“I knocked… three times, but no one answered.” I shake my head and the incident off, following him just inside the door. With a smile I offer up my goods. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” I hold out a bottle of champagne and a measuring cup full of sugar. Fortunately I put plastic wrap over it or it would be all over his steps right now.
“Thank you and ummm…” He looks at the cup of sugar, his eyebrows pulled together, perplexed. “Sugar?”
“Yes. You know, to save you the trip when you run out. Now you have it.”
He smiles, and it’s sincere. When he looks at me, he says, “That’s the most clever gift I’ve gotten in a while. Thanks.”
I hand him the last gift, which makes him laugh. “You got me a Bite Me T-shirt. Awesome. Thanks.”
“It’s my company.”
“It is?” His face shows his astonishment.
“Don’t be all impressed. It’s really just free advertising if you wear it. I’m totally just using you,” I joke.
“I dig it and you can use me anytime. Hold this.” He hands me the T-shirt, sets the cup and champagne on a side table, and then unbuttons his shirt.
“You don’t have to wear it now,” I say, looking around at anything other than his tan and very toned body.
“I want to and thanks for the new duds.”
Stripping it off garners everyone’s attention, almost to the point of hearing a needle skid across a record. When I look back at Danny, he takes the shirt from my hands and pulls it over his very fit stomach. Not that I notice his abs or that defined V that his muscles make. Nope, didn’t notice any of that.
He nods toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you a drink.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing on his patio and some guy whose name I forgot is talking my ear off about something, but he lost me on differentials. Holding my finger up, I say, “Excuse me. I’ll be back.”
I escape, my glass already empty, the fast consumption of my drink needed to get through a conversation with that guy. Walking back to the kitchen I notice every female here is pretty, but not just average pretty—model pretty. Danny’s a good looking guy but doesn’t he know normal looking women? Oh wait, maybe that’s my role at this party.
“Can I refresh your wine?” Danny comes up behind me.
“I’d like that.” As he refills the glass, I ask, “Is every woman here a model or what? I have to say I’m a little intimidated.”
“Not all of them, but most,” he says matter-of-fact. He tops off my glass. “And you have nothing to be intimidated by.” He licks his bottom lip while looking into my eyes.
After sipping my wine, I ask, “Do you only date models?” I lean against the counter, hoping to steer the topic away from me.
“No. But I have dated a lot of models, most are more or less friends these days.”
The wine is starting to go to my head. I should have eaten dinner before I came over. “Most of the women here are friends you’ve dated?” I briefly question if that even makes sense.
Laughing, he smiles, tilting his head and looking amused. “Ummm… I kind of meant, most of the women I’ve dated I’m still friends with.” He looks around as if taking a tally. When he turns back to me, he says, “I’m not currently having sex more or less with any of the women at this party.”
“The night’s still young.”
“It most definitely is,” he adds just as a woman in a skin-toned dress wraps her arms around him.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Danny,” she slurs.
He takes her arms and in one smooth move, he turns, freed from her clutches. “Not avoiding, just playing host to all my guests.”
She eyes me up and says to him, “Come spend some time with the gang in the living room. We’re your guests, too.”
With a roll of his eyes, he smiles, then chuckles under his breath. “If you’ll excuse—”
“It’s fine. Tend to your guests.” I raise my glass to him.
Looking over his shoulder, he asks, “You’re staying, right?”
“I’ll stay a little longer.”
With a nod, he turns and walks with her into the other room.
I rummage around the dining table snacking on hors d’oeuvres and pretending to be completely comfortable in my aloneness. A waif of a girl breezes up to the table and takes a cracker, eats one bite and then disposes of the rest before pulling a cigarette from her bag and heading out to the patio. I set my plate of food down, feeling guilty for eating now and decide to drink more wine.
Moving out to the patio, the night is nice—clear skies and cool, but not cold. I can hear the ocean in the distance and lean on the patio wall toward the water. His patio overlooks mine, which needs a good sweeping. Maybe something I should do tomorrow or maybe not.