My lips parted in a mischievous smile I couldn’t smother fast enough. “Oh, I’m definitely hoping for a reaction tonight. I’m just not sure what it’ll be yet.”
He squinted at me and tipped his head slightly. “You’re plotting something.” His tone made it clear it was a statement, not a question.
I plastered an innocent expression on my face, and he pointed at me, waving his finger around.
“Nope. Not buying that. Not even for a second. You gonna let your sidekick in on it, or am I supposed to be surprised too?”
“Well, it wouldn’t exactly be a surprise if you knew it was coming, now would it?” I winked, then sobered. “Just be ready to help me escape if it all goes to hell.”
“I got your back, Batman. Let’s go start some trouble. You know Willa and Amber aren’t gonna appreciate the level of hotness you’re bringing to this party tonight.”
“Yeah, they’ll live.” I rolled my eyes. “And they’re welcome to Marco. In fact, I would love nothing more than for one—or both—of them to distract him all night long.”
Smith had a weird look on his face as we got in the car and he cranked the engine.
“What? Is there something else about tonight you’re not telling me?” I demanded.
“Nope. I’m just as curious as you are as to how it’s all going to go down. I feel like we need one of those—what are they called? Safe words? And if one of us says it to the other, we’re gone.”
I thought for a moment. “Scrotum Breath.”
He choked as he turned left. “Seriously, Reese?”
“It’s not like it’s a phrase that would just come up in conversation. Plus, if I needed to leave early, I’m sure it’d be because of him.” I shrugged.
We were almost there. It was just off campus.
“Fine. Whatever. If one of us says Scrotum Breath, we jet, no questions asked.”
Two minutes later we walked inside, the volume on the wireless speakers cranked almost uncomfortably loud. Everyone was already in various stages of getting their drink on, and it looked like a cymbal player was already hooking up with a bass drummer in the corner, wasting no time at all.
The first hour was fine. I nursed a cup of NAD juice that was pushed into my hand and made a point to stay on the other side of the room from Marco. Charlie, Cade, and I got into a heated debate about the best brand of drumsticks to buy. I was a fan of Vic Firth, Cade liked ProMark and Zildjian, and Charlie was adamant that AHEAD’s synthetic drumsticks were going to eventually gain a majority market share over the traditional wood style.
When I found my way to the kitchen for a cup of Goldfish crackers to help absorb some of the alcohol, Laird cornered me, reaching around for some snacks of his own while effectively caging me against the counter in the process.
“I’ve never seen you in a dress,” he murmured against my ear, his stubble brushing the sensitive skin on my neck and sending a shudder through me.
“You would have,” I returned smoothly, “if you’d been at your townhouse the other weekend when I showed up.”
He pulled his head back, but not his arms. “Fair enough.” His gaze dropped down my body before starting a slow journey back up, his attention lingering on my boobs. “I saw you earlier from the back and almost didn’t recognize you. You’re not wearing a bra, are you? In that dress? I’m not gonna lie, it’s making me crazy. On one hand, I love the idea that your tits are right there, just under this one little layer of fabric. On the other, I don’t want anyone else but me enjoying the view.”
“You think I wore this for you?” I pinched his forearm, sending him a subtle signal he needed to back up to keep this from looking too suspicious in front of everyone else. He begrudgingly put twelve inches of linoleum between us, disappointment clear in his eyes. “Maybe I just got tired of wearing pants?”
“You don’t ever have to wear pants around me if you don’t want to.” His voice was just loud enough for me to hear him, but there was no way to miss the heat in his green eyes.
“Does that mean you want me to wear a dress tomorrow too?”
“I don’t care what you wear as long as it includes those lace panties from the other night. I have plans for them.”
I turned as pink as the punch in my cup.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He swore under his breath. “I can’t fucking wait to see what you do tomorrow, Reese. Can’t fucking wait.” With one last searing look, he grabbed a beer from the cooler on the floor and headed over to Bubba and some of the bass drummers.
I retraced my steps past a group of cymbal players grinding on each other to find Smith again when Marco let out one of those piercing whistles that I thought only PE coaches in tiny shorts knew how to make. I was still cringing when I walked the last dozen steps to stand with Smith and Justin. Justin ended up being an alternate for a field spot—meaning, if someone couldn’t perform for any reason, he’d step in. I think he was secretly hoping someone would get drunk and break an ankle or something. He’d been fetching drinks like he was majoring in bartending instead of chemistry.
“All snares, listen up!” Marco motioned for the music to be cut. “It’s time for—hey! I’m talking!”
Despite the eardrum piercing whistle, the suddenly quiet sound system, and his repeated demands, people ignored him, continuing their conversations.
Laird stepped in and slapped his hand on a wooden console table and paused. Heads swiveled and talk dissipated when they realized who it was.
In his normal voice, he said, “Good evening! We had a great first game last week.” He smiled as hoots and cheers filled the room. I wondered briefly who lived in the apartment under this one—if they’d left for the night or been paid off to ignore the noise we were making.
“Now, I know y’all have all been waiting for this moment. Time to stand tall and be measured against your fellow drummers. Who should we have do the honors tonight?” Laird glanced around the room. Willa and Amber had their arms in the air, both waving frantically to get his attention.
“Marco?” Laird threw him a bone. “You want to pick?”
Amber, who had been flirting shamelessly with Topher earlier, fluttered her fake eyelashes at Marco. He shot her a scathing look and turned to Willa, the sweetest smile I’d ever seen from him curving his lips. “Well, traditionally, the most beautiful woman on the whole drumline is picked. So, I’m thinking the obvious choice here is Willa, right, Laird?”
Clever. He was snubbing Amber and baiting Laird, all in one fell swoop, and the smirk he wore said he was well aware of it.
Laird didn’t even pause. “I gotta let Marco win at something tonight, so Willa it is!”
Snickers came from one corner of the room where beer pong was set up, and Marco glared at them until they fell silent.
“All right, snares, front and center!” Laird set his drink down and rubbed his palms together, like he was looking forward to the contest. He probably thought he had it in the bag. Which, to be fair, he might. Laird by far had the biggest dick I’d seen with my own two eyes.
Smith handed me his cup. “Mind holding that?”
I took his drink as he navigated to the middle of the room, following behind him so I had a good view.
All the snare players were arranged in a haphazard line except for me. No one seemed to notice or care that I wasn’t included in the group, but I let it slide.
Willa, a shit-eating grin stretched across her face, tossed her platinum blond hair over her shoulder and sidled up to Bubba, making a production about feeling his junk. She puckered her face like she was concentrating hard as she ran her hand up and down the zipper of his jeans before moving over to Van and repeating the motion. As she groped each one, she arranged them in order, sometimes pausing to check her placement with a repeat performance.
She was almost done.
Topher, despite being one of the tallest guys on the snare line, apparently had the smallest drumstick in his briefs. Poor guy.
Maybe he’s a grower, not a show-er, because he doesn’t seem all that concerned.