Steamroller

I whimpered loudly.

“And besides, what the fuck does it matter? I didn’t know you liked him until you told me just a little while ago, and you and Matt weren’t friends anymore, so I figured, fuck him.”

Crap.

“You want me to go out there and kick his ass?”

“No,” I muttered miserably, putting the tray of flatbread on top of the stove to cool as I closed the oven door. “When do you want dinner out there? The appetizers are done.”

“You can start now. It’s already eight.”

I nodded.

“I am sorry,” he croaked out, finally able to breathe normally again. “Mostly. I’m sixty-forty sorry.”

But really, it was no longer important.

I was told by everyone who wandered into the kitchen that the food was phenomenal and that I should come out and eat and dance and hang out. I wasn’t in the mood. I wasn’t allowed to leave—Kurt made me promise not to—and so I was drinking another margarita and hiding out. I couldn’t face Phil, and one run-in with Barbara a day was one too many. Instead of running away, tail between my legs, I was sitting on the steps that led from the kitchen door to a small path that went around the side of the house. I could have walked out that way, no one would have seen me, but I’d promised to stay, and it was Kurt’s birthday after all.

Sprawled there, head back, the cool night air on my face, I was comfortable. It was really hot in the kitchen, so to let some of the heat out was good. A lot of people bypassed the front door and came around the side of the house; I heard them crunching through the fallen leaves on their way from the street to Kurt’s backyard. Everyone greeted me as they walked by into the kitchen and through the swinging door to the living room where the music, the keg, the ice chests full of bottled water and wine coolers were, as well as Shane and Ellie, who were playing bartender for anyone who wanted a margarita. They’d been running two blenders all night and had already gone through four bottles of tequila. It was my only rule when I cooked, that there were no drinks in the kitchen. Even the bags of ice had to be out of my area. I couldn’t be expected to pull hot dishes from the oven with people walking around behind me.

“What are you doing, sulking?”

Opening my eyes, that I hadn’t realized I’d closed, I looked up at Kurt upside down.

“Well?”

“Yeah. Sulking.”

“Are you gonna eat?”

“I am eating,” I explained, holding up a chip for him to see.

“That is not food,” he assured me, sliding a hand through my hair. “Get up, come eat.”

I grunted. “I did, I promise. I had a couple flautas earlier.”

“Well, what’s amazing out there is that your buffet is more popular than the keg. More people are eating than drinking.”

“That’s good. Maybe you won’t have to hose down all the bathrooms like last time.”

“Really?” He sounded pained.

“I’m just saying. Food in there first to soak up the alcohol might not be the worst idea ever.”

“Well, I have some of the guys keeping an eye on the trash can with all the paper plates in it like you suggested, so it’s pretty clean out there. We do need another tray of enchiladas.”

“It’s there on the counter, ready to go out.”

He left me, and I realized that sadly, I was sobering up. Shane had not been in to bring me a fresh margarita in hours, so I had first had a Pepsi and then a bottle of water.

I wasn’t dozing when he came back, but it was a near thing.

“Hey.”

Quick grunt.

“You need to eat something else.”

“I’m fine,” I replied with a yawn.

“Please.”

“I’m good.” I sat up then, bending my knees to rest my elbows on. “I’ve even been hydrating.”

“Margaritas don’t count.”

“No, I’ve been watering myself like one of your philodendrons.”

“Like one of my what?”

“The plants you have in your living room,” I pointed out.

“That’s what those are?”

I groaned loudly.

“I thought they were spider plants or something.”

“You have those too, thanks to Ellie, and a golden pothos that apparently isn’t bothered by pot smoke.”

“Yeah, that’s great, but I don’t wanna play name that houseplant with you.”

“No?”

He nearly growled. “Just come with me. Come talk to me.”

“I—”

“Hi.”

I turned to the greeting, mouth open, about to respond to Kurt, and found Carson Cress. It was lucky I had drained my last bottle of water a while before he suddenly appeared or I would have choked.

“Cress,” Kurt breathed out above me.

“Hey.” Carson smiled up at Kurt, leaning close to me so he could offer him his hand. “Happy birthday, man. Matt told me you were celebrating.”

“I—yeah, I… holy shit,” he said under his breath before he found his footing and his voice. “Do you wanna come in?”