Shane shakes his head over the mess, grumbling, “My one night away from my wife and kids and I’m still cleaning up after toddlers.”
“Lefao,” Colt tells me covertly. “He’s the center. Married. Three kids. We’re his only excitement. He sounds mad but he loves it. Beats changing diapers.”
“Not by much!” Shane shouts.
Colt smiles as he grabs me a beer out of a bucket on the island. It’s another IPA, this one from a different brewery I’ve never heard of.
I take it, reading the label. The place is in Oregon. “Are you a big beer fan?”
He twists the top off for me with a shrug. “I don’t know. It all tastes pretty much the same to me. Why?”
“You have a lot of different kinds here.”
“I get ‘em for free.” He launches the cap toward the far sink. It drops in dead center. “People send me cases. They want me to try them and think about advertising for them.”
“Wow. Have you chosen one?”
“I won’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to advertise alcohol.”
His tone is gentle but final. I don’t ask any more questions about it.
“The paparazzi are outside,” a woman laments behind us. “Please tell me you didn’t call them, Colt.”
Colt and I turn to find a couple standing behind us. They’re that ethereal brand of people that’s only manufactured in L.A. Even if they weren’t born here, pretty people find their way to the city and it assimilates them, making them one of its own, proudly slapping its brand on them. L.A. pulls in pretties like the eye of a tornado gathers double wides.
The guy is slightly taller than Colt. He has glossy black hair and gorgeous brown skin. Definitely from the islands. I recognize his face from earlier this year when I watched the Draft with my dad. Trey something. A quarterback. His draft position was an upset. It’s the only reason I remember him. Well, that and his eyes. They’re so dark they almost look black and I think Rona would shit herself sideways if she looked into them.
At his side is a blond. She’s everything I imagined in Scenario #1 – Bitch Beauties. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect skin, perfect dress, perfect purse. Heels you could win a knife fight with.
A smile you could be best friends with.
“You guys finally made it,” Colt greets them.
He and Trey do that bro thing where they clasp hands and hug briefly, pounding each other on the back. When Colt turns to the women to kiss her on both cheeks I feel a small, sick sense of jealousy.
“Kurtis let us in,” she tells him.
Colt’s eyes go big in amazement. “Matthews is here?”
“The anti-social guy from the parking lot?” I ask.
“What parking lot?” the girl asks.
“We saw him late the other night at the stadium.”
She casts Colt an impatient look. “Jesus, man, I thought you liked her. Take her somewhere nice. Not the fucking stadium. It smells like beer, brats, and sweaty man ass.”
“It was fun,” I tell her, stepping up to Colt’s defense. “It was really great, actually.”
I’m surprised when she grins instead of arguing with me. “He can make just about anything fun. It’s one of his many disturbing talents.” She offers me her hand. “I’m Sloane, by the way.”
Her handshake is hard. Assertive, without being aggressive.
“Right, sorry,” Colt apologizes. He points to each of us in turn. “The Hotness, the agent. Trey, the quarterback. Lilly, the beautiful baker.”
Trey smiles at me politely before asking Colt, “Did you not know Kurtis was here?”
“No fucking clue! I’ve been at the door almost all night and I never saw him come in. Where is he?”
“He went over by the windows to chat up a brunette.”
“Raven,” Sloane corrects.
“What’s Raven?”
“And is it so Raven or just kind of Raven?” Colt adds.
“Her hair,” Sloane answers, ignoring Colt. “It’s not brunette. It’s raven. It’s black.”
“Why does that matter?” Trey asks.
She shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“Because I love to drive you crazy.”
He grins affectionately. “You’re a very talented woman.”
“I gotta see this,” Colt mutters as he pushes past Trey.
Trey follows quickly on his heels.
Sloane reaches around me to blindly grab a bottle from the bucket. She pops the top and tosses it into the sink the way Colt did. Nothing but net.
“Come on,” she tells me with a nod toward the living area. “Let’s grab a seat on the couch. The later the night gets the more the kitchen becomes a hazard zone and if one of these guys spills beer on my shoes, he’s getting blood on his shirt.”
I follow her willingly, happy to have an ally again after losing mine at the door. “Are there really paparazzi outside?”
“Oh, only a few. They probably followed one of the boys here from a club looking for a story. They’ll leave soon. This is a small party and I don’t think Colt’s invited any big names that aren’t on the team.”