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"You drove here?" he finally asked me.
"Mm-hmm."
"I'ma follow you home."
He nuzzled my cheek and finally let me go. I started to argue but decided the middle of the dance floor wasn't the best place to do that. Shaking my head, I started back to my table. He escorted me there, and I ignored the knowing looks from my table mates. Moving to pull my chair back, Real stopped as LaChelle popped up from her seat and spoke to him. He gave her a dry smile.
"What's up, Chelle?"
"It's good to see you," she said, running a hand down his chest in a way that was clearly possessive.
I barely stopped my eye roll. This was why I preferred keeping my business, my business. She was a perfectly nice chick, and now she felt we were in some imaginary competition. Real looked at her hand, and she dropped it, but not the conversation.
"I didn't know you danced."
He shrugged in the face of her too-bright smile. "Never came up."
"Maybe Ev brought it out of you. No one can ever say you don't like them beautiful." Her words sounded friendly, but the suddenly speculative look in her eyes let me know they really weren't. "Is she your new?—”
"Nah. It’s not like that with her.”
The speed at which he interrupted caught even me off-guard. Damn, hadn’t he just been talking about not keeping secrets? I laughed softly and grabbed my little bag from the table, ignoring the sensation in the center of my chest that felt too familiar. Real grabbed my arm gently as I headed toward the restrooms.
“Where you going?” he asked.
My eyes moved from him to LaChelle, then back.
“Don’t be rude, Montréal. Finish your conversation,” I responded, smiling.
My head was high as I sauntered off. Hell, I even managed to put a little extra switch into what I knew was a sexy walk. I was glad the architect designed this building with individual bathrooms instead of opting for the huge ones with stalls. As soon as I reached my destination, I locked myself in and pressed my back against the door, sucking in much-needed, deep breaths.
That bastard. I allowed myself the one outraged thought and a full minute to feel the anger and hurt that flowed through me unexpectedly. To think that, for a minute, I had almost let myself believe that he somehow followed me here. I walked to the sink and turned on the cold water, letting it flow over the rapidly beating pulse in my wrists. I caught a glimpse of a hint of red along my cheekbones. Yeah, I needed to cool down, remember what this whole situation with Real was about. Closing my eyes, I did one of the mindful breathing exercises Epiphany taught me. Once I felt together, I let out one last exhale, turned off the faucet, and dried my hands. I pressed cool fingers against my cheeks, then lifted my little bag from the table. Pulling out my phone, I made a quick call.
"Yes, you still have time to make it home before your birthday," was the answer I received.
I couldn't help smiling.
"I'm not coming home before my birthday, Emory."
She sighed. "What you want, then? Ain't you supposed to be out there celebrating with your new friends that you'd rather be with on your birthday?"
No one could try to guilt trip me like my sister, but I didn't have time tonight.
"Where's your husband, crazy girl?"
Her teasing immediately stopped. "He's right here. You okay?"
“I—”
Before I could reassure her, he was on the phone, all business.
"Sister-in-law, what's up? You all right?"
"Nothing, I promise. I just..." I cleared my throat and tried again. "I think I need to come a little earlier, get away from here," I explained.
"You just tell me when."
After promising to call him with more details tomorrow, I made my exit. The closer I got to the party floor, the more I acknowledged that my mood had changed. My pre-birthday turn-up would have to wait. All I wanted now were my favorite pajamas, some popcorn, and a book that would let me escape the painful thoughts of Montréal Hamilton trying to break through in my brain.