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 her, either. Tuck’s odds were still the same.
“No match?” Mikki said as she leaned in to kiss Tucker’s cheek.
He gave her back a pat. “I guess it’s not my night.”
A sly smile appeared on Mikki’s face. “Rory’s still unattached.”
Rory put on a cease-and-desist look, but Mikki didn’t stop. Apparently she was getting payback for her big sis refusing to hand over the car keys when she’d wanted to run from Nolan.
“Go ahead and try her,” Mikki cooed. “You two might be a perfect fit.”
Tucker looked at Rory and raised his brows. She nodded grimly. There was no avoiding it.
“Stranger things have happened,” she said through gritted teeth. She lifted the necklace off the table, pinching the chain between two fingers. She held it high, at arm’s length.
Her eyes speared Tucker. “Dare you.”
“I’d be happy to.” With a blameless innocence that was as fake as a nugget of fool’s gold in Rory’s estimation, he caught the dangling charm in his fingers and took the key from his pocket. It slid into the lock and turned with a snick, springing the miniature suitcase open. He pulled out the slip of paper printed with their number—178—and a section to fill out with their contact information for the raffle.
Rory stared at Tucker. He didn’t seem surprised. Nor disappointed. What an actor.
Mikki applauded drunkenly. “I knew you two were a match.” She gestured at her sister’s shawl and the similar hue of his shirt. “You see? Color-coordinated. It must be destiny.”
Rory forced a smile. “Since when do you believe in destiny?” Mikki wouldn’t trust her future to something as flimsy as destiny; she believed in fighting tooth and nail for what was right.
“I don’t.” Mikki’s nose crinkled. “But you do.”
