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“That performance from Kai kicked off our game,” I explain. “And now, it’s time for my dare for Kendrick!” The crowd cheers, apparently already feeling as invested in the game as I do. With a wide smile, I address Kendrick. “KC, I dare you to hit on Reed Rivers over there, to the very best of your abilities, stopping only after you’ve successfully made him smile.”
Everyone but Reed claps and hoots in response to my edict. Reed shouts, “Leave me out of this, Fitzgerald!” But his tone is playful.
“Aw, come on, Reed,” Savage yells. “It’s her birthday!”
The crowd goads Reed on, enthusiastically, until, finally, the music mogul relents.
“Okay, fine,” Reed says, and, in response, the crowd cheers like their team just scored a goal at the World Cup.
“Don’t go easy on him, Reed!” I shout across the room. “You have to make Kendrick work for that smile!”
“I know of no other way,” Reed deadpans.
And away we go. To the great pleasure of the crowd, Kendrick saunters over to Reed. But he doesn’t stop when he reaches him. He walks right on by. Immediately, though, Kendrick doubles back, looks Reed up and down lasciviously, and says, “Oh, hey there, baby. Do you believe in love at first sight . . . or should I walk past you again?”
Of course, the crowd loves it and reacts accordingly. But Reed doesn’t look even tempted to smile. In fact, Reed replies flatly, “No, you can keep on walking with a piss-poor line like that, motherfucker.”
Kendrick snorts. “It’s not gonna get much better than that, unfortunately.” As the crowd laughs and applauds, Kendrick puffs out his cheeks, contemplating his next attempt. But when it’s clear Kendrick is ready to try again, the crowd goes quiet with anticipation. “Hey, baby,” Kendrick says to Reed. “Do me a favor. Feel my shirt.”
“Because it’s made of ‘boyfriend material’?” Reed supplies. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”
“Fuck.”
Everyone in the room, other than Reed, guffaws again.
But Kendrick won’t be denied. Squaring his shoulders, Kendrick flashes Reed an incredibly hot smolder and says, “Hey there, sexy . . . I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I—”
“Have mine?” Reed interrupts. “No. Fuck off.”
There’s another round of laughter, before Kendrick swipes his thumb over his nose, winks at Reed, and says, “Hey, gorgeous, are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got—”
“Fine written all over me.” Reed shakes his head. “Amateur. Bush league. Weak. Try again.”
And on and on it goes, pretty much just like that, through four more rounds. Until, finally, Reed breaks. But not in response to anything Kendrick has said—but in response to something Reed himself has said. Kendrick asks, “Can I follow you wherever you’re going, Reed? Because my momma always told me to—”
“Follow your dreams,” Reed interjects, his expression set in stone. And then, he takes a step forward, getting into Kendrick’s handsome face, and says, “Do me a favor, KC. Tell your momma I said, ‘Fuck Kendrick. Fuck his dreams. And thanks for sucking my cock last night.’”
“Reed!” Georgina shouts, as the party explodes with shocked laughter. And that’s when Reed throws his head back and guffaws at his own inappropriate joke.
“That doesn’t count!” Kai shouts, as his brother raises his arms in victory. “Kendrick didn’t make Reed smile! Reed made Reed smile!”
But the rest of the party agrees it did, indeed, count. And, quickly, the group’s attention turns to Savage. My last victim.
Someone yells, “Make him show us his cock!”
“Just google him if you want to see that,” I fire back, and the party hoots with laughter.
“No more dick pics from Savage!” Rhoda, a producer from Sing Your Heart Out, yells.
I quickly assure Rhoda, and the boisterous crowd, I’ve got no desire to add to Savage’s online dick pic collection tonight. “Actually . . . ,” I say from my perch on the piano bench. I smile at Savage below me. “For Savage, I pick Truth.”
“Truth isn’t an option,” Savage says quickly. But his bandmates desert him instantly, with all of them saying I can pick any damned thing I want, since I’m the Birthday Queen.
“We never pick Truth because we know everything there is to know about you,” Kendrick explains to his best friend. “But as the Birthday Queen, Laila is all-powerful.”
I return to Savage and realize anything worth asking him, I’d want to hear his answer in private. Also, like Savage said to me this morning, there’s no need to “dare” the man to do a damned thing, since, one, he’d do any important thing I asked, whether it’s my birthday or not, and, two, any not-important thing I might dare him to do, in order to humiliate him in front of a crowd, wouldn’t be fun for me. I have no desire to humiliate my sweet boyfriend, even for fun. And even if I did have that urge, it wouldn’t outweigh my desire to ask Savage an important question and know, without a doubt, he felt required to tell me the whole truth, without spinning or half-truthing it.
