Fast & Loose Elizabeth Bevarly (bts book recommendations .txt) 📖

Nine

IF SHE LIVED TO BE A HUNDRED AND FIFTY, LULU would never be able to figure out how she came to be sitting at a table not far from the jellyfish in Felt with her best friend since childhood and the Bad Boy of the Thoroughbred Set.

Just how did one get to be the Bad Boy of the Thoroughbred Set, anyway? she wondered as she reached for the club soda she’d begun drinking when Bree and Cole ordered round number four. Probably, she thought further, she didn’t want to know. Because even if she didn’t know how a man came by such a distinction, she’d witnessed what it meant to assume it, not the least of which was signing lots of autographs for lots of women, some of whom seemed to lose control of both their spines and their clothing whenever they came within autograph distance of the Bad Boy of the Thoroughbred Set. Lulu knew that because a couple of them had come up to their table at Felt to ask for autographs, and each of them had had to lean forward waaaaaay more than was actually necessary when she handed Cole pen and paper, and her dress somehow slipped right off her shoulders. And even though Lulu had never earned less than a B minus in science, she couldn’t think of a single law of physics that would explain a phenomenon like that.

“Let’s see,” Bree was saying now, in response to Cole’s question about the must-see Derby events happening while he was in town, “there’s the balloon race, the steamboat race, the bed race, the rat race, the wine race—”

“Bed race?” Cole repeated. “Rat race? Wine race?”

Bree nodded. “The Run for the Rosé. I’m doing that one myself. All the local restaurants enter someone from their waitstaff to race with glasses of wine. I’ll be representing the Ambassador Bar. The rat race is the Run for the Rodents, and the prize is a loving cup full of Froot Loops. With the Great Bed Race—which used to be called Bedlam in the Streets and was actually in the street, but now they’re at the fairgrounds—you have teams from local businesses that decorate beds and race them.” Bree slung an arm around Lulu’s shoulder. “Back in the day, Hortense and I were on the winning team for the copy shop where we worked when we were in high school.”

Cole smiled, and just like that, Lulu was ready to skim off her panties and do the whole silver platter thing again.

“And then there’s the parties,” Bree added. “You’ve got everything from the Barnstable Brown affair to the Derby Bash, which is great fun and raises money for the Fairness Campaign. Hortense and I go every year. You can come with us.” Before he had a chance to decline, she hurried on, “Of course, I’m betting you already have an invite to the Barnstable Brown affair.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do, actually. But I wasn’t planning on attending.”

“Oh, God, yes, you have to attend,” Bree exclaimed. “It’s the party to be seen at. Everyone wants to go to that, but even if you can afford the tickets—and even before the scalpers get a hold of them, they’re hundreds of dollars—they’re impossible to get. You need a date?” she inserted with what sounded like almost genuine carelessness.

“Wait a minute. I have to pay to go to a party I’m invited to?”

“All the big Derby parties are fundraisers,” Lulu told him.

Bree nodded. “The Barnstable Brown party raises money for diabetes research. The Mint Jubilee raises money for cancer research. The Grand Gala raises money for a bunch of different stuff. It ain’t cheap to be a party animal during Derby,” she concluded, “but at least you know you’re getting shaken down for a good cause.”

Cole smiled at that. “Well, that’s good to know.”

“The Run for the Rosé is Tuesday down on the Belvedere,” Bree said. “You should come.”

Instead of replying to Bree, Cole looked at Lulu. “Will you be there?” he asked. Then, as if he were fearful the question might be too intrusive, he quickly added, “To cheer your friend on?”

Lulu looked at Bree, who was studying her warily. “I…” she began. “I usually do go to cheer Bree on,” she said. Somehow, though, she was thinking maybe Bree didn’t want her to this year.

“Depends on what’s going on at the track that day,” Cole said. “But I’ll do my best to be there. So I know Bree tends bar, but what do you do, Hort…ense?”

Wow, Lulu thought. He almost didn’t stumble over her phony name at all that time. Of course, she’d also noticed he’d been going out of his way all night to avoid using it at all. Then she remembered he’d asked her a question about her job that needed an answer. And since most people found the idea of making glass for a living interesting enough to ask a lot of questions about it, she told herself to come up with a fake occupation that wouldn’t interest him so that the conversation would stay focused on Bree or, better yet, would be repellent enough to discourage any further conversation about Lulu at all.

Briefly, she thought about saying she styled dead people’s hair, but she didn’t want to end the conversation that completely. So she told him, “I work on the assembly line for a manufacturer of kitchen appliances.”

Cole’s expression didn’t change, so she wasn’t sure if he wasn’t interested in her alleged job or if she’d already put him to sleep.

So she added, “I’m the one who attaches the little utensil basket to dishwashers.”

He nodded at that. “Fascinating.” But, like his expression, the word was completely bland, telling her nothing of what he might actually be feeling.

Nevertheless, she managed a smile and tried to warm to the subject. “It is, actually. Not many people realize how much thought and planning goes into where you put the utensil basket on a dishwasher.”

“Well, I know I