Slow Ride. Carrie Alexander
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her mere days from the altar, simply because he’d caught sight of some wannabe Bo Derek while taking the trolley. After the wedding had been canceled, the girl and Brad had used his and Rory’s honeymoon tickets to Cozumel. That they’d suffered Montezuma’s revenge and broken up on the plane trip home was Rory’s only small vindication.
Since then she’d resolved innumerable times that she would not let one bad relationship affect the rest of her life. The statute of limitations for feeling sorry for herself was up and over and o-u-t, out.
Rory looked around the club, seeing size twos everywhere.
Affirmation time. I am a confident, successful woman with great skin and va-va-voom curves. I don’t need a man to complete me, but someday I will find one to appreciate me.
Just not at a key party.
AN HOUR LATER the charity event was on its downward slide to that time when those still hanging on to their locks and keys had to either match up or call it a night. Rory had put in her time and was ready to go, but she had Mikki’s car keys and there was no way she’d leave her sister to her own devices, especially when the man who’d broken her heart was on the premises. Tucker’s hints about the couple had roused Rory’s curiosity. So far, Mikki had managed to dodge all questions, slipping off to the bar to order another drink whenever Rory brought up Nolan’s name. Extremely worrisome behavior.
Waiting for Mikki to return, Rory sat alone, gnawing her lip as she watched yet another couple match up. The lucky pair proceeded to the stage where Maureen Baxter handed them a prize and dropped their ticket into the wire bin containing all the entries for the evening.
The impending raffle for the grand prize of a weekend at Painter’s Cove resort in Mendocino was the unofficial wrap-up to the evening. Surely then Rory would be able to leave. Lauren had already disappeared, after being spotted early on with a smoldering Johnny Depp look-alike. Some sisters had all the luck.
A sloppy drunk in a Niners jersey staggered off the dance floor with the bottle of beer that had obviously been his only constant companion for the evening. He waggled his key at Rory.
“Why not?” she said with a sigh, and held out her necklace.
The guy aimed his key at the tiny lock on the suitcase and missed by a mile, thrusting the miniature key into her cleavage instead. He emitted a high-pitched giggle. “Missed my mark.”
“Let me.” She pried the key from his sticky fingers and inserted it into the lock. No go.
She returned the key with a relieved smile. Thanks for small favors.
However, her “possibilities” were rapidly dwindling. She scanned the room again, telling herself that she was looking for Mikki, not Tucker. She’d spotted him frequently in the past hour, seemingly trying his key on every girl who caught his eye.
Had he found his match yet?
Not that she cared. Life was too short to waste on men who ran hot and cold—hot when they were one-on-one and their sap was running, cold when their friends showed up and suddenly they didn’t want to be seen with the “fat girl.”
Lauren would gasp and say, “But you’re not fat!”
Mikki would say, “Screw ’em if they don’t appreciate you.”
Her mother, Emma Constable, would not even understand the issue. Rory had inherited her height and shape from Emma, who carried herself with the grace of a queen and had not a shred of self-consciousness about being zaftig. As mortifying as Rory had found her mother during adolescence—a time already made bad enough by dint of a body that was six inches and thirty pounds bigger than most of the other girls—she’d learned to live with Emma’s openness about all things sexual.
The woman collected male admirers with an ease that was astounding. Even inspiring. Rory’s foster sisters had called it Emma’s mojo. There could be no better proof that sexual attraction wasn’t only about bodies, but brains, as well.
Unfortunately, Rory’s brain still got more action than her body. Even so, she was hopeful. Always hopeful.
But not desperate.
She undid the catch on her necklace and slipped off the damned thing. The prizes didn’t matter to her. What hurt was that she’d let herself believe, for a short while, that she might meet someone who’d not only see the inner her, but be equally enticed by the outer person.
She knew she wasn’t unattractive. There’d been a handful of admirers over the years. But she’d never be a Barbie doll with a twenty-two-inch waist, and that narrowed her options a lot.
Suddenly her pulse leaped. There was Tucker, near the bar. No key partner yet.
He was in a conversation with a man Rory had noticed throughout the evening, moving from woman to woman with his key out. The slavering hound-dog type.
The man gestured. Tucker talked fast, looking right at her for a couple of seconds before deliberately turning away. Her face flushed with heat as they surreptitiously exchanged keys.
“Ready to go?” Mikki plopped onto a stool and put her chin on her hand. Her eyelids lowered sleepily. “What’re you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Rory said. There was no reason for her to believe that Tucker had palmed off his key—the key that he’d avoided fitting into her locket—on the other guy.
No reason except her own self-doubt.
She grabbed the evening bag that matched her boutique version of an ethnic batik dress. “Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Mikki pushed back her tousled hair. “Did you find your key partner yet?”
“Nope, and I’m giving up. I’ll drop the necklace off at the door in case someone else wants to try it.”
“What about the prizes? The movie tickets?”
Rory was an avowed film buff, but not even tickets to a red carpet premiere would entice her to stick around. “I’ve had enough humiliation, thanks, Mikki. I’m leaving. Unless you’d rather get a ride home from Nolan, I suggest you come with me.”
“Nolan. That son of a—” Mikki sputtered peppery insults as she climbed off the stool, looking a bit wobbly. She’d definitely been drinking more than diet cola.
Rory took a firm grip on her sister’s arm. “I’m not letting you get away this time. Are you ready to tell me what happened between you and Nolan?”
“Make that what didn’t happen.” Mikki extricated her heel from the rungs of the stool and pulled herself upright. Her blue eyes sharpened through the haze of alcohol. “Namely, our divorce.”
“What!”
“The rat bastard told me the divorce was never legal. Right before he smiled and stuck his key in my lock.” Mikki was clearly outraged by the encounter. “Then he went and walked out on me before we collected our prize! But never mind.” She patted her purse. “I’ll be much happier at the B and B in Napa without him.”
Rory’s mind was pedaling to catch up to speed. “You and Nolan are still married?”
“Technically.” Mikki let out another colorful oath. “But not for long. I’ll take care of that damn fast, lemme tell ya.”
“Before you rush into anything, it wouldn’t hurt to take some time to think the situation through.” Rory had always believed that despite Mikki’s injured pride, there remained a strong connection between her and Nolan, her first true love. Maybe even her one and only.
But her sister wasn’t in any mood to listen to reason. “Hey, Tuck, old friend!” Mikki waved. “Come say bye-bye.”
He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and headed their way.
Rory rolled her eyes. Super. Maybe now he’d try his key on her, but the joke would be on him because the guy he’d exchanged with hadn’t approached