Reggie failed twice to button up the red shirt Carlos had brought him. The third time, he snarled and tugged it so hard, he almost tore off one of the buttons.
“Shit.” Thank God it was the last button. He stuffed the shirt into his black jeans and looked in the mirror. His hair was still wet and he looked horrific.
“f**k!”
Mr. Wilson and his guests would just have to accept him as he was.
The party venue was big and airy. Soft lights illuminated a string quartet playing for the guests, whose idle chatter was surprisingly low. The tournament director and sponsors’ wives treated Reggie like a son, continuously filling his plate with finger food even before it was empty.
“Another champagne, sir?” a waiter asked as Reggie approaching the drinks table.
Suddenly Carlos appeared at his side
