“You can’t legally do that.”
“You’re a real asshole. God, Koti, he’s so beautiful.”
I sighed. “I know.” A beautiful self-absorbed asshole.
“Who’s the tall one with the blue eyes?”
“Julian.”
“Dibs.”
“There’s no one else here to call it.”
“Dibs anyway,” she said retrieving a bottle of tequila. “Hey fellas, the party has officially started.” All four men turned to see Jasmine in her Salma Hayek getup and all jaws dropped, including the jaw of the bastard I was sleeping with. I narrowed my eyes as he cleared his throat.
Two of the guys whistled as Ian searched for shot glasses. I moved to the kitchen to help him.
“In here,” I said as he stood behind me and grabbed the glasses from the cabinet I couldn’t reach. He pressed into me and I smelled a hint of his cologne and damn near fell into his frame.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“You seem to have the need to say that a lot.”
I stood encased in his arms, his smell unavoidable, my body coming alive with every brush of his chest.
“I’m dying to touch you, but I’m afraid you’ll slap me.”
“I should.”
“Don’t complicate this, Koti. Please.”
“Oh, you’ve made yourself clear.” I pushed at his arm and he kept me trapped as he leaned down and whispered. “I’m just asking for you to understand.”
“I understand just fine. But you’re the one who blurred the line. A friend would have been the first to show up for me for that shit show. But don’t worry, I have one of those and she’s enough. I don’t need you to go thinking I need you.”
“Then why are you so pissed off?”
I turned in his arms as he kept me locked in place. “It’s simple. You’re a prick and you don’t deserve my friendship or the benefits.”
“Fine,” he said taking the glasses from the counter. “Is this typical of you? You can’t accept an apology and just move on. And you claim to be a grown-up.”
“I’m seconds away from kneeing your crotch, crocky. Trust me, you don’t want to meet the pissed off New Yorker.”
Ian’s eyes went cold and he stepped away. Everyone seemed oblivious to our exchange, except for Jasmine and Julian who watched us quietly and then scattered back into conversation as soon as we joined the rest of them. I poured everyone shots as Ian took out a few trays of food he’d bought from the deli earlier that day. He hadn’t bothered to show up at my house until he saw the taxi drop the guys off. He’d avoided me all week and with each day I grew more resentful of the fact that he wanted it that way.
Hours later, all four guys and Jasmine sat at my kitchen table with cigars and played poker. Jasmine was holding her own, thumping a cigar in the air and taking man-sized tugs as her and Julian eye fucked. Ian glanced at me every so often as I kept busy cleaning and airing out the house of the pungent smell. I felt like an old lady, drinking my wine off in the corner as everyone laughed and took shots. I had piped in here and there, but it was Jasmine who remained the life of the party. I was happy to give her that title as my spine prickled with nervous energy.
Not tonight. Come on, not tonight.
I kept busy, drinking a little more wine than I should as the music got louder and the voices more animated.
“Guys!” Jasmine shouted. “Listen!”
The guys looked between each other, a few leaning in.
After a few seconds, she harrumphed. “It’s “Roxanne””
The Police were playing the well-known song as she nudged Julian’s shoulder. “Let’s play the game.” She looked over at me with a ‘please’ on her face. “Koti! Will you get us some fresh beers?”