Exposed (VIP 4)

“I teach history of musicology at NYU.” Her smile is wry. “And a class on musical innovations of the twentieth century.”

I just got a mental boner. I didn’t know that was possible. “I’ve always wanted to take some of those classes. If only to be in a room with other people who are willing to talk about musicology.”

“You don’t find that here?” She glances around the terrace that’s filled with music industry professionals and artists.

“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you? But no. Not to what my friend Brenna would call the geek level.” Damn it, why did I have to mention her? She was almost out of my head.

Jenni leans in, resting her elbow against the ledge, which does great things to her cleavage, I’m not going to lie. “From what I’ve heard, you could run a class.”

Ah. So she knows about my obsession with all things musical. It’s not exactly hidden, but most people tend to ignore that part of me for fear I’ll drop into lecture mode. The threat is real; I love talking about my favorite subject.

“I’d probably bore your students to death.”

The tip of her fingernail travels along the clock tat I have on my inner forearm. “You’re kidding, right? They’d be afraid to blink for fear of missing a second.”

Nice praise. Why doesn’t it do anything for me?

Something soft and feminine slams into my back, and I turn to find Sophie hanging on to me like a limpet. Big brown eyes glossy from too many cocktails peer up at me from over my shoulder. “Hey there, Rye-Rye. Why are you so big?”

Snickering, I wing an arm behind me and scoop her off my back before gently setting her at my side. She leans against me, making herself comfortable. I hold on to her shoulder so she won’t stumble. “Three square meals a day and a genetic disposition toward awesomeness,” I tell her.

She gives me a dopey grin. “Humble Joe. Reliable Rye. Rye the big man pie.”

Yep. She’s one drink away from being shitfaced.

“You seen Scottie lately?” I’m guessing no. If he knew she was buzzing, he’d be following her around and glaring at anyone who got too close. He knows she can handle herself, but his wife is his entire world, and bad shit can happen at a party, no matter how well you think you know the guest list.

“He’s playing matchmaker,” she slurs, as Libby walks over and stands close to her other side.

Libby shoots me a look that says she’s keeping an eye on Sophie. But I’m distracted by the whole “matchmaker” bit. Did everyone but me know he was planning to hook Brenna up?

“Isn’t it cute?” Sophie says. “Look, it’s so on.”

We all turn in the direction of her stare. Brenna is leaning into Marshall’s space, her sweet little tits thrust out like eye candy. He’s taking the bait, his eyes more on her chest than her face. My stomach roils, and I finish off the last of my drink. It’s gone watery and weak.

“I can’t believe that’s Marshall Faulkner,” Libby says with a dreamy sort of sigh. “I had no idea he was so hot. He knows everyone.”

“Even Chris Evans?” Sophie asks with wide eyes.

“Yep.”

All three women sigh then.

“I’d probably drool on Evans if I met him,” Libby says. “It wouldn’t be pretty.”

“You two have men,” I remind Sophie and Libby, compelled by loyalty to stick up for my boys. Besides, it beats watching Brenna chat it up with Marshall.

They roll their eyes and scoff in exactly the same tone.

“That doesn’t mean we’re dead,” Libby says with a flip of her honey-blond hair. “Killian is well aware of my Chris crushes. He finds it amusing.”

“No one is hotter than Gabriel,” Sophie adds. “He can deal.”

“The ultimate question. Hemsworth or Evans?” Libby grills her.

Sophie shrugs. “Why not both?”

“I’d be the meat in that sandwich,” Jenni adds, choosing now to pipe up. She gives me an assessing glance. “You’re a bit of a Hemsworth.”

They all look at me. Assessing.

“He’s definitely got the big, strapping Hemi-body going,” Sophie says without hesitation. Drunk Sophie is good for the ego, I’ll say that. But I’m beginning to feel like the meat in their sandwich.

Libby’s gaze darts to Jenni then back to me. Her brow wings up, and a slow smile spreads over her lips. Shit.

“I’m sorry,” she says, holding out a hand to Jenni. “I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Libby.”

“I know. I’m a huge fan.”

“Oh, shit,” Sophie laments loudly. “I’m sorry. This is Jenni. Scottie and I met her at a fundraiser, and we invited her to the party.”

“And I’m very glad you did,” Jenni says.

I don’t miss the way she looks at me when she says it. Neither do the girls. Sophie hums, rubbing her cheek against my arm—she’s notoriously cuddly when she’s buzzing—and then beams. “Scottie thought you’d hit it off with Rye. I guess he was right.”