Page 12 of Sunset Beach
“I meant, what school?” he persisted.
“Miami,” she said. She hadn’t actually said UNIVERSITY of Miami, right? If he jumped to the wrong conclusion, that wasn’t her fault.
“Miami. Cool. Mark Richt is kicking ass and taking names down there. You a Hurricanes fan?”
“Not at all. I detest football,” she said, trying desperately to shut him down. Why had she lied like that? Why not say Miami Dade College? There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong with her.
She sucked down the last of her margarita and started to stand. “I gotta go. Tomorrow’s a school day, right?”
“You just got here,” Ben said, looking dismayed.
Brice had spotted her. He came around the table, put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not leaving already. The party just got started.”
“Actually, I am,” Drue said. “I’ve gotta get an early start in the morning. Don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the office manager.”
Brice frowned at her lame joke. Before he could say anything, his cell phonerang. He pulled it from his pocket, took a few steps away from the table, and a moment later was back.
“Speaking of. That was the boss,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve been summoned home.”
He motioned the server over. “You’ve already run my Amex. Keep the tab running for this motley crew.”
Brice clapped his hands to get the group’s attention. “Gotta go, guys, but don’t stop the party on my account.”
“Booty call,” Ben yelled, and the others at the table took up the refrain, banging beer bottles on the tabletop. “Booty call. Booty call. Brice has got a booty call.”
The boss grinned widely, and gently pushed his daughter back down to her chair.
“Stay, okay? The night’s young.” He turned to Ben and then Jonah. “I’m appointing you two characters as her wingmen. Make sure she’s taken care of, right?”
“We got this,” Ben said, shooting Brice a thumbs-up.
“Shot time!” yelled somebody at the end of the table.
“Yeah,” one of the accounting girls echoed. “Shots for everybody!”
Their server materialized, taking orders as they were shouted out.
“Jägerbomb!”
“Buttery Nipple!”
“Mind Eraser!”
“Redheaded Slut!” Ben yelled.
“Angel’s Tit!” Jonah called. He pointed at Drue. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Lights out,” Drue said.
“Huh?” Ben looked puzzled. “That’s one I’ve never heard of. And I’ve tasted every shot ever invented.” He held up his phone and tapped an icon. “Look. I’ve even got a Shots Spreadsheet.”
“It’s not a drink, it’s a statement,” Drue said. “Sorry to be such a wet blanket, but I’ve gotta head out.”
“No way,” Ben said. “You heard the man. You gotta at least stay for a round of shots.”
“This is so ridiculous,” Drue said, shaking her head. “I’ve never understood why they call it ‘happy hour.’ More like ‘amateur hour,’ if you ask me.”
Jonah groaned. “Spare us the lecture about how immature we are. Can’t you just let go and join the party? Have a little fun? I never would have thought any kid of Brice’s would be such a tight-ass.”
