Page 6 of Sapphire Sunset

“You hate the glow sticks? No!” Naser wailed. “You told meto bring something fun.”

“Well, for starters, thesearen’tglow sticks.”

“I guess not, but the party store was out, and these glowso…” Naser stared woefully down into the bag as if the revelation that sticksand necklaces were two entirely different things was one he’d be processing fora long time. Possibly in therapy. He was so disconnected from the idea of aparty in general that in his eyes one annoying blinking thing was as good asany other.

“They are, but Naser, I actually suggested party hats. Notglow sticks.”

“Did not!” Naser gave him a shocked stare. “You did not. Youspecifically told me to bring glow sticks.”

Which these aren’t,to his own gratitude, hemanaged not to say.

“Actually, I said if you wanted to help out, bring somethinglike party hats or feather boas or some sort of costume element…”thatdoesn’t blink or glow or throw off the lighting design I spent hourscalibrating.

“Okay, well, the call must have dropped out then because allI heard was glow sticks and how you think I’m no fun.”

“Those were different conversations. Naser, stop. Stop withthe Bambi eyes.”

But Naser’s Bambi eyes were a potent weapon—big and dark andswimming and capable of filling with whatever emotion he wanted to fill themwith. He’d used them to great effect over the years on his mother and sisterand pretty much anyone else in his huge family of A-type personalities, on whomhe’d sharpened his innate skills as a budding accountant and all-around humanDay Planner. Throughout the years together at UC Irvine, their friends jokedthat Connor was destined to throw all of life’s great parties, and Naser wouldmake sure they didn’t bankrupt anyone or catch fire.

Connor curved an arm around his best friend’s back andpulled his face to his chest, a move that allowed him to deftly snatch the bagof hideous blinking necklaces out of Naser’s hand.

“I never said you weren’t any fun,” Connor said, even thoughhe knew it was kind of a lie.

“You said some people are the life of the party, but I’m theICU of the party.”

“A year ago.” Connor started pulling Naser toward the nearestbar so he could secure his best friend some caffeine to go with his buzz. “WhenI was drunk. And that’s because you started reading a book at my birthdayparty.”

“It was a good book.”

“It was a pool party, Naser, and you wereinthepool. Look, I commend your attempt to create a distribution event that raisesthe energy of the guests on the dance floor past the party’s halfway point,thereby distracting them from the fact that their second wave buzz might be wearingoff. Unfortunately, these necklaces just do not work with my lighting plan.”

“I understand. Can I go home and read now?” Naser asked.

“No. There’s still party left.”

“But I’m doing the party wrong, and my feet hurt,” Naserwhined.

“You’re not doing the party wrong. It’s my fault for not givingyou clearer instructions. And it’s your party, too. However, due to a tragicmisunderstanding, we’ll need to eject this jewelry of the damned. These necklacesare not on the guest list.”

“Aretheyon the guest list?”

Connor followed the direction of Naser’s look.

At first, he guessed the three middle-aged men stumblingtheir way onto the dance floor might be family members of graduates. But only afew guests had brought relatives, and Connor had met them all. These guys werenot among them. They looked like they’d come from the golf course by way of aHooter’s. Their polo shirts were bright primary colors, and one of themactually wore plaid golf pants. All three were sweaty and ruddy-faced andleering at Connor’s friends Jose Villa and Ken Hong, who were bumping andgrinding a few feet away. Jose and Ken had been a couple since junior year, sothey moved against each other with the intensity of people who knew eachother’s bodies top to bottom.

Connor read the signs immediately: drunken douchebags, probablyguests of the hotel, with enough liquid nerve to harass the one dancing gaycouple they’d spotted as they’d walked past the open terrace doors outside.

The three men fanned out on all sides of Jose and Ken,parodying their moves with the grace of stoned penguins.

“Uh oh,” Naser mumbled.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Connor made a beeline for theinvaders.

DrunkyMcGolfpantswas doing his own version of a bump and grind against Jose’s back. But it wasmore bump than grind, and God, if it didn’t look like the guy was punching Josewith his crotch. Jose spun, finger raised. Connor had enjoyed enough wildnights in West Hollywood with Jose to know nothing good ever came of thatraised finger. For the person standing in front of it, at least.

“Could you stop, dude?” Jose asked.

“Oh,wassamatter?”McGolfpantsslurred. “You donwannadance with me. I’m notprettyenough.”

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