Chapter Thirteen

The news about Miss Golden Globe had divided my house in half. Mom was, of course, completely over the moon and was already planning possible outfits for the night. Dad was a lot less excited, which wasn’t at all surprising, considering his favorite hobby was worrying about me. He kept talking about how it probably wasn’t safe for me to be in the spotlight at this time, and how he couldn’t believe I hadn’t mentioned Dr. D’s request to “save the date.” I’ll admit, I was mildly horrified that he didn’t tell me he was super proud and throw a lavish party in my honor. Miss Golden Globe was no small thing, but he just kept saying, “I’ll think about it” every time I wanted to talk about it. Which basically meant no.

In the meantime, my biggest issue was the UCLA party and my first night alone with Milo. I had somehow managed to get Jack on board, but there were still a few creases to smooth out. Aria and Veronica had been on my case all day Friday and then Saturday morning, unable to believe I was missing Brendan’s party without a solid reason. I didn’t even bother pulling the illness excuse this time. I went straight for the parent card and claimed that “I really didn’t want to talk about it,” while assuring them that yes, I too couldn’t believe how much of a nightmare my dad was being. Sorry for throwing you under the bus like that, Dad. Oh, and all the other stuff I was about to lie about, too.

Lying to my friends felt so wrong, and I was tempted to just surrender and tell them everything. But I always managed to hold back at the last minute. It just wasn’t the right time yet. Unfortunately, this meant I couldn’t turn to them with the biggest issue in my life: what to wear to the party. I needed an outfit that would make me look so sexy that Milo would melt on the spot. Aria’s closet really would have come in handy at a time like this, but seeing as it was unavailable, I was left with two choices. First there was Anya, who dressed like a pilgrim, and then there was my mother, who didn’t dress at all. “Wear a low-cut dress and lots of red lipstick. That’s step one.” That had been her grand advice when I had asked how to make a guy fall in love with you. I didn’t stick around to hear step two, because judging by her experiences, it would only end in divorce.

When it was finally Saturday night, the state of my room had declined by a million. Clothes and shoes were strewn all over the bed and floor, as I kept throwing hangers out of my way. Milo Fells and I were going on the closest thing we had to a date, and goddammit, I was going to look like a freaking sex bomb if it killed me. After trying on hundreds of different combinations that failed to satisfy my ideal look, I finally settled for a little, black, Stella McCartney dress. It was a bit of a safe option, but this was no time to be taking risks.

I had asked Mom if I could borrow her stylist, Kat, to do my makeup, but she had some fancy dinner party she needed to attend in Beverly Hills, and needed her for the night. Left to fend for myself, I curled the ends of my hair and added shimmer and mascara to my eyelashes, careful not to accidently rip off the fake lashes that had taken me a good twenty minutes to put on. It felt like I was wearing umbrellas on my eyes, but they made them look bigger and brighter, which meant Milo could gaze into them all night long as if my life were a Katherine Heigl movie.

By the time eight-thirty approached, my makeup was done, my red heels were on and I was coating my lips with red lipstick, just like my mother had recommended. All said and done, I looked pretty damn hot, considering I had accidently poked myself in the eye with the eye pencil twice and had to stop it from watering like a flowing river. The way I saw it, there were three things that could go down that night. One, I would make a complete fool of myself the whole night, talking non-stop in my ridiculous British accent. Two, I could babble the night away, get kidnapped-slash-killed or worse, break my heel. Lastly, I could be amazing and blow Milo’s mind and carry myself as a true lady, casually attending a party for raging alcoholics in the making. I was hoping the third option would work in my favor, but my luck so far hadn’t been too promising.

When the clock hit nine, I was considering investing in an asthma pump. Jack and I said our hurried goodbyes and ran out of the house. He did some head shaking and frustrated sighing, reminding me that we had to time our return perfectly. I did a lot of nodding and said, “yes, sir,” and watched him climb into his Jeep and drive away. Milo had come to pick me up looking like something out of a Hugo Boss ad, with his leather jacket and perfectly styled hair. Thankfully he had listened to my text that had explicitly stated, in caps, NOT to ring the doorbell, as it was “broken,” and to just text me when he was outside. Not a great start to a romantic evening, but beggars can’t be choosers. Milo had also adhered to the Halloween theme judging by the batman mask resting on the backseat, which went perfectly with my velvety cat ears headband. Everything up ‘til that point had been perfect, until I greeted him by saying “What’s up, brotha?” This was apparently my brain’s way of telling me that it wanted me to end up miserable and lonely. Thanks for having my back, brain. No, really.

Needless to say, the rest of the car ride to the party consisted of lame jokes and a lot of heavy breathing on my part. I couldn’t believe that any guy would put up with my crazy like Milo was. Plus, every time I thought I was getting more comfortable around him, my British accent would threaten to resurface and ruin any chances I had with the guy. Which were already minimal. I managed to structure a few sentences and tell Milo about the offer of being Miss Golden Globe. Unlike Jack, he had shared my excitement and told me I’d look so stunning on stage, no one would even bother looking at the award. More heavy breathing on my part ensued.

Luckily, I didn’t have to do too much of the talking because Milo seemed to be taking the lead on that front. His small talk gave me the opportunity to gather some interesting facts about him. For example, his favorite dessert was cheesecake, which isn’t exactly chocolate mousse, like mine is. But it could have been worse. He could have said he wasn’t a “dessert person,” and then I would have been forced to jump out of a moving car. His favorite cuisine was Thai, he had one older brother and a German Shepherd named Woody, in honor of the beloved cowboy in his favorite movie growing up, Toy Story. Of course, I enthusiastically agreed that it was my favorite as well, but that was a lie. It’s adorable, don’t get me wrong. But Anastasia is totally the best movie ever, no doubt about it. A beautiful girl with a little puppy and big dreams, who one day meets a handsome stranger that helps discover that she’s, in fact, the lost Princess of Russia? It was practically a metaphor for my entire existence. Except, of course, that Milo is not a fraud like Dimitri, I am not at all Russian royalty, and I’m pretty sure Dr. D does not have a tiny bat as a sidekick. But I could be wrong about the bat, I don’t know.

In between my sad jokes and unattractive breathing problems, Milo also managed to give me updates on the cleaning company that Dad had hired a few months ago. He said that the company had sent over a list of names of the people who had cleaned our house, but the police couldn’t a connection to my family or the Dumpling Hospital for any of them. The police also hadn’t been able to find the last bugging device, and I didn’t know the first thing about spy equipment, so there was no point in me keeping a look out for it. All in all, the investigation was at a bit of a standstill. Dad may have been right about the Golden Globes being a pretty bad idea at this point, but it was also the only chance I had to meet Dr. D. That is, if we didn’t find all we needed at the UCLA party, packaged in a little box with a pink ribbon wrapped around it. I hadn’t exactly mentioned to Milo my plans for investigation at the party, but if I could manage the colossal issue of Jack Anderson, then this was cake.

We finally pulled up to the party after what seemed like an entire lifetime of shy conversations and nervous laughter. Milo parked a lot closer to the party than Jack and I had on our first trip, and thank God, because Jimmy Choo heels aren’t the most comfortable footwear. The last thing I needed was to fall flat on my face and still have another ten minutes to walk before we actually arrived. I quickly texted Jack, reassuring him we were still alive, then told myself everything was going to be perfect as long as I managed not to get killed or kidnapped.

“Are you ready?” Milo asked, as I gently closed my car door behind me.

I adjusted the hem of my dress with a nod and said, “I think so.”

Batman mask and kitty ears in our hands, we walked toward the party, which could surely be heard from Guatemala based on the volume of the music. Milo was so close. I could almost hear his heart beating next to me. I desperately wanted to act like a normal human being who could charm him with my natural humor and grace. Instead my tongue refused to move and I had to convince my heart not to break down every time I saw him. The problem was, I was starting to like him a lot. Too much for the amount I knew him. I mean, it was one thing to look at him and be in awe of how an average guy could look that amazing, but it’s another thing to have legit feelings for someone. Sometimes I felt that way about Jack too, but Jack was . . . Jack. He was annoying and frustrating and I always felt confused around him. One minute we were best friends and the next I couldn’t stand to see him.

But Milo never seemed to get on my nerves. And despite my inability to communicate like a normal human being, we seemed to click. Yes, I didn’t know him very well. But I’ve never actually met Jude Law, and I’m pretty sure we’d click too. I kept telling myself that getting involved with someone days after a break up is just wrong, but come on. The next time your boyfriend leaves for Texas to become a cowboy and the hottest police cadet you’ve ever seen wants to take you to a college party, why don’t you tell me about what’s right or wrong.

Club music was blasting from all corners, and tipsy people were dancing all up the street. A girl with hair brighter than Veronica’s stumbled past us. She wore leather black plants with stiletto heels and what I could only presume was a top three sizes too small for her. The boy she was with was dressed head-to-toe as Spiderman and was visibly smashed, even though it was barely ten o’clock.

“This must be it,” Milo said, and I looked up at the house ahead.

“The flyer did say it had palm trees,” I told him.

The flyer failed to mention, however, that the fraternity house was in fact ninety percent made up of palm trees. They were everywhere, completely surrounding the house like a gateway. Cars were parked all up and down the road and through the large glass windows I could see the inside of the house was packed with drunken college students.

A guy dressed as Ronald McDonald waddled past us in his huge shoes and eerie white makeup. His bright red lips curved into a scary smile as he gave me the once-over. I gave him a never-going-to-happen look, and I think he took it well because in a matter of seconds he was eyeing up the sexy nurse standing a few feet away.

“Do you and your friends go to a lot of these parties?” I asked Milo, trying to hide the disgust from my tone.

“Hardly ever,” he replied. “This isn’t really my idea of a good time.”

“So then why’d you come?”

“Well I figured it might be worth it if you were going to be there.”

Lord have mercy on my poor ovaries.

“Right,” I practically squeaked. “Does Detective Reynolds know that we’re here?”

“Well,” Milo said, looking a little sheepish. “I didn’t really mention it. But it’s a party that we both just happen to be at. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

“You tell me. You’re the police cadet.”

Milo smiled and held up his Batman mask. “I also happen to be the savior of Gotham. But, whatever. I don’t really like to brag.”

“Are you sure the city can manage without you for a night?” I asked.

See? I could be normal if I really, really concentrated.

“Let me know if you see any bat signals in the sky. I might have to bail.”

“Like Christian?” I asked, and Milo looked at me in confusion. Oh no, he didn’t get it. “You know, bail. Bale. Like Christian Bale? Batman? No? Not feeling the joke?”

“Oh God,” Milo said, but a laugh escaped from his groan. “That was a terrible joke. We might need to work on Catwoman’s sense of humor.”

I had actually been pretty proud of that one, but I smiled sheepishly and said, “I’ve got plenty more stashed in the cat ears.”

“Well then in that case I can’t wait to hear the rest of them,” Milo laughed.

Yeah, careful what you wish for, pal. But we were flirting! Like actually flirting and not just Milo saying funny and sweet things and me hyperventilating like a weirdo! And if you ask me, I was actually doing a pretty decent job at it, considering my lack of previous experience in such matters. Brendan and I had never flirted. He had just asked me out and I pretty much shrugged and said yes. Jack and I didn’t do too much of the flirting game either. We spent most of the time mentally throwing lamps at each other and pretending there was no sexual tension in the room. I had been scared I didn’t really know to flirt, but based on how the conversation was going, I was doing a B+ job.

“Dude!” A guy dressed up as some type of Greek god slung his arm affectionately around another guy, right in front of Milo and I. “You ready to get your party on?”

His friend, who was dressed in a red, fluffy onesie that mildly resembled Elmo, smiled. “Dude, hell yeah! I’m gonna get so turnt up!”

Milo and I exchanged glances. Based on how low Elmo had the zipper on his onesie, I doubted his costume would stay on for long.

“So, you ready?” Milo asked me, and I turned my attention away from the boys. “To get ‘turnt’ up?”

I gave a nervous laugh and nodded. Those thirty seconds of flirting had been great while they lasted, but I waved goodbye to the chance of it occurring it again. Truth be told, I was freaking out. Big time. If Elmo and Zeus were any indication of the crowd, the party was going to be wild inside, and I wasn’t sure I was fully up for it yet. It wasn’t just the fact that Milo and I were finally alone together without the police or my parents or Jack, which was giving me enough anxiety to begin with. It was also the possibility of Ao Jie Kai being right on the other side of the wide frat house doors, holding all the answers I needed in the palm of his hand.

I did some quick, mental pep talking as Milo and I made our way up to the fraternity house’s front doors, where a young guy around Milo’s age was sitting at a table with a metal box and a stack of plastic cups. He didn’t have any costume on, but we knew he was part of the fraternity because he had the Greek symbols for their house on a small nametag, attached to his flannel shirt.

“Five bucks entry per person,” he told us in a bored voice, pointing to the metal box. “You get a free plastic cup. Ten bucks if you want the bigger plastic cups.”

Milo and I looked at each other. It seemed the fraternity had conveniently forgotten to mention an entry fee on their flyer.

“Okay, we’ll get two small cups,” Milo said with a light shrug.

“Sorry,” the guy said, not looking apologetic in the slightest. He didn’t even bat an eyelash. “We’re out of five dollar cups. You gotta take a ten dollar one.”

Milo looked at me again with raised eyebrows. I didn’t have any loose cash on me, but it didn’t matter. Milo was already being a gentleman and pulling his out, handing the guy a twenty-dollar bill.

Flannel shirt guy paused, eyed me up and down, and handed Milo two five dollar bills back. “Here’s ten bucks change. You get a discount ‘cause your girl is hot.”

Well, we couldn’t argue with a policy like that. I did some internal flailing and fist pumping when Milo didn’t correct him about assuming I was his girlfriend.

“Well,” Milo said, pocketing his wallet and change. We moved toward the door so more people could pay for their entry. “I guess your cat ears have superpowers after all.”

That was great and all, but he needed to tone down his perfection. Those damn dimples were all I could see, and they were constantly threatening to turn me into a babbling lunatic. By the end of the night, Milo was going to be inquiring about whether or not free therapy was given to police officers, and it would be all my fault.

I was starting to look like the Ronald McDonald I had seen moments before, with my forced smile and fake enthusiasm. It looked like I was scoping out the place for potential victims, when actually I was desperately trying to grab the reigns on my out of control emotions. We walked inside, pushing our way past a group of guys that were dressed in silky robes, boxing gloves hanging around their necks. The inside of the fraternity house was a cemetery for class and dignity. People were everywhere, on the dance floor, on top of each other on the couches, canoodling with others against walls. It was like all the rich high school parties I’d ever been to, only three times more sexual and with cheaper alcohol. There was a DJ dressed as a giant taco in the back of the room playing a remix of a Kanye West song, violently head banging with one headphone pressed to his ear. He stood directly underneath a black, felt sign that read, Feel A’ite on Frite Nite. I stood there gaping at the red block letters for a few seconds, amazed that even basic grammar had taken a beating that night. Well, you have to give them points for creativity.

One thing was certain; I was majorly overdressed. And not just because my outfit was expensive. It was because my dress actually covered more than an inch of my body. I’ve had my fair share of dressing like a stripper, don’t get me wrong. But this was something else. It seemed that clothes were just optional, and no one opted for them. I was trying my best not to judge every girl that walked past, but they were giving me so much to raise my eyebrows about.

A pair of girls dressed as vampires walked past holding plastic cups filled with what smelled like straight vodka, which no doubt they would be regretting within the hour. They smiled at Milo when they walked passed and my heart almost stopped. If I saw any fang marks on Batman that night, I was going to lose my shit. Fortunately for me, Milo wasn’t even paying attention to the barely dressed vampires. He leaned down close, pulling me away from the entrance.

“Keep close!” Milo shouted over the music, and I nodded obediently. “This place is crazy!”

Milo slipped his hand into the hand that wasn’t wrapped around my bag, and I went dead still. He gave me a look as if asking if it was okay, but I didn’t move. Milo Fells was freaking holding my hand! He was actually making physical contact with me! In what universe was that not okay! The feeling was almost indescribable. It was like someone handing you a bag of M&Ms and a plate full of brownies during your time of month, when the cramps have just kicked in and you’re dying of pain. Tears of joy just appear out of thin air before you can even rip the bag of chocolate open.

Apparently, Milo took my lack of movement as a go sign, because he tugged on my hand and pulled me further into the crowd. We watched silently as the music got louder and the dance moves made a turn for the worse. There was some weird trance beat playing that was assaulting my eardrums, but everyone else in the room seemed to love it. It seemed that these people thought costumes were a free pass to do whatever with whomever. I had seen young people get crazily drunk before, but I was impressed that most of these people were even standing. The plus side was that even with the mask covering half his face, Milo was easily the hottest guy there, and he was holding my hand! It practically took every fiber of strength that I had not to burst out into tears and sing the hallelujah chorus to the heavens. Not that the heavens really needed a reminder of their creation, he was going on the hall of fame list for sure.

“YO BROSEPH!” A guy dressed as fireman called out to Milo.

“Are those your friends?” I asked, and Milo shook his head in confusion.

“YO! BROSEPH! GET OVER HERE MAN.” Another pretend fireman yelled.

The college firemen were all attractive with well-toned abs that they were proudly showing off through their lack of shirts. In ordinary circumstances I’d be all over that, but they were nothing compared to Milo, who was hands-down the hottest cop ever after Mark Wahlberg. But really, he doesn’t count because he was just acting, and he’d look just as sexy in a KFC uniform.

The group of four firemen walked over to Milo and gave him a manly hug. One of them was trying to jump on his back, affectionately I presume, and I was scared I would have to let go of Milo’s hand. But I clung on for dear life, even though I was certain I had pulled a few muscles. No way was I voluntarily going to pass up the chance to touch Milo Fells. That sucker was going to have to get in line.

“Dude! This is our song, man! Where you been?” The blonde fireman asked, beaming at Milo, who looked completely perplexed.

I suddenly recognized him as the guy who had given me the flyer in the first place, and frantically looked around the room, hoping to hide my face so that he wouldn’t recognize me. The stupid cat ears were doing nothing for the outfit or a possible disguise, and kept sliding off my head.

“Oh, I’ve just been . . .”Milo began uncertainly. “Around.”

He glanced at me and I shrugged. Neither of us knew who this “Broseph” was, but according to the firemen, he was now Milo. The boys’ gazes followed Milo’s and settled on me. I looked at them with an awkward smile, avoiding eye contact with the blonde one.

“PETE!” One of them shrieked, and I was about ninety percent sure I had lost hearing in one ear. “TURN THE MUSIC DOWN.”

Almost immediately the volume of the music was reduced, but no one seemed to notice. People were still packed on the dance floor like sardines.

“Sup.” I said. I needed to stop doing that. It was not helping my cause.

“Well, hello,” a brunette fireman said, slipping his arm across my shoulders and pulling me into him.

“So who’s this beautiful creature, Broseph?” another one asked Milo.

I gave Milo a desperate look. Behind his batman mask I could see he was just as lost as I was.

“Um—” Milo began, but was immediately cut off.

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” The blonde fireman asked me, narrowing his eyes.

“Nope!” I exclaimed a little too enthusiastically. “That’s impossible! I just moved here today from . . . Greenland.”

From the corner of my eye I could see Milo trying to suppress a laugh. Greenland? What the hell was wrong with my brain?

“Okay . . .” The blonde guy said, dragging the word out as he gave me a judgy look.

Milo pulled me closer to him, forcing the brunette fireman to release his hold on me. If I weren’t insanely uncomfortable with the whole situation, I would have had some time to concentrate on returning my heart beat to a normal speed.

“She got a name?” one of the boys asked, resting his arm on his friend’s shoulder.

“Uh . . .” Milo said, struggling to improvise with the whole situation.

Up until then I had been positive that every police officer should have the ability to make up facts on the spot, but Milo was evidently caught off guard. Any name would have done the job. I doubted any of those fraternity boys would have remembered if my name were Candice, or something like Ethel. Hell, if I had said Roger, they still probably wouldn’t have cared. I’d be impressed if they even remembered their own names.

“Well do you want to dance, pussycat?” A fireman yelled over the music, thankfully losing interest in the topic.

“Uh, thanks. But my heels are—”

“What!”

“—killing me.”

“Well who says you have to use your feet?” The blonde one asked, grinning.

I gave a small shriek as he suddenly scooped me up and slung me over his shoulder, yanking Milo’s hand out of mine. I kicked him slightly, trying to let him know that this was not my idea of fun, but he barely felt it. His fellow fireman friends all cheered around us as if I was a human sacrifice and the ritual was taking place on the dance floor. Milo came into view amongst the sea of partygoers and I shot him an alarmed look, trying desperately to save my dignity and adjust my dress from the back. Milo gave me a lost look behind his mask, clearly trying to figure out what he could do without the use of his police badge. How the hell was I meant to get a hold of information on Ao Jie Kai when I couldn’t even get a hold of my date!

My new friend placed me effortlessly down next to him on the dance floor, calling for Pete to turn the music up again. Beside me there were two people who were passionately making out, alcohol spilling out of their cups. The frisky fireman snaked his arm around my waist as I reached up to adjust my cat ears, and my eyes immediately scanned the room for Milo. Where the hell was he? Oh right, he was being mauled alive by a group of girls dressed in sexy Minnie Mouse outfits. Jeez, it had been all of four seconds and all the females in the room had flocked. All I could do was stand and watch helplessly while being violated by some sexed up college boy who was aggressively thrusting his pelvis against me like his life depended on it.

“IT’S COOL. BROSEPH’S FINE!” The blonde guy assured me, and I forced a smile.

I was holding onto my clutch with such intensity, my knuckles were going white. Thankfully, the frat boys didn’t seem too interested in making conversation with “Broseph’s” new girlfriend, but they didn’t seem to mind getting a little sexual with her. I had always been kind of excited about the idea of a bachelorette party, but my first college party experience was less Magic Mike and more Molestation Mike.

Pete the DJ taco changed the song to a Pitbull remix, and the whole crowd threw their hands in the air. I took the opportunity to move a little away from the firemen, but the dance floor was so packed there was really no point. I needed to get off the dance floor and find Milo, ASAP. Screw Ao Jie Kai, getting out of the party alive and fully dressed was the biggest problem on my mind. I pulled the blonde fireman closer toward me, cringing at his excited look. Clearly Broseph, whoever he was, shared an open relationship policy with his friends. I yelled into his ear, asking where the bathroom was. He pulled away, raising an eyebrow with a smile.

“Not for that!” I yelled over the music, and his smile dropped a little. “I need to pee!”

Blondie pointed toward a door near the stairs on the left side of the room. My eyes scanned the crowd for Milo, but I still couldn’t find him. There was no use calling him, he’d never be able to hear his phone over the music. I danced my way through the crowd to the bathroom and pushed the door open. Three Powerpuff Girls looked at me questioningly as they coated their lips with gloss. Sitting on the toilet with the lid down was a boy dressed as a pirate, passionately making out with Wonder Woman, who was straddling him.

Well clearly Milo wasn’t hiding in there. I headed for the stairway and passed two other girls with similar cat ears, a guy dressed as a giant cockroach, and a smurf before finally reaching the staircase, using the light from my phone to guide me. Dr. D hadn’t tried to contact me and I could have passed Ao Jie Kai a billion times already and not known, seeing as I had no clue what he looked like. Was I supposed to find every Asian guy here and ask if he was stalking me? Not a chance. We’d been at the party for about three minutes and I was beyond ready to go home and withdraw all of my college applications.

I made my way upstairs, being careful not to bother a showgirl making out with what looked like a spring roll, and the giant pizza and the Joker who were filming it. I scanned the dance floor for any sign of Milo and that impeccable jacket, but came up short. There was a Minnie Mouse near the DJ table, but Batman didn’t seem to be with her. Thankfully, level two of the frat house was slightly less crowded than below, but there were still people everywhere. At least I could actually hear myself think. Everywhere I looked there were people drinking, smoking, laughing, making out or lying unconscious somewhere. At one point I spotted a guy in a very convincing LAPD uniform talking to a girl dressed as a ketchup bottle. I doubted he was a real cop because he was drinking straight from a vodka bottle, ignoring his five or ten dollar plastic cup. On the off chance he was an actual cop, something drastic needed to be done about our legal system.

Aside from the overly sexual college students drinking away their futures and capturing it in a series of selfies, the fraternity brothers definitely had some good equipment going for them. There was a large plasma TV in the living room area upstairs, with an X-Box and a Wii connected to it. Beside the TV, there was a large bookshelf full of DVDs and video games. A big, comfy leather couch faced the TV, and a picture of the Lakers basketball team hung on the wall behind the couch. Heck, I should have just worn that homie outfit of mine, or at least Jack’s pimp shoes. I would have fit in much better in that outfit than in the one I was wearing.

“Hey good looking.” A guy dressed up as Fred Flintstone in an extremely revealing toga-like outfit sauntered up to me.

I eyed him up and down and raised an eyebrow. “Never going to happen, Fred,” I told him, crossing my arms protectively across my chest.

“Oh come on,” he said, stumbling a little. Clearly Fred had had one too many bedrock beers. “I’m still looking for a Betty.”

I sighed, unable to believe that I was actually at such a stupid party. Not only had he gotten his spouses mixed up, I was shocked that he thought he actually had a chance with me.

“When hell freezes over,” I said.

Fred stared at me blankly for a few seconds before walking away without a word. I couldn’t believe I had lost Milo so quickly, my stupid cat ears were giving me a headache and there was no sign of Dr. D or Ao Jie Kai anywhere. I dialed Milo’s number and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer his phone. It meant that he was probably still downstairs where the music was the loudest and couldn’t hear the ringing.

I stopped a passing guy wearing nothing but a Rasta hat and a pair of tiny boxer shorts and asked him where the bathroom was. He pointed toward the end of the hallway and danced away. There were multiple white doors upstairs, all closed and looking exactly the same. I now actually needed to pee, and fake Jamaican guy had been no help whatsoever.

Weaving through the crowd, I headed for the doors. I took a lucky guess and opened door number one. Big mistake. Friendly tip, never walk-in on a closed door during a party. It’s traumatic enough to give you mild PTSD.

“EW! Sorry!”

I slammed the door shut, slapping a hand over my eyes in embarrassment, even though I doubted they noticed me. On the bright side, I no longer needed to pee. I did, however, want to soak my eyes in bleach. I was just about ready to begin contemplating the purpose of my existence when I felt my phone vibrating.

Oh crap. No Caller ID.