I blush.
Kat continues, “But back in the day, one of my favorite things to do was go to a bar with my friends to see what outlandish persona I could get some hot guy to believe.”
“Like what kinds of outlandish personas?”
“Oh, all sorts. My favorite was Matilda Blackburn from Perth who worked at a crocodile farm. That one always slayed.”
“Let me hear your Aussie accent,” I say.
Kat gathers herself for a beat, shakes out her hair, and then says, “G’day, mate. Whaddaya say we ride our emus to Chris Hemsworth’s house and have ourselves some brekkie?”
I giggle. “Is that your impression of an Australian or a pirate at Disneyland?”
Kat guffaws at that. “I do it much better when I’m shitfaced.”
“Of course, you do. What were some of your other personas? This is fascinating.”
“Sometimes, I said I was a pro tennis player named Olga Slovinskaya from the Czech Republic. That one was fun until this one guy happened to be fluent in Czech. Oh, and when I was feeling extra sassy, I’d sometimes say I’d just escaped from a cult and it was my first time out in a bar.”
I laugh uproariously. “Well, jeez, honey, after all those crazy scenarios, wearing a flight-attendant uniform to a bar would have been anti-climactic. Believe me, it’s not nearly as thrilling as it sounds.”
Kat’s face lights up. “Oooh, you’ve done it?”
My heart leaps into my throat. Shit. Did I just admit that to Kat? “Um.”
“Aw, come on, sweetie pie, you can tell me,” Kat purrs. “Have you worn Charlotte McDougal’s flight-attendant uniform to a bar?”
Aw, fuck it. “Yeah. Once.”
Kat squeals.
“Charlotte made me do it.”
Kat lets out an evil laugh and then mutters under her breath, “Note to self: Call Agent Eric and tell him he’s a piker.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing, honey. Now tell me the juicy details about thatonecrazy time you wore Charlotte’s uniform to a bar. Did you meet any hotties?”
“Just one—the asshole I told you about earlier. But I don’t want to talk about him.” I throw back the rest of my drink. “In fact, I think I’m gonna go to bed now. We’ve got an exciting day tomorrow and I need to sleep off the rum—and you need to get back to your party.” I give her a quick little squeeze. “Nighty night, Almost-Mrs.-Faraday. Thank you for always being so sweet to me, right from Day One. I truly adore you. You’re my hero.” I turn to leave, intending to sprint away before Kat corners me and asks me any more questions about the asshole I slept with, but she intertwines her arm in mine, keeping me anchored to her side.
“Hang on, love,” Kat says. “If you’re feeling wobbly, you shouldn’t walk to your room alone. We wouldn’t want you tripping and falling into a koi pond and passing out. I’ll walk you to your room, just to be sure you get there safely.”
“No, no. I’m just a little wobbly, not shitfaced. And you can’t walk me to my room—this is your party, honey. You’re the reason for the season.”
“Good point. Then I’ll get Colby to walk you. He won’t mind. The firefighter motto is ‘service before self.’ Oh, wait. Shoot. I keep forgetting about Colby’s leg. Darn it. Well, hmm.” She turns around and scans the party like she’s making an incredibly important decision. She taps the little cleft in her chin. “Well, I certainly can’t ask Keaney to take you—he might hit on you, the horny bastard.”
I laugh. “No, he won’t. We already feel like brother and sister.”
“Good. Because he’s the most egregious manwhore who ever lived. Stay the fuck away from that one.”
“Is Keane more of a manwhore than... your other brothers?” I ask. But, of course, the only brother I’m actually asking about is Ryan.
“My other brothers aren’t manwhores. Not like Keane, anyway.”
“Not even Ryan? He seems like a manwhore.”
Kat smirks. “No, honey. Ryan’s not a manwhore. He used to be, don’t get me wrong—there was a time when I wouldn’t let him touch any of my friends with a ten-foot pole. But not anymore. Nowadays, he’s very much a one-woman kind of guy, by choice.”
