Blair giggles manically at Jemma's inadvertent pun, then she starts buzzing into Silver's neck. He can't stop himself from laughing as he pulls her more firmly onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. Drunk Blair is so frigging cute it's unreal.
I ignore Jemma and turn back to Walt, because I just can't help myself when it comes to him. “I see you dressed up as an asshole tonight.”
He glances down at his black t-shirt and jeans, frowning. “I didn't dress up tonight. I look the same as I always do.”
“Exactly.”
He glares at me for that.
“Okay, time to lay it off, guys,” Silver calls across the table. “Tonight's for celebrating only, 'cause my woman's gonna be my wife!”
The rest of the table whoops and lifts their drinks. Blair pulls off Silver's cowboy hat and shoves it on her own head before wrapping her arms around his neck. They laugh into each others mouths as they kiss, so undeniably happy – even when they're all tipsy and diddly. It's beautiful.
And then I see tongue and it gets gross.
I steal Walt's drink before he can protest, because clearly I need to catch up with the people around me. Performing means more to me than anything in the world, but sometimes it can wreak havoc on my social life. I knock the drink back, then cough and splutter as I slam the glass on the table. “What in the crappity crapping hell was that?”
The disgustingly amused eyebrow Walt raises at me is as black as his spiky hair. I hate that he's so good looking – someone as evil as he is should be an ugly old hunchback. It would only be fair. But his sharp nose somehow works on his angular face, and those pronounced cheekbones. . .yeah, they're to die for. Jemma told me that one of his parents is Mexican, which shows in his dark olive skin. Tough guys like him have never been my type – I've always been attracted to actors and performers like myself – but if I didn't hate him so much, I'd have to admit that he's sexy as sin. Sin being the operative word. Luckily for me, I do hate him. With a passion.
“It's whiskey, you amateur,” he says with a smirk.
“God. What are you, a forty year old alcoholic? You closet psycho.” I don't even care that my comeback makes no sense. “Drink something decent so I can steal it and not die in the process. Jeez.”
“Something decent? Lemme guess – lemon drops, princess?”
“Ugh, call me princess one more time and I swear I'll make your penis wish it had never been born.”
Blair starts snickering again like that's the funniest thing she's ever heard.
“Too late, that already happened the second I met you. Princess.”
“Grow up, idiot. You're such a kidult.”
“Okay, time out. Both of you. Let's separate the two of you before drinks get thrown again.” Forced into father mode for the pair of us (again), Reid stands and grabs the back of my chair, dragging it around the table and putting me in between Fábia and Dahlia. Fábia is an old friend of Walt and Reid's, and Dahlia is Jemma's roommate, and the two of them have been looking ultra cozy recently. I make a mental note to probe Dahlia for gossip the next time I get her alone.
“Now that's fuckin' better,” Walt grunts.
I do the mature thing, and I stick my tongue out at him across the table.
+++
A SHORT WHILE later Walt disappears to the bar to hit on a gorgeous red head who seems super into him – you know, because she doesn't know him. Seeing my chance to get revenge for the underwear incident, I sidle up behind him and wrap an arm around his narrow waist.
“Hey, baby,” I coo, reaching up to kiss his stubbly cheek. God, does the guy not know how to shave or something? “I missed you over there.” Sticking out my belly as far as it can go, I rub it lovingly and gaze up at him.
When he stares back at me in disbelief, I smirk evilly. Yeah, take that one, bitch.
Chapter 2
Walt
MY CHEEK BURNS ferociously where Ibbie's lips pressed against it, even though it was for just one short second. It fucking burns, like she set me on damned fire. For a moment I just stare down at her in pure confusion, unable to form words, unable to form thoughts, and then I see that little smirk on her face and I realize that she's screwing with me. Of course she's screwing with me.
Camille the naughty school girl, who'd been about two minutes away from agreeing to come home with me, glares at me in disgust. “Jerk,” she spits, spinning and flouncing away.
I'm still in shock from the feel of Ibbie's lips on my skin and the warmth of her arm around my waist, so it takes my empty mind a second to catch up. Then I'm just torn between being utterly pissed at this little heathen for ruining a sure thing and impressed that she can get her tiny waist to stick out that far. She looks like she could be five months fucking pregnant. No wonder Camille looked at me like I was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
“You're an ass,” I tell Ibbie.
“I'm hilarious,” she counters.
“How'd you even get your stomach to do that?”
She pulls her arm away from me, smiling smugly, and immediately my skin screams out for her missing contact. “It's a special skill.”
“Yeah, you put that on your fuckin' resume?”
“Duh.”
Dismissing me now that she's successfully ruined my night, she leans against the bar and signals the bartender. I've been waiting to be served by him for twenty minutes but the second he clocks her smiling prettily he immediately flashes over. Not that I can blame the guy really. With that bouncy blonde hair and those big eyelashes and her skintight fucking bumble bee costume, she looks like Barbie's better looking sister. She orders two lemon drops – yeah, I totally called that one – and pushes one my way. Rolling my eyes, I slide it back, because there's no way on earth you'll catch me drinking that shit. Shrugging, she slugs them both back then slams the shot glasses down with a satisfied smile. When she smiles like that, she gets these two little dimples on each of her cheeks and they sock me in the gut. Every. Single. Time.
“Thanks for ruining a sure thing,” I bite out, because that's just how I react whenever she's in front of me and my insides start doing a fucking circus show. “What the hell was that for?”
“Mainly for kicks and giggles,” she replies airily, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “And also because I owed you one. That creepy hobo is now wearing my best panties as a hat, you jerk.”
I can't help but laugh at that, which only makes her glare. “What?” I demand innocently. “It was funny.”
“Well I'll be the one laughing when I cockblock you every time I see you anywhere near a hot girl. Every time.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Watch me.” She pretends to shoot me with a pair of finger guns, then she blows away the imaginary smoke. “Cockblocked!”
“How about a big fat fuck off?”
“How about we call a truce?”
Quit messing with her? And miss the way she gets all angry and fired up and grouchy? “Fuckin' never.”
“That's what I thought.”
“I think we both know what this is really about.”
She arches a thin eyebrow at me. It's a shade or two darker than her hair. “We do?”
“You were just jealous.” Each time I say something that angers her, her cheeks get these two brilliant pink dots on them. I'm obsessed with those dots. “Obviously you want me all to yourself – not that I can blame ya, princess. But this hot bod ain't for you, girl.”
Instead of storming off in outrage like most girls would, she pretends to gag. This girl is never afraid to give as good as she gets – it's one of the things I like most about her. I've never enjoyed being around anyone the way I do when I'm fighting with her. “I hate that our friends are friends and that we actually have to see each other. Like, regularly. You make my life miserable.”