“If the glass slipper fits, sweetheart,” Sandy snaps.
“I’ll have you know that last night I was the one who gave it to Vince hard—”
“Paul!” Vince yelps.
Paul groans. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
“Oversharing!”
“He called me a princess!”
“You kind of are.”
“That’s beside the point!”
“What is the point?” I ask Paul.
“That’s… I… oh sweat balls.” He squints at Sandy. “What the devil were we talking about?”
The doorbell rings.
“Oh yeah,” Paul says. “That. Darren’s here.”
“This is not the end of this,” Sandy hisses at him.
“It never ends,” Vince tells Dom, Kori, and me.
“You poor guy,” Kori says.
“Are you kidding?” Vince asks. “It’s awesome. I don’t even have to watch TV anymore. They’re like the Hispanic telenovelas on TV here that I watch with Nana. Bright and colorful and I have no idea what’s going on but someone with an awesome mustache is about to get slapped.”
“I don’t want the Homo Jock King in my house!” Sandy says. “And that’s final!”
“Homo Jock King?” I ask.
Vince shrugs. “It’s a Tucson thing.”
“Darren!” I hear Paul say from the doorway. “How lovely of you to have made it. Sandy and I were just talking about you!”
“I bet you were,” a deep voice says.
Paul walks back into the kitchen… followed by another supermodel, this one bigger than Vince, though they look enough alike to be related.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “Is everyone here super attractive, built, and gay? This can’t be real life.”
“Why, thank you, twinkie!” Paul says, puffing out his chest. “I have been working out lately.”
“Jazzercise on old VHS tapes with Nana and five-pound weights don’t count,” Sandy says.
“It does if you sweat when it happens,” Paul says. “And I sweat like a little bitch. Wait. That sounds super unattractive.”
“It is,” Sandy says.
“I think it’s hot,” Vince says with a shrug. “You should see him with his little shorts on when he’s trying to Jazzercise.”
“Thank you, baby,” Paul says. Then his eyes narrow. “What do you mean trying?”
“Sandy,” Darren says stiffly. “I see you’re looking… alive.”