My house was in chaos when I walked inside.
When I’d texted Cross as I was heading back, he’d said dinner was almost ready. I expected Channing, Cross, maybe Heather.
But I heard voices from the curb where I had to park. The driveway was full. Walking up the sidewalk, I glanced back to the street. Five Harleys were parked, along with Taz’s Ford, Jordan’s truck, and I was fairly certain Race’s car. What was going on?
I walked inside, and the noise bombarded me at the same time as the smells. Grilling. Hot dogs. Burgers. Voices giggling, shrieking. Some deep laughter and baritone murmurs. All with low music underneath: Beastie Boys, “Sabotage.”
A party. That’s what was happening.
Zellman was playing air guitar when I went to the kitchen. Jordan was doing air drums, sitting at the table.
