"My kind of girl," I say.
"You're going to make me jealous." She motions to the table inside. Then to the cooler by the row of succulents. "Do you want something to drink? We do have a bottle of wine open. And my mom has gin in the fridge. Or are you more of a vodka girl?"
"Gin."
"Me too." She smiles. "But you'll be the only one with a cocktail. Which I respect."
"Do college students ever drink cocktails?"
"Wine and coke, yeah."
A laugh spills from my lips. "Or Trader Joe's vodka and the cheapest jug of fruit punch available."
"I'm not sure which is grosser." She sticks her tongue out. "Sorry. I'm completely bourgeois. But at least I know it, right?"
"Are you kidding? I grew up in Newport Beach."
"Fancy schmancy. And you're slumming it with Tricky."
"Slumming it? Have you seen his place?"
"No, actually. He's never invited me to his new place." She moves to the cooler, grabs two cans—a diet soda and a La Croix—and offers them to me. "I don't mean like that. Gross. No offense. He's objectively handsome, but he's like a brother. And he's totally smitten with you, so even if I had ideas—"
Is he really?
—"I'm also tragically in love with my boyfriend. Tricky doesn't have parties. That's all I mean."
"Really? He seems like a party guy."
"He's social, yes. He attends. He drinks Bud Light."
"So I hear."
"But he's been less around for a while. Family stuff, I think," she says.
Right. He mentions his sisters a lot. But there's something off about it, something I can't quite explain.
"But then we're not here to talk Tricky. We're here to have fun. What do you drink?"
"The soda is fine." I take the diet.
"Or the wine, if you want," she says.
"This is good, but thanks. Sorry we're late. We, were uh…"
"I can imagine." She laughs. "Don't worry. I'm not judging." She motions to the couch where a tall man with dark hair is chatting with a slightly less tall guy with dark hair. "Have you met Oliver?"
The taller guy turns to me and nods a hey.
"Ollie! That is no way to greet a party guest!" Luna huffs.
He smiles.
"You did that on purpose?" she asks.
He shrugsmaybe I did, maybe I didn't. "Oliver." He stands and offers a hand.
I shake. "Imogen."