Page 11 of Forgot to Tell You Something

Because I have no idea if it is a date or not. Better to err on the side of caution.

I shrug, swigging back some beer. “It’s not a date.”

“Are you cool with me pursuing Owen?”

Another shrug. I can’t believe how disappointed I am about the whole scenario. “Is he interested in you?”

One thing about being gorgeous is that you don’t hear the word no very often. Stefani giggles, downing the rest of her drink. “If he isn’t, he will be by the time I’m through with him.”

I hate that she’s right.

She draws me into a drunken embrace. “I love you, Lu.”

I grumble out a reply because I’m not feeling the love. But in true masochistic fashion, I turn to watch Stefani home in on the first man I’ve found interesting in years. The woman has a PhD in flirtation, complete with hair flips, bicep caresses, and lash batting.

But even masochists have their limits.

I focus my gaze on the far wall. Maybe if I ignore them both, they’ll disappear, and I can retreat to the safety of my balcony. Alone.

“Hey Dan, can I get another shot?” Stefani requests with a giggle, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Have I told you I like the pink?”

Oh, lovely, she’s flat out hammered. “You mentioned it.”

“It’s so hard to talk with all this noise. So, I drink.” Another shot poured and down Stefani’s gullet before I can blink.

Lord, have mercy.

“You might want to slow down, Stef. You didn’t eat dinner, remember?”

She waves off my warning, motioning for a refill. “I’ll be fine. Owen says you two have plans tomorrow night.”

I roll my eyes. So much for Stefani’s short-term memory. “I told you. He was able to get me a ticket to—”

“Hedgecore.” Owen finishes the statement, his broad body standing in front of us like a linebacker. The man is gigantic—easily 6’2" or more.

He’s way too tall for me, and I’ll keep telling myself that fib until I believe it.

Stefani’s eyes widen in fake surprise. “I love Hedgecore.”

“You do?” Owen and I ask in unison.

What a crock. The woman doesn’t love Hedgecore. She’s never heard of them.

“I would give anything to go to that concert tomorrow.” Stefani bats her lashes at Owen.

Talk about laying it on thick.But this, I have to see.

Owen crosses his arms over his barrel chest. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Oh...it’s so hard to choose one.” Stefani begins a long, bumbling explanation, while I try to decide if I should let her hang herself with her own lie.

Judging from the smirk on Owen’s face, he knows Stefani is lying, too. But he’ll play along. Maybe we are kindred spirits. “You must have a favorite album.”

“Um...well...”

I could be a bitch. I should be a bitch. But karma is a worse bitch.

I groan before entering the conversation. “Stefani and I have a disagreement. She claimsGreen Sneakersis the catchiest album while I think their best work is onRapid Cycle.”

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