Page 8 of Can't Get Enough

People crowd around a bar as long and as well-stocked as you’d find in the finest establishments. An infinity pool with floating pavilions is the jeweled centerpiece of the area. The yard rolls out like a verdant green carpet down to the house’s private dock jutting out into the bay. A pier of sorts floats over the water, decorated with overstuffed outdoor furnishings, a firepit, and yet another bar. Motorboats speed toward the deck ferrying more guests, all dressed in white. I recognize some famous faces—actors, rappers, models, high-profile figures from the worlds of business and entertainment. Black, white, brown, and everything in between. This party is renowned for assembling an impressive cross section of influential people. My shoulders move to the loud music and I sip the “real” drink Zere found for me,but I feel myself shifting into grind mode. Yes, it’s a party, but it’s also an opportunity.

And I always make the most of those.

For a few minutes Zere stays with us, introducing us to people I know only from the tabloids. Even the most famous seem to feel at ease here. Maybe it’s the tightness of the security, the carefully curated guest list, or the free-flowing libations. Whatever the reason, everyone is loose and before I know it, my default setting ofwhat you see is what you getkicks in, and within the hour, I’m beside the DJ, directing him on what to play next. The phone rests heavily in my pocket, a reminder of my family’s challenges beyond this bay. The air, sultry and sweet and throbbing with the cadence of revelry, washes over me. If for only a moment, it washes my troubles away.

“You got ‘Jiggy Woogie’?” I ask, already winding my hips and anticipating that dancehall bop to drop.

He glances up and grins at me from the turntable, of which I approve because I’m old school like that. “You ’bout to turn this party out, ain’t you?”

I shrug and flash him a sheepish grin. “It’s what I do.”

CHAPTER 2

MAVERICK

There are few things more impractical than red wine at an all-white party. I shrug off the stained white silk T-shirt and let it drop to the floor.

“You have at least one wardrobe change every year, Mav.”

Bare-chested, I turn to face the reed-slim woman standing at the threshold connecting my closet to my bedroom.

With a chuckle, I reach for an almost-identical T-shirt and pull it over my head. “Whose bright idea was an all-white party anyway?”

Zere shutters her expression and approaches with a wry, humorless smile.

“Guilty as charged. It was definitely my idea.” She scoops my wine-stained shirt from the floor and walks it over to the hamper in the far corner.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say with a frown.

“Picking up after you became a habit the last three years. One I can’t seem to break yet.”

She walks back to me and we stand almost nose to nose. Zere was made for magazines and runways and front pages. At five feet eleven inches shoeless, she matches my six two easily in heels. Sometimes she even stands above me an inch in her favorite mile-high stilettos. I’m convinced Zere could run a marathon in those things, she’s so used to them.

Ironically, when we broke up a month ago, she calledmea runner. I don’t even know if she’s wrong.

“The party’s going well,” I say, settling on a neutral subject that won’t cause trouble with more than 150 guests downstairs. “Great job, as usual.”

“Yeah, well, guess I wanted to go out with a bang. If this is my last time throwing this party, I had to make it count.”

Her words hang between us, tightening the air in the space we shared and she decorated.

“Look, Zee,” I say on a resigned sigh. “I know this is awkward, but—”

“What could be awkward about hosting a party with your ex-boyfriend when no one knows you’ve called it quits?” Her laugh peals out brittle and harsh. “I’m having the time of my life.”

“I told you we could’ve skipped. These parties are always more your thing and—”

“Mything?” A scoffing breath punctuates her disdain. “Find me theDaily Mailheadline that says ‘Zere O’Malley’s All-White Party.’ Please. A-list celebrities are not here on the strength of my brand or my bank account, and we both know it.”

“What I mean is you always invested so much time and effort and care into these parties,” I say, cupping her shoulders in my hands and squeezing gently. “I just had to show up with my checkbook and a white suit. Now that we’re not together…”

She flinches, and I don’t finish the thought, but surely she knows I don’t give a damn about this party.

“I could…” She leans forward, lowers her lashes, swallows before going on. “I could still plan it even though we’re just friends. I wouldn’t mind.”

I weigh my words before I say them. The last thing I want to do is hurt her more than our breakup already has, but she must see that wouldn’t be healthy or smart for either of us.

“I don’t think so, Zee,” I finally reply, releasing my hold and carefully watching her face.

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