Saving Face

Chapter 1

Kas - Seven Months Ago

Popcorn should not be considered a viable choice of finger food. I crunch down on the airy, tasteless morsel and run through everything it should be replaced with: cream cheese and salmon on salted crackers, bruschetta, even some stuffed dates wouldn’t go amiss. Anything but these stale kernels.

I sigh and wash the popcorn down with a glass of free champagne provided by this art exhibition.

“You seriously can’t hit them in the dick?” Ash asks from beside me.

I peer down at his badly bleached hair with emerging dark brown roots. One thing more annoying than the gallery’s food selection is a bored, obnoxious fifteen-year-old. I thought showing support for my best friend’s new girl would be peaceful given it’s a gallery event. Instead, my favorite pastime of people-watching is being disturbed.

I hate socializing and Ash is really testing me.

“As I’ve said, if you hit your opponent in the dick you’ll get disqualified,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Ash clicks his tongue for a beat, stances up, and slowly moves his fist to my face. He puffs his cheeks and makes an explosion sound when it connects with my temple. I don’t react for a moment, then jerk forward from the wall I’m leaning against.

Ash flinches back and gasps hard enough to choke on his breath. “Fuck,” he wheezes, pushing his hair out of his face.

Satisfied, I return to my position against the wall.

“She’s hot.”

Ash nudges his chin toward a woman perusing some framed artwork. She has graying hair tied into a fancy updo, and her hands are slightly aged.

“Focus on girls your age,” I warn, fisting my half-full glass of champagne and draining the rest of it. A rough appraisal of Ash’s outfit shows he’s spruced up his suit with a couple of silver rings on one hand and a dangling cross earring to match. “And keep your tastes limited to your edgy fashion, not women.”

Ash huffs. I feel his eyes on me when I tip my head up to assess the exposed trusses lining the ceiling and the setting sun dipping behind the clerestory windows. I’m taking full advantage of Ash shutting the fuck up by allowing the quiet chatter of guests to lull me back to calmness.

“Here we have Violet Lee, sister of Ashton Lee, in her natural habitat surrounded by art,” Ash booms in a fake, enunciated British lilt.

My eyes snap open. “You’re done,” I say, pushing Ash away from me. “Go and find your parents.”

He resists my shove and forces his next words out through a laugh. “She greets another artist and—oh, her dashing mate approaches to remove some dust from her clothes.”

I distance myself from Ash by two side steps and cross my arms over my chest. “Stay over there,” I demand and look across the gallery floor.

True to Ash’s observation, Devon picks some imaginary lint off Violet. It’s the same imaginary lint he’s been picking off all evening as an obvious excuse to touch her.

Ash clears his throat. “Goddamn, Mari looks sexy.”

My eyes flick to the left of Devon where Mari stands photographing guests with her chunky camera. She’s wearing a long, silk, plum-colored dress that ties at the neck and flows as if someone had poured it over her—every ebb and flow of fabric is at her command. It looks rich against her dark skin, skin that seems void of any blemish from what I saw up close thirty minutes ago when being formally introduced to her.

I don’t openly agree with Ash, but I do recognize Mari as being the hottest woman here.

“Don’t be a creep,” I say, enticing a scoff from Ash as he slides his phone into his ebony suit jacket.

“Dude, I’d listen to you if you weren’t also staring at her. Besides, Mari isn’t a stranger, she’s the woman of my dreams.”

I continue to observe Mari as she flits around the room. She’s had a lasting impression on me—literally. After bumping into me when stepping back to take a photo of Violet earlier on, I was left with a crease on my ivory shirt. I haven’t touched this suit since Mom’s funeral and ironing it this morning wasn’t a small task.

Ash taps one of my empty champagne flutes on the floor with the tip of his dress shoe. “Can I have some bubbly?” he asks with eager, brown eyes.

I match them with a firm glare. “No.”

“You, Kas, are a certified Kasshole.”

“Kasshole? That’s a new one,” I muse with a hint of a smile.

My unbothered attitude seems to have annoyed Ash because he goes on some muttered tangent about me being the lamest twenty-something he knows.

“I’m not forcing you to hang out with me,” I argue, throwing a handful of popcorn into my mouth. “You chose to stand here.” My words are muffled by the food.

“Because you’re grumpy and being this close to you makes you look like my hired bodyguard,” he counters. Ash inches closer to me and does a double take at the exhibition crowd. “Oh my god, bro, she’s coming here.”

Mari saunters up to us with her heeled feet planted one in front of the other like some sort of model on a catwalk. Her glossy lips are parted in a dazzling grin. It’s a contagious smile, and a glance at Ash shows that he’s more than happy to reciprocate. I self-consciously adjust my watch and dust the lapels of my suit until she comes to a stop in front of us.

“Hey, boys,” Mari says in a vibrant cadence and pushes a handful of waist-length braids over her shoulder.

“Hey,” we say at the same time.

“Did I ever tell you how phenomenal you look tonight?” Ash swoons, trying to get the one-up after our greeting merged into one. “Designer?” Ash tilts his head down the length of her dress.

“Nope. Thrifted, no label,” she replies, ignoring the first part of Ash’s question and turning to me. “Kas, you ran off so fast earlier, I didn’t get to ask if you remembered me.”

Of course I remembered her.

“Yeah, we met a few minutes ago.”

Mari giggles at my response. “No, from school. I was a grade below and on the track team.”

I squint at her in an attempt to jog my memory. I don’t remember anything from school, and I’ve actually never seen Mari before this event.

“I don’t remember you. Did you peak in high school or something? Haven’t thought about that place in years,” I joke to ease the slight awkwardness seeping into the air between us.

I take this as an opportunity to run my eyes over her again. Her slightly-defined quads peek through the slit of her dress and—

My silent admiration halts when my eyes venture back to Mari’s brown depths lingering with irritation. My joke didn’t land. Fuck socializing.

“I was on the wrestling team,” I add, holding my tongue so I don’t dig myself a bigger hole.

She nods slowly. “I know.”

“I was on the wrestling team,” Ash repeats in a high-pitched, infantilizing tone. “Can I have a few solo shots please, Mari?” he asks.

“Sure.” She raises her camera and snaps one picture, freezing when Ash holds up his hand.

“Not here, over there with better lighting, and away from this chump.” He mumbles the last part of his sentence and earns a small smile from Mari.

Chump?

Ash points toward the area he’s referring to. Mari, more than happy to sever herself from our conversation, starts walking in the direction of Ash’s finger.

“Try not to be an ass next time,” Ash whispers as he passes me. Mari gives me one last unimpressed once-over as she leaves. “I mean, can you believe how rude ...” Ash’s voice diminishes as he and Mari enter the crowd of attendees.

I snatch another glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and sip the cool liquid. There’s a brief feeling of regret that niggles at the back of my mind and has me scrutinizing each exchanged word with Mari. She probably thinks I’m a little green alien sheathed in the body of a Polish man and tasked with blending in with the human race.

I catch Mari’s eye from across the room and raise my glass to her in what I hope is a redeeming friendly gesture. She pretends not to see me and focuses on taking Ash’s photo. With a shrug, I lift the glass to my lips. I doubt I’ll be seeing her anytime soon, and I sure as hell won’t be losing sleep over whether some acquaintance likes me or not.

Not a goddamn wink.