Page 22 of Cocky Jerk

He blinks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn. I pull the phone away from my ear when no one answers, making sure I dialed the right number. “Why the fuck is no one answering?”

“I take one day off,” Richie mutters and I turn back to him. “One day and you lose your mind.”

Tell me about it.

The receptionist answers the phone and I quickly ask for her to connect me to Soraya’s private line.

“Are your ears ringing?” Soraya greets.

“Come again?”

“Well, Antonia and I were just talking about you,” she reveals. “I hear you were quite the good cop yesterday. Not too many officers would go out of their way to bring a woman their license after hitting her with three tickets.”

“Yeah, I’m a catch,” I mumble. “Should I relay that message?” she quips.

“Funny. If the advice column thing takes a dive, you should give stand up comedy a whirl,” I retort. “You got any more jabs you want to take, or can we get to why I’m calling?”

“You better be calling me to tell me you figured out a way to get Tig and Delia to the party.”

I roll my eyes.

This is the first, and last time I voluntarily subject myself to planning a party. Actually, I take that back. I love a good party. Take the Super Bowl, for instance. I go all out for the big game. There’s a four-foot hero, wings for days and beer on tap. I even decorate my apartment with vintage football jerseys and buy football shaped paper plates. I’m telling you, I throw a mean party.

It’s surprise anniversary parties that just aren’t my thing.

“I’m working on it,” I mutter.

Lies.

Straight fucking lies.

“Marco…” she warns.

“I’ll get them there,” I promise. I’m not above arresting them and dragging them to the restaurant. Whatever it takes, I got this—that’s if I get my head screwed on straight. “I need your help.”

“With?”

“Antonia.”

“I knew it!”

“Please don’t gloat. It’s not very becoming,” I say. Richie laughs silently beside me, and I flip him the bird. “Will you help me or not?” I sigh.

“Depends what you need,” she retorts cheekily.

I remain silent. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“Marco,” Soraya calls. “I don’t have all day.”

Muttering a curse, I grip the phone tightly and grind out my request.

“How do I send an edible fruit arrangement?”

Go ahead, laugh.

Richie does.

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