Sweet as Sin

5

Nico caught my eye in the mirror. “Kat,” he said gruffly. “A little help.” His gaze went to Avery’s behind.

I saw with horror that her small white robe had ridden up, exposing her ass. She was naked under the robe! Nico stood in a position that hid that fact from the rest of the room, but he couldn’t walk away without giving everyone an eyeful.

I looked frantically around for anything to cover her with, and saw the PA in the Metallica T-shirt who’d been shouting into his phone earlier. He was bent over a snarl of electrical wiring a few feet away.

I ran over to him. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for that shirt.” I pulled a wad of cash from my skirt pocket. I looked down at it. “Make that forty.”

He stood, glancing without surprise at the cash I was holding out as if complete strangers had offered him money many times in the past for his ratty T-shirt. He eyed me, pursing his lips. “This is my favorite shirt. It has sentimental value.”

Great. A negotiation. “Look, I’ve only got forty bucks on me, but if you give me your number I’ll call you later and get your address and I’ll send you . . . ”His brows lifted.

“A hundred?”

The pursed lips again. “A lot of sentimental value.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged, and began to turn away.

“Okay! God! Two hundred bucks!”

He turned back, grinning, then pulled the shirt over his head. Except for a smattering of freckles across his breastbone, his skin was as white as a pearl. “I’ll take the forty, I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

He held out the shirt, I tossed him the cash, then I stomped back over to where Nico waited, muttering to myself about idiotic men and their idiotic games.

Why did so many men act like screwing with a woman’s mind was an Olympic sport they were in training for?

Without a word, I arranged the T-shirt in such a way that Avery’s butt was incognito. I had to touch Nico to do it, slipping the fabric between his arms and her body, making a cradle of it under her behind. Every time I touched him it felt dangerous, like I was doing something wrong but utterly thrilling.

The way he kept looking at me didn’t help.

When I was done, I stepped back to inspect my work. “Okay. She’s all covered.” I glanced up to find them both looking at me.

“Thanks.” Avery spoke in a small little-girl’s voice. She looked guilty, like a child who’d been caught doing something bad.

My heart went out to her. She wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting, the diva everyone tried to make her out to be. The word that came to mind was broken.

Nico was silent. He gave me one last, inscrutable look, then turned and strode through the room, carrying Avery away, ignoring the whispers that rose in his wake. Confused by my interaction with Nico, conflicted by my response to him, wondering what would happen next, I watched until they vanished around the corner.

“No. Oh no no no no!”

Startled, I turned to see a young Asian guy standing a few feet away, staring after Avery and Nico in dismay. With his shaved head, smoky eye makeup, and long, leather trench coat, he looked like a Mini-Me of Morpheus from The Matrix. Beside him was a mobile garment rack bursting with white wedding gowns in various lengths and designs. His zebra-print platform boots added enough lift to his tiny frame that we stood about the same height.

When he looked at me, blinking, his fake eyelashes curling up to nearly his eyebrows, I decided he was so fabulous I wanted to tuck him into my purse and take him home with me.

“Don’t tell me girlfriend fell off the wagon again.”

I wasn’t sure how much to divulge, especially since I’d already decided to take Avery’s side. So I went with a nonchalant expression and purposeful vagueness. “Let’s just say . . . I don’t think girlfriend will be back anytime soon.”

Asian Matrix Guy’s sigh was weary. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sweet baby Jesus, what did I do to deserve this s**t?”

I stood there awkwardly. Clearly I was not sweet baby Jesus, so his question didn’t require a response.

He sighed again, then lifted his gaze to the ceiling far above. He waved an imperious hand. “Fine, then, universe! Bring it! Kenji will not be defeated!” He turned to me with a dazzling smile, all anxiety forgotten. “Hello, lovey. I’m Kenji, stylist for the band. Who’re you?”

“I’m Kat, the makeup artist,” I said, charmed by this zany character.

We shook hands, then he squealed. “Cat! Of course—because of the eyes, right?”

That wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. The shape and color of my eyes were distinctly feline. “Actually, no. It’s Kat with a k. Short for Katherine.”

Eyes narrowed, Kenji looked me up and down. “What are you, Japanese and Irish?”

My mouth must have fallen open, because Kenji grinned.

“You’re the first person to ever guess that right! How could you tell?”

He scoffed, “Honey, I can spot a fellow egg roll a mile away. But you’ve also got freckles, clover green eyes, a European name, and a Murphy’s Irish Draught sticker on your bag that reads, ‘Light beer is for pussies.’ Doesn’t exactly take a genius.”

Silence ensued. Then I countered with some genius logic of my own. “Egg rolls are Chinese.”

The imperial hand wave reappeared. “You know what I mean. So, what’d you get called?”

“Called?”