Page 58 of The Party Plot

Laurel pressed his flaming-hot forehead against Casey’s shoulder. “Are you kidding me?”

“Oh, I forgot that I signed you guys up for that one, too,” Melody said calmly. “Better get up there and save him, Laurel.”

“You’re kind of a menace,” Casey told her, as she scooted into the booth next to him.

She smiled, shrugging. “They’re used to it. But don’t worry, I won’t sign you up for anything. Not after the thing with Howie’s car.”

“That’s a get-out-of-karaoke-free card, huh?”

“A get-out-of-everything-free card, in my book. Well, except breaking Laurel’s heart. Which I’m sure you won’t.”

Casey shook his head. “Never on purpose,” he said honestly.

“Huh.” Melody studied him. “You’re realistic. That’s good, though. He’s kind of a dreamer. You might balance each other out.” She clinked her glass against his. “Water,” she explained unnecessarily, after taking a sip.

“Diet Coke,” Casey said, indicating his own drink.

“Yeah, Laurel said you don’t drink much.” Melody wound a strand of hair around her finger, looking uncomfortable, like she wanted to ask more.

“There are—problems with addiction in my family. And I don’t really like how it makes me feel.”

“Man, I wish I didn’t like how it makes me feel.” Melody tried to smile, but it was a little wobbly. She was still messing with her hair, pulling it tighter and tighter around her finger. “I really wanted a drink tonight. I had a little sip of Laurel’s vodka soda earlier, but then I felt so guilty.” She looked away, shoulders hunched.

“You’ll figure it out,” Casey told her. He was surprised to find that he didn’t feel very awkward, despite the topic. For some reason, people tended to confide in him, even people he didn’t know well. Maybe it was something about his face. Trying to make Melody feel better, he said, “You know, you never did tell me any of those embarrassing stories about Laurel.”

“Oh.” She laughed, surprised. “There actually aren’t that many. He was a good kid. He did have this weird Humphrey Bogart phase—”

“What are you two up to over here?” Laurel asked, sliding back into the booth. He and Chip had yielded the stage to a female Mario and Luigi duo, who were currently scream-singing Kelly Clarkson.

“Just telling Casey about your hardboiled detective days,” Melody said, with an angelic smile.

“Wait a second.” Casey’s mind was blown. “All that cyberstalking and investigating me was because you were into, like, detective movies as a kid?”

Laurel shrugged, a liquid smile sliding across his face. “Hey. Of all the dog weddings in all the world, you had to walk into mine. Or, I guess, my mom’s.”

“There aren’t actually that many dog weddings in—oh. Oh, it’s some ancient movie reference, isn’t it. Okay.” Laurel was laughing, whether at his own cleverness or at Casey’s lack of understanding, Casey wasn’t sure, and it seemed like the best way to shut him up would be to kiss him again, so Casey did, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him down into the booth.

*

The grass was cool under Laurel’s legs, and the night air was slowly washing the effects of the Jell-O shots from his head. It was a little weird to party with Melody when she wasn’t drinking, but it seemed like a net positive. Laurel had drunk far less than he usually would have, and they were finishing the night with an impromptu picnic of Teriyaki noodles, rather than bumming cigarettes off of strangers in an alleyway. Also, Casey was there, which was the most positive thing of all. The three of them sat in a circle on the lawn in front of the Bonard arch, passing takeout containers back and forth. Chip had gone home, citing an early morning, but it really wasn’t that late, Laurel saw when he checked his phone. Only ten o’clock.

“I still can’t believe that one girl kept trying to get Chip to sign her boobs,” Casey said, pinching a piece of broccoli between his chopsticks.

On second thought, that might have been why Chip had left early, and not because he had to work the next day. “He does do a mean Garth Brooks impression,” Laurel said.

“I can’t believe we got Casey to sing!” Melody exclaimed.

“You can’t really call it singing,” Casey protested. Laurel beamed at him, reaching out to rub Casey’s bare calf. He made for an oddly hot Julius Caesar; he could command Laurel’s army, that was for sure. Among other euphemisms. And at the end of the night, stone-cold sober, he’d agreed to the most adorably disorganized performance ofBaby Got Backthat Laurel had ever seen.

“I liked it,” he said. “You can signmyboobs, if you want.”

Casey raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? With what?”

“All right, you two,” Melody cut in, smiling fondly. “Save that for later. We’re in public.”

They’d been in public when Casey had kissed him, too, in front of the whole bar and probably at least a few people Laurel knew from high school, and Laurel was still riding high on the exhilaration of it, his body buzzing. He looked down the street. Downtown was quiet, but he could see the brightly-lit windows of Landry Hall just blocks away, peeking through the trees, and hear the faint strain of music. Maybe the Jell-O shots hadn’t worn off as much as he’d thought, because something chaotic and reckless was creeping into his head, whispering that he didn’t want the night to end. “Let’s crash the party,” he heard himself say.

“Laurel,” Melody said cautiously.

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