Page 159 of Face Off

“I could improve him.”

“You’d need an army,” I said.

Bliss pointed at me while walking backward. “Smile at people.”

“I’ve been told my smile is frightening.”

“Then show less teeth.”

The ballroom doors stood open to the terrace, allowing evening air to move through the gathering while music played beneath overlapping conversations. Servers navigated groups of arriving guests with champagne, wine, and small plates. Flowers climbed the columns, candles glowed across high tables, and the estate photographer moved around collecting evidence that everyone knew how to behave before the Bennett barbecue gave that family access to alcohol and fire.

Charm was nowhere in sight.

I noticed before I finished entering the room.

That annoyed me.

She had been gone less than twenty minutes, and some part of my body was already checking doorways like she had become an expected piece of every room again.

I spent the next stretch doing my job. I shook hands with relatives, accepted congratulations intended for Cade, directed people toward the terraces, and endured several conversations with coaches, family friends, and professional contacts Bliss had somehow accumulated into one castle.

A woman from her fashion department admired my shirt and I told her it was part of an ongoing hazing investigation.

One of Cade’s Detroit coaches asked about my shoulder, my hand, and Milwaukee’s offseason program. I gave him the same answers I offered reporters when they wanted enough personal information to construct a profile without actually knowing shit about me.

An older Bennett aunt hugged me, kissed my cheek, and told me I had become more handsome since college.

I told her professional lighting helped and not to believe the hype.

By the time I escaped to the bar, Easton, Briggs, and Rider were waiting. All three looked pissed that I had arrived as myself while they were dressed like Ken dolls visiting Barbie’s mansion.

I rested both forearms against the polished wood. “If anybody asks whether I’m okay, I’m returning to Milwaukee tonight.”

Briggs lifted his whiskey. His yellow shirt fought violently with the pale-blue plaid shorts Bliss had chosen for him. “Wasn’t going to.”

“You’ve been staring for twelve seconds.”

“I’m jealous of the outfit.”

I looked him over. “Your shirt pairs beautifully with the golf shorts, Dad.”

Rider and East both bark out a laugh while Briggs glanced down at himself. “I’ve accepted joy on Bliss’s behalf.”

“You look like you’re waiting for the Easter bunny.”

“There are worse things.”

“Name one.”

“Lyric’s mood.”

Rider turned his glass slowly against the bar. His purple shirt sat beneath a striped button-down that made the entire situation worse. “Great-aunt Bonnie Bennett asked whether we were portraying the Beach Boys.”

“She asked me which one of us drives the tour bus,” Easton added.

Now I laugh. “I hope you told her Briggs.”

“I said he handles choreography.”