Yes, he was wealthy, handsome and self-confident, but he was also full of himself and far too free with his affections. Imagine! He’d called her baby and took the pins out of her hair, and she’d just stood there and let him. Unexpected goose bumps lifted on her arms and she hugged herself.
Ahmaya stood in front of the mirrored closet door, examining her reflection as she got ready for the party. “What do you think about this skirt?”
“The hem is too short.”
“Perfect,” Ahmaya purred.
“You’re going to wear it anyway?”
“I am. If you think it’s too short that means it’s exactly the right length.”
Haley sat up. “You’re saying I’m a prude?”
“Uh-huh, kinda.” Ahmaya ran her fingers through her straight, glossy black hair.
“I’m not a prude,” she argued against the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was she? She didn’t mean to be; it was just that she had certain principles and she wasn’t going to compromise.
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“Prove you’re not a prude.”
“I don’t have to prove anything.”
“You don’t curse.”
“So what?”
“Prudes don’t curse.”
“I believe in having a wide vocabulary. Is that so wrong?”
“Prudish.”
“What?” She raised her arms. “I should go around swearing like a sailor to prove I’m not prudish? Okay, then.” Haley let loose with a few descriptive curse words.
Ahmaya looked surprised. “I had no idea you knew those words.”
“I’m a nurse. I’ve heard a lot worse than that. It’s just that cursing seems so crude and uncivilized.”
“Sometimes—” Ahmaya grinned “—it’s fun to be uncivilized.”
“If you say so.”
“Prude.”
“Are we back to that?”
“It’s the truth of your being.”
“I don’t think prude is the right word. Prudent, if you wish, but not prudish.”
“Hmm.” Ahmaya stepped into a pair of mile-high stilettos. “Prove it.”
“I just did.”
“Not by cursing, by coming with me to Jeb’s party. I need a wing woman.”
“You don’t need a wing woman.”
“Everyone needs a wing woman.”
“Call Jessie. I’m sure she’d go.”
“She’s stuck working second shift.”
“Ahmaya, I don’t want to go.”
“But you’re the one with a car.”
“It’s only a half mile. You can ride your bike.”
“In this?” Ahmaya swept a dramatic hand at her sexy outfit. She had a point. Jimmy Choo didn’t pedal well. Her friend dropped on her knees in front of Haley, pressed her palms together. “Please, please, please. I’ll do the crash-cart checks for you all month.”
Haley sighed. “You know parties aren’t my thing.”
“Seriously, it’s great that you’re all into altruistic causes and saving people and everything, but you can’t work or think about work 24/7. You need to lighten up. Let your hair down.”
That remark had Haley remembering how Jeb had pulled the bobby pins from her hair. She suppressed a shiver. He’d kept her bobby pins. It would serve him right if she went to his party and demanded the return of her bobby pins.
“You are the dullest twenty-seven-year-old I know.” Ahmaya pouted.
Ouch! That hurt.
Haley considered self-discipline her strong suit, not a flaw. It was what had gotten her through nursing school with a 4.0 grade-point average. An accomplishment she was very proud of.
“One little bitty party isn’t going to kill you. Everyone is going to be there. Look at it as a networking opportunity.” Ahmaya batted her long, dark lashes. “Pretty please?”
“Oh, all right, but I’m only staying for one drink and then I’m out of there.”
“You’ll drink really slowly, right?”
“An hour. I’ll stay an hour. If you’re ready to go in an hour, you can leave with me. If you’re not, then you’ll have to find your own way home.”
Ahmaya’s face dissolved into a happy smile and she extended her hand. “Deal.”
Huffing out a sigh, Haley shook her hand.
“Now,” Ahmaya said, “we have to find you something sexy to wear.”
“No, we don’t. Jeans and a T-shirt will do just fine.”
Ahmaya looked aghast. “Shut your mouth. This is a par-tay. You’re not going looking like a schlub.”
“I came here with the Red Cross and I stayed to work. I have scrubs and jeans and that’s it.”
“Ah.” Ahmaya’s eyes glistened. “But I have party clothes. My sister sent me a big box of them last month.”
“You wear a size four.”
“You’re not that much bigger than me. I bet we can squeeze you into my blue Ann Taylor Loft spaghetti strap. Ann Taylor sizes run big, and blue is your color.” Ahmaya dug in her closet, found the dress, tossed it to Haley. “The dress is a little bland for my taste anyway. Should be right up your alley.”
“I’m not much for florals. Too girly.”
“No excuses. Try it on.” Ahmaya sank her hands on her hips.
Reluctantly, Haley stripped off her scrubs and put on the dress. It hugged her curves and the hem fell halfway up her thigh. Hello, where’s the burlesque stage? Gypsy Rose Lee is in the house. She tugged at the bottom of the dress, trying to lengthen it. “It’s too short.”
“You’ve got dynamite legs. Why are you so scared to show them?”
“I’m
