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In response to me glaring at Colin, and Colin therefore glaring at him, Fish throws up his arms and shouts at Colin, “How was I supposed to know you hadn’t told her?”
“Don’t you dare be angry with Fish for telling me the truth,” I say to Colin. “He didn’t blow it by being honest with me. You blew it by not being honest.”
“I didn’t mention it because the main reason I invited you to the party was to help you. So why mention I was also incidentally getting a benefit out of it, too?”
“Because you manipulated me!” I whisper-shout, so as not to scare little Jackson. “Because if I’m truly your friend, then you should have trusted me to want to help you! Frankly, I’m relieved to hear you’re getting something out of bringing me tonight, because it means I don’t owe you nearly as much as I thought. The fact that you don’t know I’m dying to be of service to you, to finally do something nice for you, the way you always do nice stuff for me, is what pisses me off the most, Colin. You thought you had to manipulate me to do your bidding, when all you had to do was ask.”
Violet, Fish, and Alessandra are all looking at me like, You tell him, girlie, while Dax is looking at Colin, like, Dumbass. Which means there’s not a single facial expression in the group that makes me feel like I’m out of line or overreacting. And so, I persist.
“As a favor to you, I’ll play the part of your ‘date’ tonight, when we arrive at the party. And I’ll keep doing it until we’re sure Laila and Savage have seen us together. But after that, all bets will be off, my friend. After that, I’m going to mingle like the extremely single woman I am. Who knows? I might even meet a nice drummer who has a thing for redheads.” As Colin’s jaw muscles pulse, I turn to Violet and Alessandra, both of whom look positively delighted. “Would you ladies join me in the kitchen, while we wait for the babysitter? All of a sudden, I feel like doing a couple shots.”
Fifteen
Colin
I’m a flaming pyre as I watch Amy chatting across the crowded party with none other than Kendrick Cook, the broad-shouldered, easy-going drummer of Fugitive Summer, the band whose song “Hate Sex High” is currently number one in the world.
I keep telling myself I’m feeling nothing but protectiveness, not jealousy, in this moment—as any good big brother would feel while watching a handsome, muscular, wildly successful musician flirting with his little sister. I keep telling myself I’m watching out for Amy the way I did when we were kids. The way I did when that groomsman, Luke, hit on her at the wedding. But it’s a hard sell, given what I know about Kendrick. Despite his looks and success, he’s as far from a douchebag as a man can get—which means he’s objectively a perfect fit for Amy, if I were trying to set her up with a friend.
Which I’m not.
I think I’m particularly flustered because Fugitive Summer’s hit song is pure sex in aural form. That’s not merely due to Savage’s raunchy lyrics and sexualized vocals, as a casual fan of music might assume. Nope, as a drummer myself, I know a song can’t be that sexual without having a nasty beat that hits people squarely between their legs. And I also know, as a drummer myself, that a guy can’t bang out that dirty a beat, unless he’s got some damned good rhythm behind closed doors, too.
Fuck!
As promised, Amy entered the party on my arm and let me introduce her to our hosts as my date. She flirted with me a bit whenever Savage and Laila were nearby, all in the name of fulfilling her promise to me. The nano-second the party filled up and got crowded and crazy, and people started mixing and matching and dancing to the blaring playlist, Amy ditched my ass on a bullet train and went off with Violet, not me, to make the rounds.
For the first hour, I managed to remain pretty chill watching Violet introducing Amy around. But when Violet introduced Amy to our good friend, popstar Aloha Carmichael, who then escorted both women over to Kendrick Cook, who’d prior to then been chatting in a corner with his brother, Kai, almost all semblance of chill left my body. Still, even then, I was able to cling to a shred of my chill.
But no more. Not since Violet, Aloha, and Kai drifted away, leaving Kendrick and Amy chatting alone, their faces mere inches apart, their demeanors flirtatious. Yeah, that’s when I flipped my motherfucking lid. Inwardly, anyway. I haven’t left my spot or moved a muscle, other than breathing, clenching my teeth, and sipping my drink, for the past twenty minutes. But inside, I feel like a volcano on the bitter cusp of eruption.
