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of road kill standing next to him.
    “Angie?” Steve strode over, looking as flummoxed as I felt. “Holy-moly! You look—I almost didn’t recognize you.” He took a step back when he noticed Mat.
    “Mat, this is Steven Crane. We work together. Steve this is my friend Mat.”
    “Hey, how’s it going?” Mat said, calmly offering him his hand. “Are you into fruit flies too?”
    Steve gaped. Seconds passed. I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only one Mat rendered stupid. “Oh yes, they’re really fascinating. Well their genes are—the flies don’t do all that much. Currently, we’re using them to study degenerative muscle disorders.”
    “Like Muscular Dystrophy?”
    “Exactly,” Steve said.
    “That’s very cool.” I glanced up to see if Mat was joking as his hand skimmed up my back, and reddened when I caught his grey eyes sparkling down.
    “Yes, it is.” Steve beamed.
    I eyed the wine boxes across the courtyard; I could really use some liquid courage. “Sweetheart, can I get you a drink?”
    “I’d love a glass of wine.”
    “Hey man, you mind looking after my girl while I get her a drink?”
    Pleasantly surprised, Steve stood a little taller. “It would be my pleasure, Mat.”
    Mat brushed a kiss across my knuckles. “I’ll be right back.” I watched people shift out of his way as he prowled like a sated lion through a herd; safe for the moment, but carrying an underlying threat.
    Leslie made a beeline over to me, her eyes never leaving Mat’s back. “Holy shit, Ange. Who is he? What has he done to you? And where can I get one!”
    Thank God for Leslie, she was great at these things—not great as in popular—great entertainment. She’d whisper snarky observations on everything from wardrobe choice to sexual orientation. It was like a bizarre stream of consciousness, unpredictable, funny, and occasionally uncomfortable.
    “Holy shit, indeed, Les. His name is Mat. Nothing so far. And I think he broke the mold.”
    “Wouldn’t surprise me, he’s ginormous. Can I at least rub his head? Please? I want to make a wish.” I rolled my eyes as she pleaded. “There’s just something about a shiny, bald head. Gets me every time.”
    Steve grinned, doing his best Groucho Marks impression. “I could shave my head doll, but you’d wish I hadn’t.”
    “You’re right; it wouldn’t be the same.” Les sadly shook her head. “I’ve already seen you with hair. There’s no mystery.”
    I felt her coming even before I saw her pastel power suit and perfectly coiffed platinum hair; homing in on me like a heat seeking rocket, riding a giant wave of disapproval. “Angie, darling, well—just—look—at—you.” A knot twisted in my stomach.
    “Hello Mom.” We traded fake air kisses, and as usual, she didn't acknowledge my colleagues—not that it bothered Les. She couldn’t stand my mother. So, as far as she was concerned, Mom just upped the entertainment value.
    Mom looked me up and down, distaste clearly written on her pursed lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in that color before.”
    “Yeah, doesn’t she look fabulous? Here you go, sweetheart.” A heavy arm dropped protectively around me. “Thanks Steve, I appreciate it.”
    I muttered my thanks, wondering if it would be gauche to chug the whole thing in one go while I observed Mom’s reaction to Mat. First, there was the understandable eye widening shock. Then, open mouthed amazement—again understandable—then confusion as she looked from him to me, then back to him. In all fairness, he wasn’t my usual desperate type. Even I wouldn’t have pictured a guy like this with me.
    “Mat, I’d like to introduce you to my mother, Stephanie Martin. Mom, this is Mat James.”
     
     

     
    The mid-day sun beat against the top of my head in concordance with the coastal breeze. Unbuttoning my cuffs, I rolled up my sleeves as I strolled, observing the group dynamics. The Climbers stroked the Haves while the Prey huddled