“Oh my gosh,” I gasped. “Wait . . . how do you know he’s not looking at you?”
“Trust me, he’s not looking at me. He’s ogling the hell out of you, Georgia. Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re gorgeous and he sees that.”
Her words made me light up like a million watts. I’d never had anyone tell me I was gorgeous. I mean, I knew I wasn’t hideous, but I was a plain Jane, you know? I didn’t get recognized often for my looks, though I had to admit, as Lola and I got ready at the mansion and she did my makeup in her master bathroom, I felt prettier. My grandmother always used to tell me my brains would be my moneymaker.
It’d been a while since I’d worn makeup. Lola had a small policy about it at the mansion. I couldn’t go crazy with my makeup while working for her and needed to appear professional while on duty. Luckily for me, I didn’t care for makeup all that much. I wore mascara here and there, but nothing over the top.
“I’m going to tell him to come over,” Lola said, shooting to a stand.
I gasped. “Oh no! Lola, I can’t talk to that guy.”
“Why not?” she asked, smiling her perfect smile.
“Because it’s . . . it’s been so long since I’ve talked to a guy. I can’t even remember how to flirt if we’re being honest.”
Lola gave me a once-over, and when she realized I was serious, she huffed a breath and sat next to me. “Okay. Here’s the thing about guys at clubs. Flirting isn’t that hard with them. They’re here looking for someone to go home with, so they can’t be choosy. He’s already been drinking and he’s eyeing you. Just have a little conversation and see where it leads.”
“I’ll mess it up. I know I will.”
“Just try,” she encouraged. “If not for you, then for me. I don’t get to be all flirty anymore. I have Corey now.” She pursed her lips, and I didn’t miss the slight eye roll she passed after saying that. “Just because you work for me doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to have a little fun every once in a while.”
She was right . . . but I was serious about not knowing how to flirt anymore. I was broken in that way. I’d taken care of people my whole life, so that when it came to men, I was just . . . awkward.
“Okay,” I said. “But let me go to him.”
“That’s my girl,” Lola chanted.
I stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in my banana-cream dress. I had no idea what the hell I was going to say to the guy at the bar, so I thought about how I’d start the conversation as I crossed the room. A man with dreadlocks was on stage, rapping to the melody of a saxophone about his struggles with an ex-girlfriend.
I couldn’t think, and the words of the man on stage weren’t setting the tone for flirting, so when I met up with the guy at the bar, I just stared at him. His thick brows shot up to his forehead as he waited for me to speak. I fumbled with words.
“I, um . . . my boss . . . told me I should come . . . speak to you.” Damn it. I was butchering this. Were you ever this bad with guys, Ivy?
The man appeared amused by my remark. Up close he was handsome as hell. His hair was cut clean, lined up, and faded at the edges, and his skin was a shade or two darker than mine. He was tall, with a goatee, and he smelled like sandalwood and some other scent I couldn’t quite place. Leather, maybe? His clothes were simple. Navy-blue, V-neck t-shirt, jeans, and Jordan’s.
“You’re out tonight with your boss?” he asked, stifling a laugh.
“Well, yeah. I work at her house for her. But it’s not like that, you know? We’re also good friends.”
The man chuckled. “Well, your boss must be pretty chill if she’s out with you tonight.” He looked across the club at Lola. I looked with him, and Lola was giving me a thumbs-up. I was so embarrassed by that thumb. I felt like a child who was nervous to play her first soccer game, Lola being the mom in the stands with the thumbs-up to encourage me.
“Be honest.” I sighed. “You were looking at her, weren’t you?”
“What would make you think that?” He put on a slight frown.
“Well, she’s the prettiest woman in the room. Everyone stares at her when we go places.”
“Well, if you believe that, you’re wrong.”
“If I believe what? That everyone stares at her when we go out?”
“That’s she’s the prettiest woman in the room.”
I was confused.
He went on. “She can’t possibly be the prettiest woman in the room if I’m looking right at the prettiest woman in the room.”