“Mister Dream Date?” Midnight assumed, undoing three inches worth of cinching with her careless verbalizing.
“No breathing!” Raima scolded. “But yes.”
“Mister Dream Date?” Rose Marian parroted. “I like the sound of that. Okay, Raima, spill.”
“Big-shot lawyer her mom set her up with,” Midnight couldn’t resist being seen to know.
“Do you want to tell it?” Raima asked impatiently. “Or do you want to fit into your dress? Suck it in and shut up, would ya?”
The threat of an ill-fitting costume chastened Midnight, and Raima gushed. “We went out last night. He works with my mom, and she’s all freaked out about ‘Oh, he’s a lawyer, drag will upset his delicate constitution,’ like he’s so conservative, but he’s not, he’s been here before, and he’s here tonight!”
“You recognized him from here?”