Stitches

Even though I never really liked this kind of thing to begin with, I’ve gotta admit, Moira did a hell of a job. The ballroom is decorated beautifully and the event is just about at capacity. Circular tables with elegant floral centerpieces fill the space around the dance floor, every single one bringing in thousands of dollars for suicide prevention programs. There’s even a scholarship in Ashley’s name given out to some high school senior who survived her own battle with depression and went on to have “better tomorrows.”

It feels a little morbid to me, but it makes Moira feel better about what Seb did. That’s what I tell myself, anyhow. Either way, it’s for a good cause. Not a cause that has a damn thing to do with Ashley, but I guess it doesn’t matter.

Our table is right in front of the dance floor, way too close to the live music. Seb is sitting there now, looking profoundly bored until he sees Moira hauling me across the room. His expression lightens and he pushes back his chair to stand.

“Done socializing for the moment?” Seb asks.

“Hey, I’m the hostess, I can’t just ignore everybody,” she states.

“I disagree. You’ve done your part

; now let them get drunk on champagne and make fools of themselves on the dance floor.”

“I wish people would stop mentioning her,” I say. “I never liked these things to begin with, but when they come with a dollop of guilt…” Regarding Seb, I ask, “You don’t feel weird about being here?”

“Why should I?” he asks. “I poured plenty of money into sponsoring this damned event.”

“Damned is right,” I mutter. “We’re all going to Hell.”

“Well, if we do, we’ll see Ashley again; we can tell her all about her party,” Seb says, easily.

“That’s horrible,” I state. “You’re horrible.”

As if innocent, he says, “What? She’d love it. Have you heard how nicely everyone is talking about her tonight? Nobody liked her that much when she was alive.”

I hold up a hand and shake my head. “Just… stop talking.”

Interceding, Moira goes straight into Seb’s arms to draw his attention away. She wraps her arms around his neck and gazes up at him like he’s the only man in the room. I’m not bothered by it, since just a few minutes ago she was looking at me the same way. “You’re a real Prince Charming, you know that?”

Smirking down at her, he points out, “Prince Charming isn’t your type.”

“True,” she allows. “Still, I wouldn’t say no if a certain dashing gentleman asked me to dance.”

“You must be waiting for someone else, then, ‘cause I don’t ask.” Resting his hand possessively on Moira’s hip, Seb glances over at me. “We’ll be back.”

I nod, dropping into my seat. “You kids have fun.”

Moira’s hand brushes my shoulder as she walks past. “Don’t worry; I’ll save the next dance for you.”

She drags a little smile out of me. “Lucky me,” I call, before she gets too far away.

I say it like I’m joking, but she knows I mean it. Seb and I are the luckiest bastards around, no contest.

Moira looks back at me with a playfully narrowed gaze before Seb leads her out on the dance floor. I turn in my chair to watch them. I don’t know why I do. It’s not like I can’t see her in his arms any day of the week—usually in fewer clothes. Usually right up close, where I can touch and kiss her, too; where Seb and I can team up to make her dizzy with pleasure, turn her to putty in either of our hands.

My mind is wandering to places it shouldn’t when I’m in a ballroom full of people, so I turn back around and grab my drink, tipping it back, shifting to accommodate the slight bulge in my pants. Just a couple more hours.

Suddenly, a brunette woman in a long black gown comes up to my table, offering me a little smile. “You guys sure know how it’s done, don’t you?” she remarks.

Since I’ve never seen her before and I damn sure don’t know what she’s talking about, I raise a questioning eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

She indicates our table, which should seat eight. We bought out the table just for the three of us. “You must really like your space.”

“Bad table manners,” I offer back, lightly. “Didn’t want to embarrass ourselves.”

Grinning, she drops into the empty seat beside mine. “You’re Griffin Halliwell, right?”

I don’t know why she knows me, since I sure don’t recognize her. “Yep, that’s me.”