Chapter 31

Kat waited until they couldn’t hear Arthur stomping down the steps anymore, then broke the seal on a bottle of vodka so authentic that the label wasn’t even written in English. Melissa was waiting with a tray of shot glasses, into which Kat poured liberal measures. Everyone grabbed one, and Kat raised hers. “First, to the birthday boy,” she said.

“To Andy!”

The vodka was smooth, barely sharper than water, and danced lightly over his tongue before lighting a blowtorch in the back of Andy’s throat.

Andy’s eyes watered. It might not have been entirely the vodka’s fault.

“And next—” She refilled the shot glasses with easy grace, not wasting a drop. “—to my husband-to-be, who has finally worked up the nerve to ask to marry his mail-order bride. Now, he must only find me a ring.” She waved her bare hand around, tellingly, which led to some cat-calls and muttered commentary.

“To Jason!”

Andy managed to join in on the chorus for that one, a half-breath late. The vodka went down even easier the second time, and it seemed his head was already spinning.

The bottle went around a third time and this time it was Scooter who raised his glass. “To a successful Memorial Day and a good season!”

“To Dockside,” Kat said, raising her glass again.

“To cake,” Jason said, exasperated, pushing aside an offer of a fourth refill. “I don’t know about any of you, but I want sugar and caffeine.” Jason handed Andy a spatula, heavy enough to be real silver, and gently pushed him in the direction of the table.

Andy could barely remember his dinner break hours and hours ago, ten minutes hunched over the staff table wolfing down a burger that had been sent back for having too much onion, and he was hungry enough that he was sure the tiramisu would taste great no matter what. But it went beyond that—it was fluffy and perfectly balanced and those were definitely not store-bought ladyfingers, or cheap instant coffee. It practically melted in his mouth. “Oh God,” Melissa said, echoing Andy’s thoughts, “I think I’m having a mouthgasm.”

There wasn’t enough liqueur in the tiramisu to be intoxicating, but Kat passed around more vodka, and Andy let himself melt into its warmth, not as an escape, but because he felt safe, and—and happy

Kat brought him a gift and brushed aside his attempt at a protest with a kiss on each cheek. D’ante pulled his head down and made ridiculous loud kissy-noises on the top of his head. And apparently after that, they all decided that was the thing to do; Andy didn’t think he’d been kissed or hugged so much in the last year.

Elaine giggled hysterically when her card exploded glitter everywhere, and then pulled Andy’s head down (Elaine was tiny) to kiss his forehead. Jason’s hug was oddly gentle, like he was completely aware of how much stronger he was than everyone else around him, and he patted Andy on the back a few times. “Glad you stuck around, Andy,” he said. “Happy birthday.” Melissa, on the other hand, squeezed so hard she lifted Andy right off the floor.

But among the books and movie tickets and—had Elaine really given him a mix CD? That was kinda weird—it was Scooter’s present that stood out: a surfboard of his own, red with black racing stripes. And Scooter’s kiss hadn’t landed on Andy’s head or cheek. Instead, Scooter had taken hold of Andy’s jaw and drawn him up into a very soft kiss on the mouth. As far as kisses went, Andy had participated in more passionate ones, more skilled. Scooter didn’t even open his mouth, just let his lips mold against Andy’s for a moment, then pulled back. But it left Andy shaken and aching nonetheless, and if the others were jeering or teasing, he couldn’t hear over the pounding of his heart.

“Happy birthday,” Scooter said in his ear, a warm breath that made a shiver run down Andy’s spine.

Maybe it was just the exhaustion and the vodka letting Scooter bend his rules for a moment—but if it was, then Andy was going to take full advantage, and cherish every sweet second. He caught Scooter’s shirt by the collar and leaned up for another soft, gentle kiss. When he pulled back, Scooter was looking at him with wide, dark eyes, full of wonder. “The happiest,” Andy told him, in all honesty.

Scooter smiled, like Andy’s happiness truly mattered to him. “Good,” he said. “And many more.” 13

Scooter crawled out of bed, hating sunlight, vodka, gravity, and his life. In that order. He ached like someone had thrown him down the stairs. He stretched and groaned, categorizing his aches and pains. Made his way into his bathroom and scrubbed old vodka off his teeth. Dry swallowed some Advil. Pulled on his jeans and went to get his coffee, already cheerfully percolating in the other room like it was any other day. (Bless the timer function. Also, bless whoever had planned ahead enough to get it set up, because Scooter was pretty sure it hadn’t been him.)

The living room was a wreck, bits of wrapping paper and glitter everywhere. The wrapping paper was easily dealt with. He was going to kill Elaine for the glitter. Or make her come up and vacuum his place. Or both. There was some leftover tiramisu still in Jason’s crystal bowl, which Scooter decided could be breakfast. By the time he put his fork in the sink, Scooter was mostly human.