“Shit!” As they turn into Priest’s drive, I go past, pulling over once out of sight. There’s no way for a casual encounter now, so I do the only thing I can.
Me
I need to let loose. You up for it?
I watch the phone, waiting for his reply. Dropping my phone in my lap, I rest my head back. Finally, it pings with a message.
Fletch
Tough day, huh? We’re at Priest’s. Come and join us, I’ll cheer you up. ;)
Me
Sounds good. Be there soon.
I toss my phone on my seat and drive to the nearest shop to grab a bottle of something. Rude to turn up empty handed.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling up in Priest’s drive.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Roni
Fletch opens the door before I can even knock. “Here she is.” He holds his arms wide, waiting for me to accept the hug he’s offering.
“I’m not here for hugs, Fletch.” I hold the bottle of champagne I brought. “Got a corkscrew?” I ask as I sidestep him and head inside.
Initially my entrance is met with catcalls and whoops which quickly turns to groans.
“Ah, man, I thought you got us a stripper,” says the guy Fletch picked up earlier.
I let out a hyperbolic laugh, wiping the look off his face. “Not a chance. Looks like it’s just going to be you and your right hand again tonight.” I stride past him into the kitchen, popping the cork on this bottle of champers. If I’m going to do this, then I might as well enjoy it.
By the time I rejoin the guys in the lounge, the conversation has moved on to football. Urgh!
“Football? Honestly?” I whine sarcastically as I take an empty seat beside Fletch.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a girl free zone, so conversation topics tend to veer toward football or pussy, Roni,” Ian says with a smirk before manifesting into a gleam in his eyes. “Or maybe you’d like to talk about you and Rawl—” His words are cut short when a cushion slams into his face.
“Don’t be a dick, Ian,” Priest says, a frown marring his brow as he looks at the beer in his hand.
I keep watching him as he throws a glare to Fletch, who coughs on his mouthful of beer before changing the subject once he recovers.
“So, who did you say this band are again?” He directs his question to Ian, the guy Priest just cushion bombed.
“Crude Ribbons. My sister’s boyfriend is the front man.”
“Crude Ribbons, huh?” one of the other guys says. “Sounds like some messed up ribbon gymnast troupe.”
All the guys laugh as several jokes about how bendy gymnasts are go round the room while I roll my eyes. Because once again the topic has spun back to girls and sex.
“Sorry, about them. They haven’t been laid in a while,” Fletch says, nudging me.
“Yeah, it shows. I hope they don’t act like this around girls they want to date, and I use the term date loosely.”
“You’d be surprised what some chicks like. And how about you, Roni, what do you like?”
I raise my brows, trying to mask my surprise at the flirty tone in his words. Turning to face him, I say, “Are you hitting on me, Fletch? ’Cause I’ve got to say, that’s not a good idea.”
