“When I drink?”
“No. When she drinks. You hover around her like a bodyguard and just scowl at everyone who looks at her. So go on.” He’s pushing me out of the booth with the toe of his shiny dress shoe. “Go check on your woman before you bring this whole party down. We’re already obnoxiously sober because of you. Don’t make us all start biting our fingernails too.”
“Agreed. Go find her,” says Price.
Lawrence shrugs. “I think it’s kinda nice how he’s always looking out for her.”
Jamal points at Lawrence. “Don’t encourage him.”
I shake my head and leave the lounge. Thankfully the bar is really dark and the VIP area is tucked back away from the main space, so I’m not immediately faced with fans wanting an autograph. I slip down the hallway and stop just outside the women’s bathroom. I knock and open the door a crack to yell inside. “Bree Cheese, you good in there?”
I hear a drunken giggle immediately and relax. “That’s me! Bree cheesy cheese,” she says, probably to no one in particular in there.
But then a second later, the door opens fully and a tall, dark-haired woman appears. She’s dressed professionally and wearing a smile that has a bite to it. I worry for a second that she’s going to be an obsessive fan and get handsy in the hallway （it’s happened several times）， but then she opens the door to the bathroom wider and hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “I think your friend here needs a little help.”
“Is she okay?” I’m already pushing my way in.
The woman follows closely behind me toward the closed stall. “Yeah…if you consider incredibly drunk okay. She was talking my ear off while trying to get that beer stain out of her shirt, and then all of a sudden she went white as a sheet and fled to the stall.”
My heart tugs. Bree can’t handle her liquor. I should have made sure she eased up earlier. I force-fed her a plate of fries （I say force because her attention span is the size of a gnat when she’s drunk and I had to continuously remind her to take bites）， but I’m not sure it was enough to soak up everything she drank tonight.
I get to the closed stall and rap my knuckle against the door twice. “Bree? You okay? Can I come in?”
“NATHAN?! Hiiiii.” Her voice is breathy but happy. At least I know she’s not passed out in there or throwing up.
“Yeah, it’s me. Can I open the door?”
I’m aware of the woman still hovering behind me. I want to ask her to go away. She doesn’t need to be witnessing this, but that’s the thing about fans—they don’t believe in giving celebrities privacy. They seem to be under the impression that we “signed up for this” and our private lives should be an open, all-you-can-eat entertainment buffet. But Bree didn’t “sign up” for this and I know she doesn’t want anything to do with the spotlight, so I’m very protective of her in public situations. I’ll be her bodyguard any day.
“Sure, QB! Mi casa is su casa.” Bree is the friendliest drunk you’ll ever meet. If at all possible, she gets more adorable with every shot she takes. I have to be careful with her, though, because one time she literally tried to give the keys of her apartment to a man experiencing homelessness and told him he should have it instead of her. She’s generous to a fault—which is ironic considering that’s what she says about me.
“Can you slide the lock open?” I ask her softly.
“OH!” She chuckles loudly, and I glance over my shoulder again. Brunette is still there, smiling tensely with a wicked gleam in her eyes that I don’t trust. I adjust my body, trying to form a privacy wall with my back.
“Oops. That’s the flusher. Hey Nathhaannn…where do I find the lockey thing? It’s too dark to see anything in here.” Oh geez. She’s so far gone.