Luckily I know this annoying song by heart, thanks to our college karaoke career, so I can sing on autopilot without having to look at the lyric board. My eyes scan the room for my best friend.
There she is, talking to a guy.
And she actually looks interested.
Huh.
Lori grabs my hand and pulls me into some dorky fifties dance move that fits the song before we end with a rather spectacular finish, if I do say so myself.
Everyone is whooping and cheering.
Everyone except Parker, who barely looks away from the blond guy she’s chatting up at the bar.
I’m happy for her.
Maybe she’s finally getting the hang of this whole flirting/pickup scene.
Hell, maybe all she needed was some rather excellent sex—not bragging, just stating facts—to loosen her up.
And sex with Parker truly is excellent. It was excellent last Monday when we first broke each other in, so to speak. It was even better on Tuesday. And Wednesday, and Thursday. And it was excellent earlier tonight when we did it in the kitchen, just minutes before we headed out to meet Lori and Jason.
Not that I’ll be getting any gratitude from the blond guy in the white button-down. He has no idea who he has to thank for Parker’s newfound sexual confidence.
Me.
I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to assess the Parker situation that I don’t immediately realize that Lori didn’t let go of my hand after we got off the stage.
It’s not until we get back to our table that I manage to maneuver my fingers from hers under the guise of reaching for my beer as we sit down.
“Where’s Parker?” she asks Jason, who’s looking increasingly inebriated and is being even less subtle than usual about checking out Lori’s chest.
Jason jerks his head backward toward the bar, and Lori cranes her neck until she spots her friend.
“Ooh! Cute guy. And she actually looks happy.”
She holds up her hand to me. “High five. I think all of our lessons finally paid off. Our girl’s found her groove!”
I slap her hand, probably with more force than necessary, and then take another sip of beer to stop myself from pointing out that I’m the one who found Parker’s groove. Several times.
I’m saved from having to say anything when Parker comes all but strutting back to our table, shooing Lori over so that her friend now has an excuse to press her thigh against mine. I shoot Parker a warning look, but she doesn’t notice.
She’s too busy flaunting a cocktail napkin with a phone number. “Look what I got!”
“You go, girl!” Lori says, and now it’s Parker’s time to get a high five.
Note to self: Drunken Lori is big on high fives.
“Right?” Parker shakes her hair back, grinning happily.
“The way he was leaning into you, I thought for sure he’d be taking you home,” Lori says.
“Oh, the offer was definitely on the table,” Parker says smugly, taking a sip of her bubbly wine.
“And you didn’t hit that?” Lori asked. “He was hot from where I was sitting.”
“Yeah, but I’m with you guys,” Parker says, her nose scrunching. “I wouldn’t ditch.”
I feel a weird stab of guilt, remembering exactly how many times I’d been out with Parker and ditched her for a hookup. After checking to make sure she had a ride home, of course.