“You think I’m offended? I work in a field that is predominantly male. I hear the word titties at least once a day.”

Thomas conceded, but he paused to look at his hand just after patting his little brother’s shoulder. The body glitter covering Trenton’s skin had rubbed off on Thomas’s palm, and it shimmered under the disco ball above. Thomas was immediately horrified.

I grabbed a napkin off a table and handed it to Thomas. “Here.”

“Thanks,” he said, half-amused and half-repulsed.

Thomas took my hand. The glittery-wadded napkin was mashed between our palms as he pulled me through the crowd. Loud music assaulted my ears, the bass humming in my bones. Dozens of men were standing around, and there were just a handful of women. I instantly felt sick, wondering when I would run into Camille.

Thomas’s hand felt warm in mine, even with the buffer of the napkin. If he was nervous though, it didn’t show. He greeted several college-aged men as we crossed the room. When we reached the other side, Thomas held out his arms and hugged a portly man before kissing his cheek.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Well, hello there, son,” Jim Maddox said in a gruff voice. “It’s about damn time you came home.”

“Liis,” Thomas said, “this is my dad, Jim Maddox.”

He was quite a bit shorter than Thomas, but he had the same sweetness in his eyes. Jim looked upon me with kindness and almost thirty years’ worth of practiced patience from raising five Maddox boys. His short and sparse silver hair was now multiple colors from the party lights.

Jim’s hooded eyes brightened with realization. “This is your girl, Thomas?”

Thomas kissed my cheek. “I keep telling her that, but she doesn’t believe me.”

Jim opened his arms wide. “Well, c’mere, cupcake! Nice to meet you!”

Jim didn’t shake my hand. He pulled me into a full-on hug and squeezed me tight. When he released me, Thomas hooked his arm around my shoulders, much more cheerful to be amid his family than I’d expected.

Thomas pulled me into his side. “Liis is a professor at the University of California, Dad. She’s brilliant.”

“Does she put up with your shit?” Jim asked, trying to speak over the music.

Thomas shook his head. “Not at all.”

Jim laughed out loud. “Then, she’s a keeper!”

“That’s what I keep telling him, but he doesn’t believe me,” I said, nudging Thomas with my elbow.

Jim laughed again. “Professor of what, sis?”

“Cultural studies,” I said, feeling a bit guilty for yelling at him.

Jim chuckled. “She must be brilliant. I haven’t a clue what in the Sam Hill that means!” He put his fist to his mouth and coughed.

“You want a water, Dad?”

Jim nodded. “Thank you, son.”