Chapter 6
Jasher
Jasher tugged at his collar. He’d already removed his polka-dotted silk noose and tucked it into the inner pocket of his suit coat. Could they have made it any warmer in here? Sooner than later, one of these elderly pasta-lovers was going to code from heat stroke.
Worse, he was wedged between McGreeley’s perfuminess and an alcohol-fumes-laden Cade Calhoun—who was gloating, as always. At least he hadn’t turned any venom on Jasher. Yet.
Give it time.
“And so I told her, baby, you know which one to bid on. And get this. She giggled.”
What a troll. Jasher might lose his appetite—even for spaghetti—if he had to listen to Cade Calhoun’s inane conquest play-by-plays much longer. This was the fourth one tonight. He’d leave the bachelor table, pounce on some unsuspecting girl, and then boast about his success. He reported to Nick Martin, but everyone could hear.
“I’m telling you, Sage Everton wants me. Big time.”
“Sage Everton?” The name flew unbidden from Jasher’s lips, too fast to stop it and too loudly to call it back.
“Oh, right.” Cade turned to him with a sneer. “Hospital people. I forgot you’d know who Sage is, even though she was older than us guys back at Mendon High. Hottest senior when we were freshmen, hands down. And hands all over her—that’s what I was fantasizing about back then. Still am, if I’m honest. Mmm-hmm. She might be a widow, but she is looking fine tonight.”
“Widow?” he croaked, wishing again for a mute button on himself for the hour.
“Guess you’re not as close as you thought, heh-heh.” Calhoun’s elbow jutted into Jasher’s ribs. “Forget about her. She’s mine.”
Widowed. Wow. So maybe she had ended up marrying Kyle Whoever, like Jasher had thought. Man, why was Jasher stuck learning critical life details about Sage from Cade Calhoun, of all people?
“You’re blowing smoke. Sage Everton isn’t even here.” Jasher struck his most disinterested tone. She’d said she wasn’t coming tonight. And that she wouldn’t bid on me. Just like everyone else in this town. “There’s no woman in this room younger than fifty.”
“Sure she is,” Nick Martin sloshed. “I shaw her.”
What? Really? Jasher’s eyes scraped through the crowd for her dark hair and uniquely colored eyes, as if catching that glimpse was the key that would get him out of jail.
“Look, she’s walking away from the bidding table where I happen to know she just dropped the winning amount in my ballot box. Trust me, I sewed up that deal.” Cade blew on his knuckles and wiped them on the shoulder of his pink shirt. “Yeah, Sage Everton was every guy’s teenage fantasy, and now she’s gonna be my adult reality. Give me an inch, I’ll take a mile.” He chortled like the pervert he was.
“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Jasher gripped the table so he wouldn’t throw cold water on the guy.
“Believe this, Hopscotch.” Cade stood and towered over him with a menacing stare. “When I propositioned her, she giggled. Like a little girl. She wants me, and who am I to not grant her wishes, just like I’ve granted the wishes of half the women in this town?” He leaned close. His breath alone could sterilize surgical equipment.
“What you’re saying”—Jasher seethed—“makes you sound a little like a serial rapist.”
“It’s not wrong if it’s begged for.”
It took everything in Jasher not to whack this guy with the butter dish. “Drunks are notoriously incapable of distinguishing the difference between welcome and unwelcome advances, Cade.”
“Shut up, Hopscotch. You’re just jealous because nobody in this room wants you granting their wishes.” He exploded in a bluster of laughter. “Oh, look. There’s Diana Marymount. I’ll be taking care of that business after dinner, regardless of the winning bids, believe me.” Cade stumbled from his chair and sashayed toward poor Diana Marymount, whoever she was. Oh, got it. The woman looked like a forty-something cougar.
Nothing Jasher could do about that.
But Sage! Jasher could not let Sage Everton fall victim to that lecher. He pushed back his chair to go and warn her. Jasher strode in front of the stage and scanned the area, but to no avail—if she was here at all. Who could trust the word of either of those whiskey-swillers?
“Oh, there you are, Dr. Hotchkiss.” Inchy planted herself like a mature oak’s trunk, right in front of him. “Perfect timing. We’re about to introduce all the bachelors to the crowd. You’ll be last, after Dr. McGreeley and Cade Calhoun. Now, come along to the wings of the stage. Nice suit, by the way. Did you get that at Art’s just for tonight?”
“It’s something I got for my stepdad’s funeral.”
“Perfect!” Inchy clapped, unfazed by the word funeral. “Perfectly perfect, since we honor him tonight. I saw that your mother made it to the event. So sweet of her to be here—and your stepbrother as well. How’s Redmond doing, anyway?” She didn’t stop for an answer. “Now, you stand right here, and we’ll just get started.”
Jasher obeyed, but it was all he could do not to break into a dead run out the back of the gymnasium. The one upside was that from this vantage point, he could see almost every face in the room.
And there she was.