“Well, once everyone arrives, I have light appetizers prepped for everyone while dinner finishes cooking. I’m hoping we’ll sit down at two. You’re sure nobody has any allergies or dietary requirements?”
“Nope,” I say, popping my p. “For a bunch of roadies and rockstars, everyone is really chill apparently.”
“Good, good,” he mumbles and goes back to whatever it was he was doing before I came down. I pour myself a glass of orange juice, skipping breakfast to save space for later. Hell, I even wore stretchy jeans in preparation for all of the food goodness.
The front door bursts open, making me jump. “I’m here, bitches!” Indi yells and I laugh, the last remnant of my funk lifting. She’s like a walking, talking happy pill.
She bounces into the room and wraps me up in a hug as she does. “Morning, pumpkin, are we ready for today?” I laugh as she pulls on the waistband of her leggings.
Great minds think alike.
“I think so.” I smile, hoping it comes across as genuine.
She bounds toward Smithy, who hands her a cookie.
“Where’s my goddamn cookie?” I ask in fake outrage.
Indi sticks her tongue out at me before taking a bite. “Mmmm, so good.”
“Miss Indi requested snickerdoodles, and since I made you your pie, I made her snickerdoodles,” Smithy says as he laughs softly. “Now out of here, both of you. I have a lot to get done.”
He hands me a cookie and I grin wide. “Thank youuuuu.”
Indi and I head into the living room and drop onto the couch. I haven’t told her about the stalker thing yet, and I don’t intend on bringing down the mood, so I decide I’ll fill her in tomorrow.
“We’re putting the game on today, right?” she asks hopefully, looking up at me with those big green eyes of hers.
I just laugh softly, because while I won’t tar all football players with the Raleigh-is-a-douchecanoe brush, I totally hadn’t thought about it. “Sure, why not? I’m sure you won’t be the only one who wants to watch since Smithy invited the Saints over.”
“He did what?” she asks, eyes wide.
“You heard me. Mrs. Potts is going out of town, and their dad isn’t around.”
“Oh,” she says, like her heart hurts for the sad, poor, lost puppies that they most definitely aren’t. “I mean, you’ve started to forgive them, right? Kind of? It won’t be so bad, maybe?”
“No, sometimes I think I’ve started to forgive them and then they do something to fuck it up, so I’ve not forgiven them. Not really. In fact, I had an idea that I could use your help with.” I feel a little devious even suggesting it, and I know the look on my face is as devious as I feel because she shakes her head at me.
“Oh, Lord. Save us all. Tell me everything.”
“Not yet, tomorrow, when everyone is gone. People should be arriving soon, and well… this will take time to plan.” I laugh a little, the idea born from a dream I had a few nights ago. At first it seemed silly—maybe even a little petty—but the more I think about it, the easier it becomes for me to convince myself that it isn’t petty at all. Who knows, I might change my mind a dozen times between now and tomorrow.
“Are you okay?” she asks, and I realize I totally spaced.
“I’m good, just missing my dad,” I tell her with a small smile.
“I get that,” she says, squeezing me with a one-armed hug. “It’s okay to miss him, just don’t miss out on the joy still around you.”
Indi manages to keep me plenty distracted from spiraling thoughts of my dad with her uniquely magical ways until everyone else starts arriving.
It’s not long before the house is a hive of activity. Mac, Panda, and a ton of the other crew arrive with Jenna B and the other Midnight Blue girls. The guys are inside watching the football game while Smithy cooks, since he banned us all from the kitchen. I’m outside, sitting beside the pool with the girls and Panda, drinking mimosas and laughing as we talk about shit from tours of the past.
It’s only when the gate to the Saints’ house opens that the jovial conversation comes to a halt. Lincoln leads the pack in his black shirt and suit pants, followed by East, Finn, and Mav all in various states of formal shirt and pants.
Jenna looks back at me and winks. “You’re drooling,” she whispers, trying not to laugh. I stick my tongue out at her before turning back to the boys.
“Afternoon,” I call out, lifting my glass. “Drinks?”
They head toward us, and it’s only then that I notice Panda’s change in demeanor. His shoulders are stiff, his eyes glued to Lincoln as he approaches.