Page 51 of The Main Event

Daisy opened her mouth to argue, perhaps lob a threat at Levi’s retreating back, but they were already gone. I waited, my lips pursed, and internally cringed when she turned back to me. There was no warmth there.

“Well, that was rude,” she said.

Even though I was uncomfortable being around her—but only because I wanted to constantly touch her for some unfathomable reason—there was no hiding my smile. “Are they together?”

“They haven’t been.” She motioned for me to walk with her. “Lux and I have been trying to hook them up for months.”

“Corey is Lux’s best friend and Levi is yours,” I mused. “I can see you trying to force that situation.”

“Not force it,” Daisy countered. “We’re just trying to finesse it. They have a lot in common.”

“I think they’ve figured that out themselves.”

“Yeah.” She cast a look over her shoulder, but Levi and Corey had been swallowed by the costume-clad crowd. “I’m going to remind him of this next time he needs me to be his beard at a family wedding.”

Surprise rippled through me. “He’s in the closet? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“He’s not in the closet. He’s just got a very rich, very judgmental grandmother that he’s trying to pull a fast one on. He doesn’t want to be left out of the will.”

“Ah.” That made sense. “I think I had a few cousins who tried to stay in Grandfather’s good graces for the same reason. Not because they were gay or anything. Just because they were jerks.”

“How did that work out for them?”

“Oh, they’re mad.”

“I bet. What about you? Did you consider staying in George’s good graces for the inheritance?”

“I didn’t expect to inherit anything. That’s not who I am. Do I wish I would’ve spent more time with him before he died? Yeah. My family never makes anything easy, though.”

I could feel Daisy’s eyes on me but didn’t meet her gaze. Somehow, I couldn’t. “So, what do you want to drink?” I asked instead.

“Do you want to try a pickle martini?” she asked.

“That sounds foul.”

“Do you like pickles?”

“On a hamburger, yeah.”

“Well, then you’ll like this.” She reached out to slip her arm through mine but then stopped herself, and what a blow that was. I’d been anticipating her touch—even if it was something so minor—the instant I realized what she was going to do.

“What if I don’t like this famous pickle martini?” I asked as I fell into step with her.

“You will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s impossible not to like the pickle martini.”

“I’m sure that’s what Levi would say about the jalapeño martini.”

“That thing is freaky because it haunts you a full twenty-four hours after you’ve had it,” she argued. “I have a weak stomach. If you listen to my mother, I’ve always had issues. It’s why I can’t eat pizza.”

I was floored. “You don’t like pizza? That’s un-American.”

“Yes, I’m sure the founding fathers are rolling in their graves,” she agreed. “Also, I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I said I couldn’t eat it. I get heartburn.”

“You could take some acid reducer.”

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