Page 44 of Huge Pucking Play

"Trevor does," Adam says with a smirk. "Or at least, that's what he claimed. We get there, and there's this line wrapping around the block, but Trevor marches up to the bouncer like he owns the place."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," Adam's eyes shine with delight. "Picture this – Trevor wearing a jacket that looks like it was made from my grandmother's couch, Kyle in his rainbow silk shirt, Marcus in his vintage leather jacket, and me trying to look like I belong."

I laugh, visualizing the group. "And did Trevor's connection come through?"

"Shockingly, yes! The bouncer actually checked his list, found Trevor's name, and let us in. We're all standing there with our jaws on the floor."

"No way."

"Way. Turns out one of Trevor's celebrity clients got us on the list." Adam leans in conspiratorially. "But that's not even the good part."

I take a sip of my coffee, settling in. "I'm listening."

"So we're inside this club, music thumping, lights flashing, beautiful people everywhere. Kyle immediately heads to the bar because, well, he's Kyle and needs liquid courage to function in social settings." Adam pantomimes throwing back shots. "The rest of us find a spot near the dance floor, and Trevor starts pointing out minor celebrities."

"Like who?"

"That guy from that Netflix show about the haunted lighthouse, a couple of models I've seen in cologne ads, oh, and this chef who was on the last season of Top Chef."

"Impressive," I nod, genuinely entertained by Adam's animated storytelling.

"But then—" Adam pauses dramatically, "—Marcus spots him."

"Him who?"

"Patrick. Fucking. Jackson." Adam enunciates each syllable with reverence.

I nearly choke on my coffee. "The Patrick Jackson? Like, three-time Oscar nominee, jawline-that-could-cut-glass Patrick Jackson?"

"The very same," Adam confirms with a vigorous nod. "So we're all trying to play it cool, stealing glances, when Kyle returns from the bar."

"Uh oh."

"Four tequila shots in and the man is transformed. Gone is boring accountant Kyle. In his place stands confidence personified." Adam stands up to demonstrate, squaring his shoulders for his best power stance. "He takes one look at Patrick Jackson and declares – loudly, mind you – 'I'm gonna go talk to him.'"

I cover my mouth. "No."

"Yes!" Adam sits back down, barely containing his glee. "Trevor and I try to stop him, but Marcus – traitor that he is – encourages Kyle. Says he'll never have this chance again."

"Oh God."

"So Kyle marches over, somehow slips past the VIP security – I think the guard was distracted by some commotion at the door – and walks straight up to Patrick Jackson's table."

I lean forward, completely invested now. "And then what?"

"He introduces himself! And says, 'Hey, I'm Kyle. Your bone structure is mathematically perfect.'" Adam collapses into laughter at the memory. "A pickup line only an accountant could love."

I snort loudly.

"Patrick Jackson looks at him like Kyle's a new species of insect. But here's the kicker – he doesn't immediately call security. He actually responds!"

"No way."

"Then Kyle attempts to sit down next to him. But his drunk ass misses the chair entirely and falls to the floor."

I nearly spill my coffee. "Stop it."

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