“You’re here,” he says quietly into my hair, his chin on the top of my head in an all-encompassing, affectionate way that makes my heart stutter in my chest.
I can only laugh in reply, wrapping my arms around his waist to return the hug.
He releases me slowly, reluctantly, before spotting Rona. He laughs out loud happily when he sees her. “Rona, what’s up girl? Get in here. Give me love.”
Rona doesn’t hesitate to step into his embrace. She hugs him back tightly as he whispers something in her ear. Whatever he says makes her throw her head back with laughter.
“I mean it,” he promises her when he lets her go. “Dude is into it. You’ll love it.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’ll thank you me later.”
“I hope so.”
Colt turns to the room, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Yo! Hibbert! Cut that shit!”
The music comes to an abrupt halt. All eyes turn attentively to Colt.
He comes to stand behind Rona and I. His hands land on my shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Everybody, this is Lilly. Say ‘Hi, Lilly’.”
“Hi, Lilly!” the room shouts as a whole. Glasses are raised in my direction.
I blush furiously. “Hey.”
“Lilly is off limits!”
“Boo!” a guy shouts in the back.
Colt points at him menacingly. “I’ll break your face, Lowry! I fuckin’ mean it!”
The guy laughs, his barrel chest shaking happily. He’s probably the same age as Colt but a little bigger. A little more intimidating, though Colt doesn’t seem to see it.
He steps behind Rona, gripping her shoulders the same way he did mine. “This is Rona.”
“Hi, Rona!” the room cheers obediently.
Rona does not blush. She drinks in the attention, throwing her arm proudly in the air. “What’s up, everybody?!”
“Rona is not off limits,” Colt tells them. “In fact, the first guy who gets off his ass and gets Rona a drink gets the first dance with her, and boys, she likes to dance dirty. Swayze dirty.”
Four men make a run for the kitchen. I’m guessing that’s where the booze is. There’s shouting, banging, and a very troubling crash before two of them come racing back out with beers in their hands. Rona laughs when they come to a screeching halt in front of her. It’s a clear tie.
She looks at the bottles they’ve brought, checking the labels. Rolling Rock and an IPA from a brewery I don’t recognize. Rona hates IPAs, but she loves brown eyes and the guy who brought her the mystery beer is sporting a big ole pair of ‘em. I’m not surprised when she theatrically plucks the bottle from his hands.
A round of applause goes up through the room.
And just like that, I’ve lost my wingman.
She follows the guy to the other side of the room, smiling and listening intently as he shows her a battle scar on his arm from his race to win her attention. She fits right in immediately, seamlessly, the way she always does in every situation. She’s a lot like Colt in that way. People love her instinctively. There’s something uninhibited and exciting about them both that draws people in and makes them want to be part of the party.
I’m too mellow for that. I’m the person you come to when you want peace and quiet and a gentle hand. The one who’s there for you when you’re nursing a hangover, compliments of the party.
“I might have sold your friend for a beer,” Colt apologizes from behind me. “Sorry about that.”
“She’s gotten herself out of worse. She’s very resourceful.”
“Can she actually dance? I was talking out my ass there.”
“She can. Really well. Your Swayze reference wasn’t a lie.”
“What about you?”
“I carried a watermelon.”
He frowns. “What?”
“It’s a line from the movie. Baby, she carries a… you know what, never mind. No. I can’t dance. Or I can, but I don’t. For the good of the nation.”
Colt chuckles, raising his hand to someone across the room. He spins it in the air and the music kicks back on, the bass rumbling in my chest. “That’s very patriotic of you. Do you drink for your country?”
“I’d drink for the enemy if they had the right brew.”
“Let’s see if we’ve got what you need, traitor.”
He takes my hand to pull me behind him through the crowd. It parts for him. Hand to God. The sea breaks for the man as we cross the huge open loft to the kitchen area tucked in the far left corner. All of the appliances are stainless. All of the cupboards a beautiful honey colored wood. There’s a massive island in the middle with a range and a second sink. A big guy with a bushy beard and a shaved head is hunched in the corner with a broom in one hand and a pan in the other. He’s sweeping broken bottle shards up off the polished cement floor.
“Did we suffer a casualty, Shane?” Colt asks him.
Shane scowls at him. “You sent those dumb fucks racing in here and banging around. Kyle knocked my beer out of my hand.”
“If it makes you feel any better, he won.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Sorry, man.”