I tip my beer back and drain the cup.
“I’m going to get another drink.” I don’t bother adding that I’ll be right back, because that would be a lie.
I weave through the crush of sweaty bodies only to discover the keg is kicked.
It’ll take a few minutes for the Sigs to bring in a replacement, but I’ve been to enough of these parties to know there’ll be another one in the kitchen. I duck out of line and make my way down the back hall, passing a Squid Game contestant, a guy in a Top Gun flight suit, and a girl wrapped in yellow caution tape.
I do a double take.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Because it’s my everyday state of being, which probably invalidates it as a costume choice.
It’s quieter in the kitchen and there’s no line for the keg, so I step right up and grab the faucet. It sputters when I press down, but eventually the amber liquid trickles out. It’s slow going and my cup is only half full when I hear a familiar rumble of laughter behind me.
“I’ve been looking for you all night,” Coop says, breath hot against my cheek. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”
His fingers skim my hip, just the barest contact, as he reaches around to pump the keg. My heart slams against my ribcage and I watch, breath held, as the beer flows freely, filling my cup to the top.
Be cool.
I drop the faucet and turn to face him. He’s standing so close my breasts brush his chest, but I doubt he can feel it through his armor. He’s dressed as Thor,blond hair scraped back from his face, muscular arms on full display.
It’s a good look for him.
Especially the leather pants, which hug his trim hips like they’ve been painted on.
“Thanks for the assist.” I sip my beer, careful not to spill any on my costume. “If you hadn’t come along, I’d have been here all night.”
He quirks a brow. “Something tells me you would have managed just fine.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” I grin up at him. “I’m forbidden from ever pumping a keg. House rules.”
He leans against the counter and crosses his ankles. “Now this I’ve got to hear.”
Not a chance. He’s already heard more than enough embarrassing Quinntastrophe stories.
“Let’s just say the last time I tried to pump a keg, things went horribly wrong.” I glance around, realizing for the first time that we have the kitchen to ourselves. There’s no one else around and despite the loud music pouring in from the hall, it’s strangely quiet. “What about you? Why are you hiding out in the kitchen? Shouldn’t you be surrounded by your adoring fans?”
He played a great game today. There must be plenty of women eager to help him celebrate.
My stomach twists at the realization.
Coop shrugs. “I’m just here for the candy.”
Of course. “You mean the eye candy?”
He smirks and holds up a bowl of Reese’s peanut butter cups I hadn’t noticed.
Because you were too busy checking out his biceps.
“Shh.” He leans in close, whispering conspiratorially. “Don’t tell. I’m not supposed to be eating sugar. Or carbs. But these things are my kryptonite.”
“Wrong universe, pretty boy.” I flash him a teasing smile. “I don’t think Thor has a kryptonite.”
“Whatever.” He preens, lifting his chin and flexing his biceps. “I’d dress up like Superman—I totally have the legs for blue tights—but with this face, Thor is sort of inevitable.”
No lies detected.
