I supposed to get the good stuff on tape if I knock?” he sneered. “Anyway, the last time I checked, this library was open to anyone Rex gave the green light to.”
I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms over my chest.
“The rich,” Baxter said, gesturing at Mike. “The royal,” he continued, turning to me. Finally, he pointed at himself. “And the relief.” He opened up his black trench coat to expose a pharmacy’s worth of powders and pills.
Mike nodded at Baxter’s trench coat. “Are you so stoned you forgot it was a costume party?” he asked.
Baxter went to punch Mike’s shoulder playfully, but instead he stumbled into the coffee table and ended up sprawled on the couch. Anyone else, I would have helped to his feet, but since Baxter’s next stumbling fall would only be a matter of minutes away, I decided to save my energy.
“Don’t you recognize my costume?” he slurred at Matt, making himself comfortable on the couch and crossing his legs on the coffee table. “Every dude knows that the best part of Mardi Gras is Girls Gone Wild. Since I dabble in filmmaking, I’m shouldering the task. All the top tits are out tonight.”
I rolled my eyes, suddenly glad Kate wasn’t here. “I didn’t think Rex would give the library liquor green light to such a strung-out drunken pig.”
“Feisty, Nat,” Baxter said, leaning over and attempting to run a finger up my thigh from the couch. I swatted him off.
“Let’s see that crotch shot again,” he said. “Usually, things don’t get that hot and heavy till at least midnight.” He fiddled with the camera to play back some of his footage. “So far the juiciest thing I’ve got from down below is Justin Balmer tripping over his boa.”
“What?” My ears perked up. “Let me see that. What’s J.B. doing?”
“Asking to get punked is what he’s doing,” Baxter said, rewinding his footage to show us. “Someone should cut that kid off. He’s one drink away from being worth the price of admission.”
“You said it,” I muttered as Mike and I leaned down to look over Baxter’s shoulder. The camera was so wobbly that it was hard to see much, but J.B. was definitely making an ass of himself. He was poolside, flashing a sock-stuffed lacy bra he must have borrowed from some Bambi. He was sporting red lipstick and a short leather skirt with fishnets—pretty much the opposite of classy.
My eyes narrowed.
“Let’s get down there,” I said.
Mike nodded, happy for a reason to get away from Baxter. He made a last run for the good champagne.
“Royal road pop,” he said, handing me the refill. “Who knows what the plebs are drinking down there?”
“You sure you don’t want to do one more sex scene for the camera?” Baxter called out. “I could make you big on the Internet.”
“Bye, Baxter,” I said, leaving him slumped on the studded leather couch. “Thanks for the preview.”
On the staircase, Mike and I paused again for another pose in front of the gilded mirror. Why was it that every time I caught a glimpse of myself looking so good, my father’s trashy text flashed into my mind?
I started down the stairs again, but Mike pulled on my hand.
“Don’t stray too far when we get down there,” he said. “Can’t have some masked man swooping in on you.”
“Promise,” I whispered back, glancing once more into his dark eyes.
In the kitchen, we passed the crawfish-boil buffet and the sign above it reading, Bite the Tail and Suck the Head. We paused behind a crowd of guys that had formed in front of the refrigerator. They each had a beer in one hand and a string of beads in the other. They were attempting a very drunken drum roll on their thighs.
“What do we have here?” Mike asked.
“Ask and you shall receive,” one of the guys answered, tossing Mike a strand of beads.
Soon, a line of girls filed in to stand in a row before the crowd. Their hands were poised at the hems of their shirts.
“And . . . flash wave!” one
I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms over my chest.
“The rich,” Baxter said, gesturing at Mike. “The royal,” he continued, turning to me. Finally, he pointed at himself. “And the relief.” He opened up his black trench coat to expose a pharmacy’s worth of powders and pills.
Mike nodded at Baxter’s trench coat. “Are you so stoned you forgot it was a costume party?” he asked.
Baxter went to punch Mike’s shoulder playfully, but instead he stumbled into the coffee table and ended up sprawled on the couch. Anyone else, I would have helped to his feet, but since Baxter’s next stumbling fall would only be a matter of minutes away, I decided to save my energy.
“Don’t you recognize my costume?” he slurred at Matt, making himself comfortable on the couch and crossing his legs on the coffee table. “Every dude knows that the best part of Mardi Gras is Girls Gone Wild. Since I dabble in filmmaking, I’m shouldering the task. All the top tits are out tonight.”
I rolled my eyes, suddenly glad Kate wasn’t here. “I didn’t think Rex would give the library liquor green light to such a strung-out drunken pig.”
“Feisty, Nat,” Baxter said, leaning over and attempting to run a finger up my thigh from the couch. I swatted him off.
“Let’s see that crotch shot again,” he said. “Usually, things don’t get that hot and heavy till at least midnight.” He fiddled with the camera to play back some of his footage. “So far the juiciest thing I’ve got from down below is Justin Balmer tripping over his boa.”
“What?” My ears perked up. “Let me see that. What’s J.B. doing?”
“Asking to get punked is what he’s doing,” Baxter said, rewinding his footage to show us. “Someone should cut that kid off. He’s one drink away from being worth the price of admission.”
“You said it,” I muttered as Mike and I leaned down to look over Baxter’s shoulder. The camera was so wobbly that it was hard to see much, but J.B. was definitely making an ass of himself. He was poolside, flashing a sock-stuffed lacy bra he must have borrowed from some Bambi. He was sporting red lipstick and a short leather skirt with fishnets—pretty much the opposite of classy.
My eyes narrowed.
“Let’s get down there,” I said.
Mike nodded, happy for a reason to get away from Baxter. He made a last run for the good champagne.
“Royal road pop,” he said, handing me the refill. “Who knows what the plebs are drinking down there?”
“You sure you don’t want to do one more sex scene for the camera?” Baxter called out. “I could make you big on the Internet.”
“Bye, Baxter,” I said, leaving him slumped on the studded leather couch. “Thanks for the preview.”
On the staircase, Mike and I paused again for another pose in front of the gilded mirror. Why was it that every time I caught a glimpse of myself looking so good, my father’s trashy text flashed into my mind?
I started down the stairs again, but Mike pulled on my hand.
“Don’t stray too far when we get down there,” he said. “Can’t have some masked man swooping in on you.”
“Promise,” I whispered back, glancing once more into his dark eyes.
In the kitchen, we passed the crawfish-boil buffet and the sign above it reading, Bite the Tail and Suck the Head. We paused behind a crowd of guys that had formed in front of the refrigerator. They each had a beer in one hand and a string of beads in the other. They were attempting a very drunken drum roll on their thighs.
“What do we have here?” Mike asked.
“Ask and you shall receive,” one of the guys answered, tossing Mike a strand of beads.
Soon, a line of girls filed in to stand in a row before the crowd. Their hands were poised at the hems of their shirts.
“And . . . flash wave!” one
Similar Books
