Rebound Read Free Page B

breathe and push the memories away. Come on, Ali, I tell myself. This is a party. And you’re Catwoman. She doesn’t stand around, moping. She’s sleek and powerful and gets the job done. At least that’s what Philippe said when he sold me on the idea. And that’s my plan for tonight.
    I’m grateful for my mask. Standing here, I could be anyone. Behind all of this leather, I’m anonymous, though of course, the whip, the high heels, and the gleaming form-fitting leather keep me from being inconspicuous. That’s all right. I don’t mind being looked at, and I don’t mind looking. What thrills me is the power to decide what I reveal of myself, and when.
    A hulking gorilla sidles up to me and nudges me with a furry elbow.
    “Drink?” he says from somewhere deep inside the costume and hands me a crystal glass filled with punch. It’s about the size of a small fishbowl with bits of fruit floating on top like belly-up goldfish.
    “Sorry,” I tell him with a smile. “I don’t take drinks from primates I don’t know.”
    “Well, let me grab you one from the bar,” says the gorilla. “You can watch the bartender pour.”
    “I’m really okay.”
    Across the room, Mia rises on tiptoes and pulls Ethan down for a long kiss. The people around them smile, look away politely, but they’re locked in their own little world, together.
    I swallow and turn my attention back to the gorilla, who’s now attempting to pour the drink into his own mouth. It spills down the crevices of his rubber mask and onto the fur of his costume.
    “Shit,” he says. “I’m hopeless.”
    “Well, it’s probably tough to drink with all that costume in the way.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “How about a straw?” I suggest. Ever the problem solver.
    “Awesome thinking!” he exclaims, absently scratching his chest, gorilla-style. “You sure I can’t get you that drink? I mean, it’s a party. Even superheroes need a night off every now and then.”
    Ethan laughs at something, the sound cutting through the party noise and pulling me to look again, to watch the two of them together while they laugh at one another’s jokes. Touch one another.
    Suddenly, a drink seems like a good idea after all.
    I bid farewell to my friend the primate and head to the bar.
    The bartender gives me a smile as I approach. “What will it be, Catwoman?” she asks. On the counter rests a giant silver punch bowl, festooned with cobwebs.
    “What’s the punch?”
    “Something called Jungle Rum Blast,” she says. “Try it.” She dips in a ladle and gives me a heavy pour of the concoction.
    I sniff. Fruity with the tang of bourbon in there, too. “What’s in it?”
    “It’ll be quicker to tell you what’s not in it,” she replies with a grin. “Trust me; it’s fantastic.”
    I take a sip and then a longer one. The punch tingles down my throat. It’s perfect—a little tangy, a little fruity, and with a decent kick. Oh, why not? I have a designated driver. And nine lives.
    Before I know it, I’ve downed the entire drink, which is probably two servings. The bartender hands me another, filling my cup almost to the rim, and I drift away, sipping the drink.
    Warmth spreads over me, and the music and conversation envelop me in a pleasant web. I start to move through the crowd. The floor feels a bit spongy now. Or perhaps I’m spongy. It’s tough to tell.
    Once again, I decide that I really need to say hello to Ethan, to let him know I’m here and that I’m fine. We can be friends. We’re friends now. It’s good.
    On the way over to him, I’m halted by the sight of a guy dressed all in black with a black mask like mine. Zorro, I realize. I can’t see his face fully, but what I can see is chiseled and beautiful. Sharp lines, full lips curved in a half-smile.
    I feel his eyes on me as I take in his powerful body in tight-fitting black trousers and a black peasant shirt laced over a broad chest. I don’t know if it’s the punch or the heat of his