I shifted from foot to foot behind my seat, feeling a tad awkward and exposed. There was no one else at the table yet, and my girlfriend, Stephania, had gone off to freshen up what seemed like hours ago. My cousin, Catherine, who was also the bride, was obviously not there yet. Dozens of my aunts, uncles, and cousins were there, but it had been ten or fifteen years since I'd been out west and seen any of them. Even if I recognized them, I wasn't comfortable talking to them till I had a few drinks in me.
So, I waited without patience for Steff to return and tried to look like I was fascinated with the décor and not just standing there deserted and pathetic and alone. The room was indulgent, that's the best word for it. Chandeliers were everywhere, sparkly beige curtains flowed, and there was an opulent stage where the main table was perched for the guests of honor. The dinner tables numbered in excess of twenty, and all seated ten people, but no one was sitting yet. Everyone knew someone and moved easily from conversation to conversation. Our table was on the outer perimeter, estranged, like me.
I scanned the room for Steff every couple of minutes. That's when the cute redhead started walking toward me, and I knew it was trouble right away. I always had a thing for redheads, an instant tummy-flipping reaction where I lose myself in the moment and become a pathetic fangirl staring into her eyes, looking for her to stare back. Like most of them, this one didn't, but I could tell they were blue-green and I let out the tiniest of whimpers as she continued walking straight at me. She had this impish grin on her tiny perfect mouth, and it bled into her gorgeous eyes too. She was one of those people who always look like they have a juicy secret they can't wait to tell someone.
She stopped at the chair beside mine and read the place card, then squinted at me in a way that suggested she might normally wears sexy specs, God save me from that, at least. "Have we met before?" Oh great, she had an accent too; an Irish redhead. I was in trouble.
I considered during a few more seconds of staring that she was maybe a long, forgotten cousin, but then I shook my head. "No, I thought I recognized you. Simone, I'm guessing." I'd read her place card while waiting.
She gave me a quick up and down glance, then smiled in a way that said she appreciated my smarts. Or maybe it was my long frame. She didn't even look at her place card; she just knew that I'd checked it out. I liked that; being assumed to be clever by an obviously smart girl. I glanced at mine, however, and told her my name was Kara. We chatted for a while like two lost souls delighted to find each other in a crowd of strangers. Simone was like me and Steff, from out of town. She came from Ireland originally, was now living in Texas, but had studied public relations at Fordham University and knew my cousin Catherine from a summer internship she'd done. She looked maybe twenty years old, but based on her story, she was older by at least a couple of years.
I spotted Steff walking toward us with a glare and pinched lips, and I groaned inwardly. This was the part I'd dreaded even as I enjoyed every sweetness of the past several moments alone with the cute redhead. Steff was always a little bit wary of other pretty girls, but especially redheads ever since I'd told her about my favorite old girlfriend, Michelle.
There was a short period where she'd relished me talking about my old flings, back when we'd first met. She felt like she had won me from every former girlfriend, and Michelle in particular. Steff was nothing if not competitive. In the early days, she used to talk about her in bed and enjoy watching how the memories of her got me turned on as she used her fingers to draw pictures on different areas of my skin and her words to create images in my mind. But, over time, she realized I was getting turned on by those images she was painting of my ex and it started to get to her. The mentions she made of Michelle became more and more tinged with bitterness, and whenever I talked with a redhead in real life, it positively irked her, getting worse over time.
When she reached my side, she linked her arm in mine and continued with the glare, right at Simone. I tried to maintain my smile, but all I could think about was how the rest of the night would be filled with tension. Then, the taller redhead stuck out her hand confidently and announced in her light Irish brogue, "I'm Simone. You must be the woman Kara won't shut up about." It was a nice move, if not even slightly true, and Steff's grip loosened. I looked at her, and the glare was gone, her features softening and she took in Simone's entirety. For her part, Simone seemed entirely pleased with herself, and I was impressed. She'd managed to disarm my girlfriend like no one else I'd ever seen.
Steff released my arm and took Simone's hand, looking quickly at me. In her thickest Spanish accent, she said, "Oh, what have you been saying?"
Simone smiled at me, somehow sure that I would save the day. "Simone studied PR, and I told her you're a bit of a goddess in the industry." Simone grinned her approval at me with twinkling bright blue-green eyes, as if to say, "Well done."
"You're already my hero," Simone said to Steff and moved her gaze to the waiters approaching the tables. "Shall we sit?"
Simone sat first. She was to my left and Steff was to my right. "So, tell me," Simone started, talking across me as if I weren't there. After a few minutes of back and forth excited chatter about the PR industry, I felt a little bored and sat back so they could talk without being in their way. Simone had a way of elevating the person she was talking to and their conversation seemed to take the edge off Steff's jealousy, saving me a night of having to fend off the usual barbs, as well as giving me the chance to ogle Simone without being too obvious.
I loved her hair not just because of the color, which was a rich, natural orange, but also the way it curled tightly in semi-ringlets over her shoulders and halfway down her back, setting off her black dress. If it was pulled straight, it probably would have been to her waist -- just like my ex-girlfriend's (who loved me doing that). Her body was okay, nothing to rave over or anything. She was a few inches shorter than me, maybe 5'5", and slim enough without being model thin. Her breasts were not huge, a C cup, but young and firm and perky enough that she didn't have to wear a bra, and her nipples were slightly showing through the fabric of the dress. I wondered for a bit was she perhaps turned on by Steff, but settled on probably not. I glanced at my own nipples and realized it was a little chilly in there, brushing over one of them with the back of my thumb as I lifted my wine to my lips.
Meanwhile, my Spanish lover was positively glowing from the adulation of the hot young ingénue. Mind you, Steff could turn a head too. Her coloring was gorgeous. Her mom was Filipino and her dad was Spanish, so her eyes were an exotic mix. Like Simone, she also wore a black dress, but Steff's was a tighter fit to show off her tiny ass. If Steff could, she'd wear yoga pants everywhere because she knew she'd get looks. Her favorite pair were wafer thin and she'd wear them without a thong. You could almost see her pussy lips if you looked carefully. For my cousin's wedding though, she dressed like a grown-up. She did it for me, but frankly, after listening to the two of them gushing over each other for about an hour, it seemed almost like she'd dressed for her "date" with Simone.
By the time dinner finished, I felt thoroughly left out and pushed my seat closer to the table. It was a little passive aggressive, but they didn't skip a beat, neither of them. They just leaned forward and looked around me. After the waiters came and removed the dinner plates, Simone seemed to settle in for the long haul, leaning on her right elbow practically in front of me to get closer to Steff as the music got louder. I gulped as it gave me -- and Steff too -- a nice view down her dress, but tried not to stare so much that it would be obvious. But the eyeful I got left me a little turned on, and I shifted slightly in my seat, causing my leg to brush against hers momentarily.
She moved it away briefly, but then returned it as she laughed and bounced in her seat at one of Steff's witty remarks. It felt softer this time, and I realised her left hand was resting on her leg, the backs of her fingers touching my knee. I brushed my hair over my ear on Simone's side and smiled to myself as she left her fingers there. My legs are my best feature and definitely the thing that makes me stand out when I'm with Steff, who says she's 5'2", but that's only if she stretches her neck. I don't know why I thought of that at that moment: perhaps my own competitive juices kicking in. Usually, it's me getting the attention and Steff looking on with her simmering Spanish inner fire. But here and now, I had just gone over an hour without so much as uttering a word, which had to be a record with a redheaded cutie, whose sexy smile charmed us both, just inches away from my own suddenly dry mouth. That thought made me reach for my wine to wet and cool my lips.
Then Simone's fingers started moving ever so slightly and for the first time since we sat down, her eyes connected with mine. It wasn't a long look, just a darted flicker, but I saw it and she knew I saw it. She went back to hanging on Steff's every word, her eyes locked on my girlfriend's dark Latin eyes. That is, when they didn't move to follow her dark red lips as Steff seemed to overemphasize the thickness of her Spanish accent with certain words. It was like they were duelling with accents, Irish versus Spanish. I had to admit, it was hot apart from being excluded. Then again, I did have Simone's fingertips to connect with.
They were placed in line with the hem of my dress on the outside of my thigh, about one-third the way up my long thigh, seeming to absentmindedly trace up then down over an inch of my now-sensitive my skin as her body moved and talked. Then I noticed the range of her movements didn't match the rhythm of her body. Her fingers were moving independently, and again she darted a look at me and did her impish grin. It wasn't an accident at all. She was touching me.
