“Nathan!” I hiss as we walk not so discreetly through the upscale restaurant—I’m assuming this hostess was told to parade Nathan through the belly of the beast so everyone knows he was here—toward a hallway that leads to a VIP lounge. “Why did you have to kidnap me dressed like this? You should have told me to change! I thought we were going to a burger place or something.” Which, I now realize, was a silly thought. The Sharks are officially in the playoffs, and Nathan and Jamal’s celebrity status has skyrocketed. They have to be careful where they go right now, and I’m assuming most burger places wouldn’t have a VIP lounge to give them privacy.
Nathan’s brows dip and he scans his eyes over me as we walk. He takes in my yellow scrunchie, F.R.I.E.N.D.S. logo t-shirt, scuffed-up sneakers, and ankle-cropped jeans. He smiles. “You look great as always.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, accidentally bumping into the back of his bicep when I look behind me at the women in tiny dresses lining the bar we just passed. “I look like your teenaged little sister who you just picked up from school.”
His hand presses firmer into my back so I don’t trip again. “I don’t think you’re getting glares from those women because they assume you’re my little sister.”
I would refute that comment, but in the next moment we are swept inside the lounge. We’re the only ones back here, so I’m assuming all the other celebrities decided to have their chefs cook for them at home tonight.
A velvet rope gets clasped behind us. We’re led to a private little nook with drapes hanging around it for added privacy. Good thing, too, because a small crowd was beginning to form behind us, poised to receive autographs and photos the moment Nathan sits down.
“Here you are,” says the woman I’m definitely not letting myself be jealous of. She gives a pretty little wink and walks off, cute hips swaying. It’s not until I turn back to Nathan and see him staring at me and holding back a smile that I realize I was shooting laser beams at the hostess the whole time.
“If looks could kill,” he says, giving in to his quiet grin.
I open my mouth to defend myself, but we get interrupted.
“Bree Cheese!” says Jamal Mericks, emerging from the draped nook wearing an incredible suit. I get tugged away from Nathan and wrapped up in an enormous, expensive-cologne-filled hug. “Quit hogging her, man. It’s my birthday.”
“Yeah, Nathan, quit being so stingy,” I say sarcastically while digging around in my purse to find Jamal’s present.
He rubs his hands together, and the gold watch on his wrist twinkles. “Oooo am I getting a Breenket?! Please say I am. It’s been too long since you gave me that cat figurine.” It was in honor of the time Jamal and I went to a cat cafe together to overcome his fear of felines. Unfortunately, the scratch he got from that particularly crabby tabby got super infected, and now he won’t even go in the same room as a cat. Anyway, I got him the cat figurine so he can have one kitty that will never scratch him.
“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”
He grimaces, looking at Nathan. “She doesn’t have a real cat stuffed in that bag, does she?”
“Wouldn’t tell you if she did,” says Nathan, earning ten brownie points from me.
Jamal sighs, shuts his eyes, and cups his hands in front of him. “Trusting you with my life.”
So here’s the story: Jamal likes to make sure he looks good at all times, so he slips off to look in the bathroom mirror a lot when we’re out at a bar. Last time, while he was gone asking the mirror who was the fairest of them all, he missed a Nicole Kidman sighting. Nicole is Jamal’s lifelong crush, and he was devastated to learn he’d missed his chance at seeing her in person. （It’s important to note that this was the offseason and we were all several drinks in, and also that Nicole Kidman’s friend called her Sally.）