Page 2 of Gin and Lava

I bite that word back and try not to feel bitter that I’m single and everyone else around me is coupling up like there’s an ark to get on. I shake myself and turn to face my friend. “Please tell me I didn’t make a scene with weird sobbing noises,” I ask. “I’d hate to be the one who ruined that gorgeous first dance.”

Esme wipes a tear from my cheek, smiling at me from behind her lavender hair. “You were tastefully moved,” she teases. “Sexy crying, not ugly crying.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“Sexy crying?” Another voice chimes in from over Esme’s shoulder. “Is that a thing?”

It’s Esme’s boyfriend, Desmond Pike, the TV star. He looks phenomenal on the small screen and just as dashing in real life: classy cream-colored suit, windswept hair, crooked smile that would make any half-blooded woman pant. Hedoesplay a billionaire sex-god on television, so it’s hard to look at him and not wonder why he doesn’t spend his days walking around naked.

“Is that what you two would do if I took you both back to my room tonight?” Desmond asks with a flirtatious smile. “Sexy cry at how amazing it is?”

He wraps his arms around Esme’s waist, effectively pulling her off of me and back against himself.

“We are not having a threesome with Naomi!” Esme chides, smacking her boyfriend on the arm.

I mean, ask me first. I might say yes.

“But isn’t she my other date tonight?” Desmond continues, giving me a wink before turning all of his attention to Esme and kissing her. It’s a hot kiss. The kind of kiss you’re not supposed to gawk and stare at like you wish you had that kind of passion in your own life. Of course, after an appropriate amount of ogling, I politely look away so the couple can bask in the glory of their love.

Let’s be real: the tonsil-hockey display in front of me,that’swhat would happen if we had a threesome. I’d be the third wheel with a front-row seat to their epic fuck-a-thon. It’s weird enough to watch Desmond pretend to have sex on TV with his co-star (yes, of course I watch his show. It’s freaking hot!), but to see therealDesmond inreallife have sex with my best friend … yeah, some things are meant to be private.

“She’smydate,” Esme clarifies, unwrapping herself from Desmond and putting her arms back around me.

“See,” Desmond shakes his head and points at us, “you two are too close. You keep touching her like that and someone’s going to think you’re together.”

“Wait, are you two getting together? That’s hot!”

Aaaaand … that’s a fourth voice butting into our conversation.

It’s Mason’s voice.

Esme and I exchange a look, both of us rolling our eyes in anticipation of whatever crack-pot thing Mason is going to say next. He’s in the wedding party and happens to be Ned’s best friend, but—

“Do you get to watch these two go at it?” Mason asks, nudging Desmond as he stares at us with hungry green eyes.

Mason needs no introduction. He is what he is.

“Do you allow other people to watch?” he asks, causing Desmond to scrunch his face in confusion. He hasn’t learned to ignore everything Mason says. I’m not sure how, but Desmond’s managed to avoid the I’ll-say-what-I-want-and-I-don’t-care-if-your-grandma-can-hear-me train wreck that is Mason Haas. “I heard the wedding planner is into girls.” Mason wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Could go for all three.”

“Mason, stop being an asshole,” Esme scolds as her boyfriend looks back at her with wide eyes. “No girl-on-girl action is happening at this wedding. I’m surprised you’ve made it through life without a permanent black eye.”

“Iaskedfirst,” Mason shoots back indignantly. “Consent matters, Esme. I wasn’t going to barge in without your permission. And probably his”—he nods toward Desmond—“cause I’m pretty sure he can kick my ass.”

“I can,” Desmond says gruffly, to which Mason nods like Desmond is on his side and making his point for him.

I laugh. Despite Mason’s wiry look and complete lack of tact, there’s something goofy and charming about him—in a backwoods redneck sort of way.

“Naomi’s the single one,” Desmond says to Mason, pulling Esme back to his side and pointing at me.

“Wow, Desmond,” I assert. “Thanks for making me the sacrificial lamb.”

He gives me a not-so-apologetic shrug before focusing on Mason. “You touch Esme and—”

“I didn’t say touch,” Mason defends. “I saidwatch. Back off, fancy TV man. I’m just talking shit. Ialwaystalk shit. I know how the pecking order in this world works. TV star”—he points to Desmond—“top dog. Asshole who owns a bar”—he points to himself—“peon. Hell, Naomi’s not even going to give me a second glance. You think I’m going to come close to your girl? Don’t get your million-dollar panties in a bunch, man.”

I bust out laughing. Mason does say everything that comes into his head, doesn’t he? But it’s also hilarious watching him school Desmond.

“See,” Mason motions to me. “Naomi already thinks I’m a joke. Don’t take anything I say seriously. Ever.”

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