Jerk

“Nor mine!” says his friend, and they both laugh.

Sweat is beading on my forehead. I ignore both of them and change directions, desperate to find Danny now. Everywhere I go, eyes are on me. Faces. Blank stares. Curious stares. Horny stares. I poke my head into what appears to be a windowless office, where my arrival interrupts five guys and a young woman in the middle of a heated discussion. When their stony eyes fall on me, I can’t help but wonder if I’m the subject. I quickly flee that room in a heartbeat, whether or not I’m who they were talking about at all. I am intercepted no less than five more times, each person wanting to introduce themselves, or say hi, or drop some stupid flirty one-liner, or ask why I look familiar.

I guess it was bound to happen that I start running into my past hookups.

I just didn’t expect it to be at a party full of Danny’s goddamned coworkers and their friends.

Then I find the sliding glass door to a large open balcony, where a group has gathered around a fancy set of outdoor furniture. Yet again, my appearance seems to stop the conversation.

Except this time, Danny is among them, sitting by himself in an armchair, with Denise across from him in a love seat next to another woman. Eight guys populate the L-shaped couch—all of them peering over their shoulders at me.

“Join us, Romeo!” calls out Denise with a gesture toward the couch. “Everyone wants to get to know Danny’s new friend.”

I look at Danny.

He stares back at me, his face as blank as a stone. What does he know? What does he think? What is going through his head?

Is my plan working or backfiring miserably?

I join the group of curious faces, taking the one spot available: on the couch, sandwiched between two men who make very little effort to give me room. It’s almost a damned cuddle-fest out here, all of these men glued to the sight of me.

It’s strange, how the tables have turned from that fateful night Danny and I shared at that bar, when he was the one who earned every last single man’s attention.

Now it’s me.

And it only matters if it’s doing the trick of making Danny reconsider his stance on taking things slow and keeping me at a distance. As my eyes remain on him, I find him gripping the arms of his chair like he’s clinging to the edge of a cliff, ready to claw at the bare rock for dear life.

The questions start immediately. “So, like, you’re Danny’s friend from the gym, huh? Did I hear that right?”

“Yep,” I answer—yet again.

“But you guys aren’t … a thing …?” someone else asks.

I stare at Danny as I give my answers. “Just friends.”

“Hmm.” A few faces turn suggestively to Danny, smirking. “Friends? Nothing more? Really?”

I stare at Danny. After a lengthy hesitation where I give him the opportunity to answer—which he doesn’t—I shrug. “Just friends.”

“So in other words, you’re fair game?”

A platter of finger foods rests on the glass coffee table between me and Danny. I reach forward, pluck a block of cheese, then daintily pop it into my mouth. “I guess so, huh?” I smirk at Danny, throw my arms over the back of the couch, and chew with delight.

Danny swallows hard.

This is only going to get worse for you the longer you hold out, baby.

“Well, I think that’s good news to just about everyone out here,” says one of my couch mates, who I will pretend isn’t trying to cuddle against my side, and everyone laughs.

“Assuming he only plays for one team,” puts in Denise, lifting an eyebrow.

I smile at her. “Sorry, but yeah, I only score homeruns for the boys.” And everyone laughs again.

I’m apparently quite the crowd pleaser tonight.

Danny sits forward suddenly. “We met for the first time at the gym I used to work at, actually. That’s where we first became friends. It was … It was fun.” His face turns red as he awkwardly—and desperately—attempts to redirect the conversation somewhere less interesting. “In fact, the marketing firm he works for is actually in that same building, too, so I would see him almost every day when he and his coworkers—”

“Oh, what do you do there?” the guy to my side asks me, appearing very interested and cutting Danny off—much to his chagrin.

I shrug. “Piss off my boss, mostly.” Everyone laughs. “No, seriously. All I do is get paid to piss off my boss, every day, all day. And I don’t get fired. It’s the best job ever. Just the other day, I basically pulled out my dick and measured it right in front of him. He obviously has a tiny penis complex, and it makes him the world’s biggest douchebag. Hey,” I go on over more laughter, “it’s not my fault his wife doesn’t put out, yet he takes it out on me anyway. Though, the last time I pissed him off, it turned into this amazing idea he ended up loving, and I swear, I almost got a promotion. Maybe that’s why I’ve never been fired. Does he secretly like it? Me making fun of his little dick?”