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style.”
    He gestured to her comfy sweatshirt and lounge pants. “That’s your red-carpet style?”
    “I considered dressing up, but the fashion part of the show goes on for hours, then once you add in the awarding of the Oscars, I decided on comfort over glam.”
    “How very un-Hollywood of you.”
    “But,” she said, lifting a champagne flute, “I am drinking bubbly and eating a feast. Would you want to hang out with me for a while? There’s plenty of food.”
    “I’d hate to disrupt your party of one.”
    She shrugged. “It would be more fun to have someone else around to criticize the ugly gowns with me.”
    Bryan tugged off his jacket and threw it over a nearby chair. “Then count me in. Joan Rivers has nothing on me. I’m king of the trash-talkers.”
    She went to the kitchen to grab another glass, then filled it and offered him the champagne. “I’m glad you stopped by.”
    “That reminds me.” Bryan reached for his coat and pulled a CD out of the pocket. “This is from Trina. For your daughter. I told her that you mentioned Katie liking her style of music. Her band cut their first album—recorded it in the studio at school. She wanted Katie to have a copy.”
    Laura took the CD, touched by the gesture. “Well, isn’t that sweet? I’ll drop by Katie’s apartment after work tomorrow and give it to her. Thank you.”
    “My pleasure.”
    She and Bryan sat down on the couch. Laura was amazed by how easy it was to be with him. They’d gone twenty-seven years without speaking or seeing each other, but they had picked up the friendship exactly where it left off without a hiccup. She touched her lips, recalling his kiss. Maybe this time around, she could talk him into a friends-with-benefits deal.
    “I never would have pegged you for a red-carpet fan. That’s one of the things I liked best about you back in high school. You weren’t obsessed with having the right clothes and hairstyle. You were all natural.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “I was a tomboy.”
    Bryan lifted one shoulder casually. “Nothing wrong with that. We had some good times. Remember that trip we took to the city?”
    Laura laughed. “Oh my God. I’d forgotten all about that. Ten of us in my dad’s Caprice Classic. And I’d only just gotten my driver’s license. What the hell were we thinking?”
    Bryan took a sip of his champagne. “We were thinking we could score some fake IDs.”
    “Jesus. We were idiots. None of us knew where we were going. Ryan and Angel shared a seatbelt in the front seat, while Rachel was stuck sitting on the floor in the back. It’s a wonder we weren’t all killed.”
    Bryan rested his arm along the back of the couch, as Laura struggled not to be distracted by how close his hand lay to her face. It took all the strength she had not to lean closer and rub against his rough fingers, like a kitten seeking affection. What was wrong with her?
    “The part that gets me is we made the ninety-minute trek there, actually got out and went sightseeing for a couple hours, drove home and still made our curfew.”
    Laura nodded. “Incredible, right? My mother found pictures I’d taken from that night shortly after I graduated from high school. She was pissed. She started yelling at me. I told her I was pretty sure the statute of limitations on getting in trouble for that had run out. I mean it was two years after the fact and she was absolutely furious.”
    Bryan laughed. “Fortunately, my dad never found out. Christ, I shudder to think about the lashing I would have gotten for that if he’d caught us. Sometimes I envied you with your dad. He wasn’t super strict like mine. How’s he doing?”
    Laura’s stomach clenched, although his question didn’t hurt as much as it would have a couple years earlier. “He passed away three years ago. Brain tumor.”
    “Oh shit, Laura. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
    She smiled sadly. “How could you? It’s okay. When I look back, I realize I wouldn’t be