The Trouble With Quarterbacks(18)
“We’re already late! At this rate, we’ll arrive just in time to help the lads clean up!” Kat warns.
“I’m coming!” I shout back, leaning in close to confirm my eyeliner is perfectly symmetrical on both eyes. I can’t take any chances. It feels absolutely necessary. Then I swipe on some red lipstick—something I never bother with, but tonight it’s perfect. It makes my lips look edible.
I’m buzzing in the back of the cab as we traverse Manhattan from our lowly borough to some otherworldly area where the streets are treelined and the flowerbeds are well manicured. Logan’s apartment is going to knock my socks off. I know, because the doorman of his building is wearing white gloves and a little boxy hat as he ushers us in like we’re royalty. He only lets us pass because we’ve told him we’re here for Logan’s party, and he has to check a list to confirm our names are printed there. They are! WILD! WHAT KIND OF PLACE IS THIS?! Another attendant guides us through the lobby toward a bank of lifts. He holds a keycard up to an invisible panel on the lift wall and then the doors glide shut. I feel absolutely out of my element.
“Is this real? People live like this?”
“Some people,” Yasmine says, fidgeting with her hair. She grew up with wealth, sure, but nothing like this. This lift is probably inlaid with real gold and the blood of extinct leopards or something. It whisks us higher, away from the city and toward Mount Olympus, or so it feels.
Once we’re on the twentieth floor, the doors slide open and here we are: out in a hallway with a single door that’s propped open for guests. It leads right into the penthouse flat.
I see an absolute crush of people inside as we stroll closer. My heels carry me across the marble foyer as I hug my coat tighter around my red dress, but then Kat notices and her eyes widen.
“Off. Take it off. Quick!”
The coat gets yanked off immediately, and Kat takes it along with hers and sort of shoves them under her arm. Smart move, really, because when we walk in and see the guests, it’s obvious my checkered coat wouldn’t have really blended in. There’re proper celebrities here—ones I know by name! There are beautiful women popping up around every corner, all dressed in slinky numbers or barely-there tops and skirts.
I think that girl there is a pop star I like, or maybe she just looks like a pop star? I can’t be certain.
Before we make it past the front hall, we pass off our coats to an attendant, and our mobiles too after they demand it. Apparently, famous people have to worry about normal people like us snapping photos they don’t want leaked to the press. I comply right away, partly because I understand their reasoning and partly because the attendant looks quite intimidating. I don’t want him thinking I’m trying to break the rules or anything.
“Do not leave my side,” I hiss to Yasmine and Kat after we’re done in the entry. I’m worried we’ll get split up and won’t be able to find one another again.
Logan told me this would be a small gathering, but this is a circus of beautiful people all clamoring to have a chat with one another. They pay us absolutely no mind. We might as well be pieces of furniture. One man even tries to set his drink on Kat’s shoulder while he’s not looking, and she has to sort of yelp and leap out of the way to keep it from happening. You’d think he’d be bloody embarrassed about it, but he doesn’t even notice!
“Let’s just find Logan, yeah?” I suggest, though I’m not sure that will make things any better.
This is his party. He’s the ringleader of this circus, and my stomach hurts at the thought. How is that possible? This place is so posh, so upscale, so bloody expensive! Have I imagined that text exchange from earlier? When he asked about the chips? He seemed so charming and down to earth, but this party is the exact opposite.
In one corner of the modern living room, there’s a whole buffet that’s clearly been catered by a world-class chef. The food is up on silver platters with heating lamps and delicate accoutrement I’d probably mistakenly eat only to find out after that it’s only for show. It all looks amazing, and there are tons of tiny samples of tasty treats, but absolutely no one is eating. I see a woman pass by the table, stutter-step, glance down longingly at some pasta dish, and then dash away from it like it might make her arse grow two sizes right then and there if she doesn’t get away quick enough.
But it’s the sight at the very end of the table that catches my eye. It’s like one of those childhood puzzles: Find What Doesn’t Belong. Next to the fancy silver platters and serving dishes, there’s a big red bowl of crisps. Salt and vinegar, just as I requested.
I nearly topple over in sheer bliss. Not only has he thought of me, it’s obvious what he intended by leaving them out like that. I don’t even bother cluing in Kat or Yasmine. They wouldn’t get it. You see the crisps are actually this huge romantic gesture! But they’re just crisps. Right, but he asked specifically what kind I wanted! He could have asked you for your favorite flower if he wanted to be romantic.
Besides, even if I thought they’d agree about how sweet the gesture is, I don’t get the chance to bring it up, because just then, across the living room, I finally spot Logan.
The sight of him is a punch straight to my stomach. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt pushed up to his elbows. He’s shaven his jaw so it’s smooth and sharp. His hair looks divine, the short strands almost curly. He’s so dark and moody you want to think he’d be a real arsehole, but I know the truth. I know he’s put out that bowl of crisps for me. I know how sweet he is underneath all those layers of muscle.