A gruff, Brooklyn accent broke through. I swiveled and found Legs, wearing a black button-down shirt and black pants, stepping into the room.
“Legs! You made it!” I held out my arms for a quick hug, and he received it with a nervous smile.
“Glad you came, buddy,” Damian said, clapping his shoulder. Trace reached out to shake his hand.
“Thanks for inviting me,” he said, looking between us. “Ain’t too often we get to hang outside of the car.”
“You were such an instrumental part of supporting our lives as I finished my coursework,” I told him, leading him deeper into the room. “It was only right to invite you.”
“You want a drink?” Damian asked him.
“Yeah, I’ll take a Manhattan.” Legs looked pleased with himself. “Seems right for a place like this.”
Damian stopped a passing server to give him Legs’ order while I pointed out who was who in the room to Legs: Mr. Mitchell, Kendra, classmates, the various details of our featured outfits.
“And you made this dress?” Legs asked me after I mentioned my own project.
“Of course.”
“One of the best designs she’s ever made,” Damian said, smoothing his hand over my hip as heat pooled in his gaze. “Tied for number one with a certain green and white dress I’m fond of, as well.”
“Maybe you could help me make something sometime,” Legs said, his gaze skating around the room. “I’ve always wanted to make a special shirt. It’s been in my head for years, I swear.”
“I’d love to,” I told him. “A Legs-Jessa collaboration. Hey, speaking of which—” I grabbed Legs’ wrist. “How many rides have I taken with you? Have I earned the backstory of your name yet?”
He started a low chuckle, and Damian and Trace joined in.
“Why are you guys laughing like that?” I asked.
“Think it’s time?” Legs asked Damian.
“It’s up to you, buddy,” he said, lifting his palms.
“This is making me a little nervous,” I admitted. Legs jerked his head toward the side of the room.
“Come ’ere. I’ll show ya.”
“Oh. I need to beshown?”
Damian simply followed with a mysterious smile on his lips.
“I gotta see this again,” Trace said, joining along.
Once we were tucked away in the mauve drapes of the corner, Legs bent down and lifted his pants leg up to his knee.
“You won’t believe the size of his legs,” Damian said, crossing his arms as he watched. Legs’s meaty calf was exposed, sprinkled with dark leg hair. But meaty was an understatement. His leg was simplydense.
“Wow,” I said.
“Like salami tubes,” Legs said, turning his leg. “It only gets worse the farther you go.”
I giggled into my hand, bending down to look closer. “Those are some pretty thick legs, Legs.”
“You should see him in a bathing suit,” Damian said. “Nobody dares wrestle this man, because his leg lock will kill you.”
I laughed, looking over at Damian. “How often are you guys wrestling in your bathing suits?”
Damian and Legs shared a guilty look. “It was only that one party…” Legs started.