, I was also a model of sorts. I had an agent who got me occasional gigs modeling clothing for upscale department stores in Dallas and Houston, which was fun as well as lucrative.
He also set me up as the female showpiece at this event or that. I had done car shows, boat shows, RV shows, garden shows and multiple others. I had been a hostess at a few gun shows and museum openings, even a few airplane manufacturer’s events. I had a listing in the Yellow Pages. “Have cocktail dress, will travel” was my motto. I didn’t intend to jeopardize any of those opportunities by gaining weight.
“The chocolate fountain isn’t for me, silly,” I told Gabe. “Guests love it. But I did eat one tiny strawberry dipped in chocolate. I couldn’t resist.”
Before Gabe and I could take our conversation further, Drake Lockhart appeared in the wide plate-glass entry and we went on alert. With him was a man who caused me to stand and stare. Drake himself was handsome enough, but his companion was utterly stunning even from a distance.
The two of them sauntered toward the back of the lobby. From Drake’s hand gestures and body language, I could tell he was showing off the building. I had already seen as much of the building as I needed to, so I let my eyes feast on the stranger’s long lean body and the way his butt flexed in tight-fitting jeans. Yum. So hot.
He was roughly the same height as Drake, say six-one or two. Taller than I in my high heels. His loose-hipped walk, the set of his wide shoulders, the relaxed way he spoke to Drake, a man who intimidated many, all revealed that imitable male confidence that made good sense disengage from my brain.
Knowing they would eventually come to our table, I waited expectantly, hyperaware of my posture, my clothing, even the placement of my feet.
Heel touching instep, an inner voice reminded me. The pageant pose that was the most flattering,
They turned our way and I saw the stranger more clearly. His dress was similar to Drake’s, who, thanks to a personal shopper, was always well put together. Starched and creased denim hugged his thighs. The hems of his jeans gathered just right over the shafts of cowboy boots. He wore a silver Western-style belt buckle and a long-sleeve button-down shirt the color of sunlight. It fit him so perfectly it could only be custom-made.
That package was more apt to catch my attention than a Brooks Brothers suit. Growing up around cowboys, I recognized a real one when I saw him. If this stranger wasn’t one, he certainly knew how to dress like one.
Gabe’s voice projected across the lobby as he strode toward them. “Drake. My man.”
I watched as Drake introduced Gabe and the stranger, then they shook hands. The three of them talked. All that clearly came into my hearing range were deep huh-huh-huhs as they laughed together. Man-talk, fueled by testosterone. No women allowed. Typical alpha Type-As, all three of them.
I knew the type from first-hand experience. Not only was I unmercifully attracted to it, I’d had an on and off relationship with it for two years. I had even thought I
“Great. You’ve been to my parties. Everyone likes them.”
“What’s not to like? River of good booze, pounds of boiled shrimp and most of Fort Worth’s upper crust.”
As part of my party package, I always included top-shelf liquors and my favorite caterer served nothing but fresh, premium gourmet fare. For what I charged my customers and clients, I believed they expected as much, though I economized where I could.
I gave a playful gasp. “You jest. Seriously, we had a good turnout. Everyone loved the condo and the building, too. We had endless champagne. And my fave, a chocolate fountain.”
“Why do you always have a chocolate fountain at the parties you throw? You don’t eat sweets.”
And I didn’t most of the time. I had to keep my body in shape. Besides running my small business, I was also a model of sorts. I had an agent who got me occasional gigs modeling clothing for upscale department stores in Dallas and Houston, which was fun as well as lucrative.
He also set me up as the female showpiece at this event or that. I had done car shows, boat shows, RV shows, garden shows and multiple others. I had been a hostess at a few gun shows and museum openings, even a few airplane manufacturer’s events. I had a listing in the Yellow Pages. “Have cocktail dress, will travel” was my motto. I didn’t intend to jeopardize any of those opportunities by gaining weight.
“The chocolate fountain isn’t for me, silly,” I told Gabe. “Guests love it. But I did eat one tiny strawberry dipped in chocolate. I couldn’t resist.”
Before Gabe and I could take our conversation further, Drake Lockhart appeared in the wide plate-glass entry and we went on alert. With him was a man who caused me to stand and stare. Drake himself was handsome enough, but his companion was utterly stunning even from a distance.
The two of them sauntered toward the back of the lobby. From Drake’s hand gestures and body language, I could tell he was showing off the building. I had already seen as much of the building as I needed to, so I let my eyes feast on the stranger’s long lean body and the way his butt flexed in tight-fitting jeans. Yum. So hot.
He was roughly the same height as Drake, say six-one or two. Taller than I in my high heels. His loose-hipped walk, the set of his wide shoulders, the relaxed way he spoke to Drake, a man who intimidated many, all revealed that imitable male confidence that made good sense disengage from my brain.
Knowing they would eventually come to our table, I waited expectantly, hyperaware of my posture, my clothing, even the placement of my feet.
Heel touching instep, an inner voice reminded me. The pageant pose that was the most flattering,
They turned our way and I saw the stranger more clearly. His dress was similar to Drake’s, who, thanks to a personal shopper, was always well put together. Starched and creased denim hugged his thighs. The hems of his jeans gathered just right over the shafts of cowboy boots. He wore a silver Western-style belt buckle and a long-sleeve button-down shirt the color of sunlight. It fit him so perfectly it could only be custom-made.
That package was more apt to catch my attention than a Brooks Brothers suit. Growing up around cowboys, I recognized a real one when I saw him. If this stranger wasn’t one, he certainly knew how to dress like one.
Gabe’s voice projected across the lobby as he strode toward them. “Drake. My man.”
I watched as Drake introduced Gabe and the stranger, then they shook hands. The three of them talked. All that clearly came into my hearing range were deep huh-huh-huhs as they laughed together. Man-talk, fueled by testosterone. No women allowed. Typical alpha Type-As, all three of them.
I knew the type from first-hand experience. Not only was I unmercifully attracted to it, I’d had an on and off relationship with it for two years. I had even thought I
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