Teardrop Shot(98)

I was content to listen to them talk, but I knew Trent was concerned about me. He kept looking back in the mirror, and I gave him a small wave. I was fine. He could talk with his friend, who told him what hotel he’d booked. Then he asked a question that had me listening closely.

“You still dating that model?”

Trent started coughing. “Uh…” Cough! “What?” Another cough. A sputter to follow, “How’d you know about that?”

“All the guys know. What’s her name?” He was snapping his fingers, trying to remember.

I couldn’t hold back my Cheshire Cat smile, offering, “Lauren?”

“Yeah! Thanks.” He said to Trent, “Lauren.”

“How do you know about Lauren?” He shot me a dark look. “And not a word from you, thank you.”

“Consider it box tickets payback.”

Dwayne frowned at me as he spoke. “Yeah. My buddy knows her. Small world, right? He follows her on Instagram and said there was a picture of you two. He remembered you from that work thing and showed me. She tagged you and everything, said you were her beau.”

Dwayne was teasing when he used the word, but Trent shifted in his seat. The back of his neck had grown a little redder.

For once, it wasn’t my life.

For once, it wasn’t my romance or lack of romantic life.

For once, I wasn’t the center of attention.

I leaned forward, propping my chin on my hand. “Yes. Let’s hear more about this Lauren.” I winked at Trent, who just scowled.

“Um, how about you, Charlie?” he asked under his breath. “Seeing anyone new lately?”

Dwayne’s gaze jumped between us, his smile not dimming.

I retreated back to my seat, but after Dwayne kept on, talking about how hot Lauren was, Trent looked at me in the rearview mirror. I pretended I had a carton of—what was this? It was huge. I had to really work to get my arms around it, and then what was inside? Popcorn? Hmmm. Delicious. But wait, it needed more butter.

I was lathering it on when Trent said, “Not funny, Charlie. Your days of being a comedian are over.”

I held up a kernel of popcorn. “Don’t make me start with my questions again. It’s a problem. They can come back.” I popped that invisible kernel into my mouth and rubbed my stomach. It was delicious.

“You’re messed up.” But he was trying not to smile.

Dwayne had stopped his gushing over Lauren to watch the two of us. “You guys are good friends, huh?” He nodded to me. “You missed it, man. She gave a guy his ass on the plane after she took offense at a rib against Forster.” His eyes sparked.

I pretended there was a platter in front of me. I served it to Trent.

He just grumbled, “So funny, Charlie.”

I was throwing the popcorn at him now. “Watch it. I heckle too.”

He coughed. “So. Forster, huh?”

“Yeah.” I leaned forward. “Where’d that popcorn go? I might need a vacuum to clean this mess back here.”

Trent burst out laughing but then cursed, veering into the next lane and hitting the turn signal as he eased onto the exit. “Shit. Sorry, guys. I wasn’t paying attention.” He asked Dwayne, “You’re at the Hilton?”

“Yeppers. I always stay there.”

We got off the ramp and pulled into the hotel’s front parking area. Trent got out, talking with Dwayne for a bit longer, and I moved to the front seat. They must’ve mentioned me because I saw Trent motioning to me a couple times before Dwayne nodded. Then they clasped hands and did that chest bump that’s somehow a hug for men.

Trent climbed back into his seat and sighed. “So. How drunk you want to get tonight?”

No question. “Wasted.”

“On it.”





I was dumbfounded, and speechless.

That rarely happened.

We were standing outside a nightclub, the entire exterior all in black except one word in neon pink, Whisper. A line of people lingered outside, there were two bouncers at the door, and I gave Trent a look.

“Really?”

He laughed, moving ahead. “Come on. You said you wanted to get drunk, and I have an ‘in’ here.”

Well, okay then. We went to the head of the line and—why was I surprised?—the bouncers knew Trent, nodding and grunting hellos as they opened the door for us. As we entered, a server approached, tray of shots at the ready.

She offered, but Trent leaned over and yelled over the blaring hip-hop music, “Lauren around?”

Now this made sense.

Now I knew why we’d been allowed to skip the line.

The girl nodded and motioned down a hallway. She gave Trent more instructions, and then we were off.

As we went, I noticed the inside of the club was a mind fuck. It had been created to look exactly like the outside—the same curb and street, just different cars. And instead of one of the buildings across the road, there was a stage for dancing. The DJ booth was set high up, above a streetlight, which acted as a podium bridge.

People were dancing and milling around underneath the DJ, and couches lined one end of the room. Boxes with tables lined the wall on the second floor. As we walked past, I saw the doors open on a few of the boxes, and they looked a lot like the building doors that we’d walked past on the way from Trent’s car.