were wildly attractive. Most, of course, just looked kind of nice. Acceptable.
Regardless of what they looked like, Hayley normally wouldnât have approached any of them. Certainly not the wildly attractive ones. Normally she would sit with her friends at a table, waiting for one of them to come up to her, hoping that it wasnât one of the really disgusting ones.
Or if her friends werenât around, for whatever reason, sheâd be circling the room. Compulsively circling. Her fear of being mistaken for a wallflower was so great that she would traverse the confines of the party over and over, desperately hoping to see an acquaintance, at least, with whom to exchange fresh small talk.
Circling, circling . . . anything to avoid appearing alone (gasp) or uninteresting (horrors!) to her peers. But it wasnât like sheâd ever just walk up to a guy she didnât know. She didnât have the guts. Stupid. Hayley knew this. She had many excellent qualities. Women much more annoying or unattractive than she did quite well at parties and bars.
Well, this time she had no choice but to enter the fray. And after all, she had armor. Hayley hoisted her boobs one last time, squared her shoulders, and walked up to the table. She offered a brilliant smile.
âJohnny Beer bottle-cap opener, anyone?â
Within seconds the men engulfed her in some sort of alternate universe. They ogled, flattered, bribed, begged, flirted, offered her an unlimited supply of free beer, and generally treated her like the most desirable woman on earth.
At the end of what seemed like several hours, Hayley detached herself from the mob to use the restroom. When she returned, a blond, heavily muscled blue-eyed hunk handed her a fresh beer and stepped directly in front of the sleek Asian fellow whoâd been flirting with her last. âDo you have any idea how beautiful you are?â he asked.
He sounded drunk or stupid. Or maybe he was just from L.A. Hayley took a swig from the bottle and grinned. This was fun. âNo. Why donât you tell me?â
He looked confused. As if he wasnât expecting to actually have to answer. âYouâre really, really beautiful.â Hayley didnât say anything and he obviously got the impression he had to do a little better than that. âYouâre like a big yellow-and-green sunflower. Like a big yellow-and-green sunflower. Yeah.â
Hayley shook her head and giggled before turning away. Therereally was something about the dress, the boobs, the commemorative bottle-cap openers, the act, the whole shebang, that attracted men like flies.
And the interesting part was that Hayley kind of got into it. She turned some of them away with a look or a word, insulted the ones who were too grabby, and flirted back with the ones she liked.
She was starting to understand just what Suz was talking about when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to find a gorgeous Latin-looking man dressed in Armani.
âMy name ees Sergio Montoya-Azevedo.â He put an arm around her waist and dipped her backward in a loverâs swoon (she had to clap one hand over the wig to keep it from flying off), and then bent over her and lasered his passionate eyes into hers. âAnd now I am going to dance weeth you.â
He lifted her up onto the bar, then, without looking, pointed with full arm extension behind him at the deejay station and cued Ricky Martin.
It wasnât like in the movies, where the bar being danced upon is miraculously free of drinks or other breakable objects. And it also wasnât like in the movies, where both parties coincidentally happen to know how to dance a decent salsa.
Hayley had no idea how to dance any kind of salsa, but since Sergio kept his body as close as he could get to her, what with the skirt smashed up between them, all she had to do was wriggle out a sort of bastardized version of dirty dancing and everyone was happy.
Her
Regardless of what they looked like, Hayley normally wouldnât have approached any of them. Certainly not the wildly attractive ones. Normally she would sit with her friends at a table, waiting for one of them to come up to her, hoping that it wasnât one of the really disgusting ones.
Or if her friends werenât around, for whatever reason, sheâd be circling the room. Compulsively circling. Her fear of being mistaken for a wallflower was so great that she would traverse the confines of the party over and over, desperately hoping to see an acquaintance, at least, with whom to exchange fresh small talk.
Circling, circling . . . anything to avoid appearing alone (gasp) or uninteresting (horrors!) to her peers. But it wasnât like sheâd ever just walk up to a guy she didnât know. She didnât have the guts. Stupid. Hayley knew this. She had many excellent qualities. Women much more annoying or unattractive than she did quite well at parties and bars.
Well, this time she had no choice but to enter the fray. And after all, she had armor. Hayley hoisted her boobs one last time, squared her shoulders, and walked up to the table. She offered a brilliant smile.
âJohnny Beer bottle-cap opener, anyone?â
Within seconds the men engulfed her in some sort of alternate universe. They ogled, flattered, bribed, begged, flirted, offered her an unlimited supply of free beer, and generally treated her like the most desirable woman on earth.
At the end of what seemed like several hours, Hayley detached herself from the mob to use the restroom. When she returned, a blond, heavily muscled blue-eyed hunk handed her a fresh beer and stepped directly in front of the sleek Asian fellow whoâd been flirting with her last. âDo you have any idea how beautiful you are?â he asked.
He sounded drunk or stupid. Or maybe he was just from L.A. Hayley took a swig from the bottle and grinned. This was fun. âNo. Why donât you tell me?â
He looked confused. As if he wasnât expecting to actually have to answer. âYouâre really, really beautiful.â Hayley didnât say anything and he obviously got the impression he had to do a little better than that. âYouâre like a big yellow-and-green sunflower. Like a big yellow-and-green sunflower. Yeah.â
Hayley shook her head and giggled before turning away. Therereally was something about the dress, the boobs, the commemorative bottle-cap openers, the act, the whole shebang, that attracted men like flies.
And the interesting part was that Hayley kind of got into it. She turned some of them away with a look or a word, insulted the ones who were too grabby, and flirted back with the ones she liked.
She was starting to understand just what Suz was talking about when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to find a gorgeous Latin-looking man dressed in Armani.
âMy name ees Sergio Montoya-Azevedo.â He put an arm around her waist and dipped her backward in a loverâs swoon (she had to clap one hand over the wig to keep it from flying off), and then bent over her and lasered his passionate eyes into hers. âAnd now I am going to dance weeth you.â
He lifted her up onto the bar, then, without looking, pointed with full arm extension behind him at the deejay station and cued Ricky Martin.
It wasnât like in the movies, where the bar being danced upon is miraculously free of drinks or other breakable objects. And it also wasnât like in the movies, where both parties coincidentally happen to know how to dance a decent salsa.
Hayley had no idea how to dance any kind of salsa, but since Sergio kept his body as close as he could get to her, what with the skirt smashed up between them, all she had to do was wriggle out a sort of bastardized version of dirty dancing and everyone was happy.
Her
Similar Books
