“Nineteen, but that sounds cheesy too, so let’s say twenty-one for tonight.”
Oh, God, I’m going to hell!
He climbs out with … well, the confidence of a runway model while the driver opens my door. I expect Wyatt to offer his arm, but instead he takes my hand which feels too intimate, but I go with it. As expected I’m on the VIP list with “and guest” and we breeze past the snaking line to a private entrance on the side of the building. The roar of the crowd mixed with music pours out as a muscle-bound bouncer opens the door for us.
“They’re in,” he says into a bluetooth. “Ms. Carmichael, welcome.”
“Thank you.” My eyes scan the open two-story room.
“If you’d like, Mel can check your wrap.” He nods to the blonde behind the counter on our left.
After checking my wrap, we get drinks from the bar and head upstairs to the VIP lounge. It’s wall-to-wall people from the top of the stairs to the back windows and doors leading to a patio with heaters, string lights, and more tables, as well as an outdoor bar.
“Do you see your friends?” Wyatt rests his hand on my lower back, leaning down by my ear.
“No … wait.” I lift up on my toes a half inch more than my heels already allow. On the patio I see a circle of people, mostly women, one of whom is teasing her fingers along the nape of a guy’s neck … my guy’s neck! “This way.” I attempt to keep my seething to a minimum as I grab Wyatt’s hand, worming us through the crowd.
The cool night’s air serves as a welcome greeting to my already flush skin. An average height gentleman with a fit-looking body, dressed in light gray pants and a pink, gray, and white striped button-down shirt, spies me through his thin black-framed glasses. It’s hard to tell because of his shaved head, but he looks more mature, but definitely handsome. He’s standing in front of Trick, who has his back to me and the clingy anorexic bimbo fingering his hair.
“Oh. My. God! You just have to be Darby!” The shaved-head guy yells in a very feminine way. Grady.
Trick and bimbo both turn toward me and Wyatt. Bimbo frowns as her eyes make a catty inspection, but Trick’s lips twitch, cracking his cool bad-boy façade—but only to me.
“Darby, darling!” Grady saunters toward me with his arms open wide.
Darling—a word I’ve never heard Trick use and most certainly not in Grady’s soprano voice. Trick could take a few gaying-up lessons from Grady. I hug Grady and then he kisses both of my cheeks.
“You are just exquisite. Trick said you were beautiful, but mmm mmm mmm, that’s an understatement.” Grady brushes his finger down my cheek. “Trick, give this woman her money back. Not even your raw talent could improve on such perfection.”
Screw Trick. Grady’s my man. He’s the gay BFF jackpot. I’m talking shopping, manis-pedis, and serious girl talk. And although he is handsome, there’s not a cell in my body that’s physically attracted to him. “Grady, it’s so nice to meet you. Trick has been singing your praises.”
Grady looks over his shoulder at Trick. “Reeealy?”
Trick shrugs. “It’s true.”
“Well, who knew? Anyway, who’s your handsome friend?”
I look beside me and smile. “This is Wyatt Jasper.”
Wyatt offers his hand to Grady.
“Wyatt Jasper, it’s a true pleasure. I’m Grady Cross.” Grady is a complete flirt. I glance at Trick who eyes Wyatt as well, but he’s not smiling. I imagine he’s not too thrilled that Grady’s so blatantly drooling over my date.
“So, Wyatt, what do you do?”
“I’m a model.”
“Oh my God this just keeps getting better. How did you two meet?” Grady eyes us over the frame of his glasses.
“A mutual friend introduced us,” Wyatt responds and I smile in agreement.
Trick pushes off the edge of the patio, leaving bimbo behind, and makes his way closer to us. “Mutual friends, huh?”
And … here we go.
“Yes.” Wyatt nods but doesn’t elaborate.
“Which friend? As you know, Darby has so many.”
I glare at Trick. What’s his angle with this? Inviting me to this party was his idea, and me bringing a date was his idea. Now he wants to interrogate Wyatt?
“He’s a patient of Darby’s so I don’t think sharing his name is a good idea. You know, HIPPA and all that privacy stuff.”
Holy crap!
My young pretty boy is good … real good.
“I see.” Trick looks at me.
“So who’s your friend?” I nod my head toward bimbo, changing the subject.
“I did her makeup earlier.”
“I see. She seems real appreciative.” My face wars between a smirk and a scowl.
Trick narrows his eyes at me; it’s challenging like he’s daring me to say more. Between work and finding a date this week, I haven’t seen Trick in five days and I’m a little agitated, but I don’t know why.