Page 25 of What's in a Kiss?

“A real catch,” Glasswell says, somehow at my side again.

“Is that why you couldn’t get your zipper up? A catch?”

“You’re grasping at straws, Liv.”

“Notthatstraw, thank you.”

The two of us watch Werner lick spumante foam from his fingers.

“I see,” Glasswell says, “because this guy’s your type.”

I stall, torn between saying Werner’s nowhere near my type, and that my type is nowhere near Glasswell’s business. But that’s the pattern we’ve been captive to all day. I want to disrupt this downward spiral.

Werner clinks a fork against his own spumante flute.

“Ohhh, we’re getting a toast...” I say, more than slightly panicked. “You don’t have to make a speech, Werner... I can take it from here—”

“But not before I give an Olympus-sized welcome to the beautiful bride, Masha, and her lucky dude, Eli!” He snaps, makes a gun with his fingers, and shoots Eli before whirling on Glasswell. “And my man over here—I don’t think I’ve yet had the pleasure—”

“Jake.”

I notice how curtly Glasswell answers, how closely he studies Werner. It makes me see Werner through Glasswell’s eyes. How essentially SoCal Werner is. It’s not like this is foreign territory for Glasswell, who moved to LA from San Francisco our junior year of high school. Plus his job probably makes LA a regular stop for business lunches. But in all the time he’s spent here, Glasswell clearly has not acquired affection for LA’s downlow chillax.

Usually, Werner’s casual, surfer-guy cool feels comfortable to me, but tonight, trying to charm Glasswell, he seems like a cartoon.

“You look so familiar,” Werner says, wagging a finger at Glasswell, and I almost love him for pretending not to know who Glasswell is. “Did you hang out at Hyde back in the day?”

Eli coughs a laugh. Masha winces. Glasswell says, “Not that I recall.”

“Hey,” Werner says, “if you remember, you probably weren’t there!”

Werner actually just made that Boomer joke with enthusiasm. Glasswell makes a show of faking a fake smile.

“Well, any friend of Liv’s is a friend of mine.” Werner puts his arm around my shoulder. “Please, kick back and enjoy that sunset.” When he turns and crouches to assume his three-quarter profile pose, I know his signature line is coming: “We ordered it especially for you.”

“Aw, thank you,” Masha says.

“So sweet, man,” Eli adds.

Werner winks at Masha. “I’ll be right back with some virgin vegan bites.”

As Werner disappears, Glasswell approaches, a glint in his eyes. “Did I forget to tell you?”

“What?”

“I’m allergic to virgin vegan bites. It’s the virginity—can’t tolerate it.”

“I’ll let Werner know you require standard vegan bites—”

“I’m imagining the pillow talk you two must share,” Glasswell says. “Is it a lot of ‘knock-knock, who’s there’?”

“We can’t all be geniuses putting bras in napkin holders,” I say, referencing one of the dumb memes from a gag Glasswell did with Aurora on his show.

“That bit—” he starts to say.

“Oh please, defend that bit, Glasswell.”

“It makes people happy!” he says so loudly Masha and Eli look at us. Darlene Love’s “(Today I Met) The Boy I’m Gonna Marry” fills the tense silence that follows.

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