The food had arrived while they’d waited outside, but when he reentered the house, nobody was eating. Instead, they were all jammed into the living room, the music turned down, their attention focused on an upturned NASCAR cap sitting in the general vicinity of Annabelle’s feet. As he moved closer, he saw an assortment of diamond studs shining in the bottom.

Annabelle spotted him and grinned. “I’m supposed to close my eyes, pick a stud, and sleep with whoever it belongs to. A stud for a stud. How fun is that?”

Dean raised his head from across the room. “Just so you know, Heathcliff, both of mine are still in my ears.”

“That’s because you cheap, bitch.” Dewitt Gilbert, Dean’s favorite wide receiver, slapped him on the back.

Annabelle smiled at Heath. “They’re just goofing around. They know I won’t do it.”

“You might,” Gary Sweeney said. “There’s a good fifteen carats in that hat.”

“Damn. I’ve always wanted to sleep with a natural redhead.” Reggie O’Shea whipped the jewel-encrusted crucifix from around his neck and dropped it in the hat.

The men gazed down at it.

“That’s just wrong,” Leandro said.

There were enough mutters of agreement that Reggie retrieved his necklace.

Annabelle sighed, and Heath heard honest-to-God regret in her voice. “This has been fun, but the food’s getting cold. Sean, that is a gorgeous set of studs, but your mother would kill me.”

Not to mention what Heath would do.

Sometime around two in the morning, the beer supply a couple of the guys had been secretly replenishing finally ran out, and the crowd began to thin. Annabelle put Heath in charge of conducting field sobriety tests. He called cabs and shoved drunks into the few cars with sober drives. Just one fight had erupted all evening, and it wasn’t over car keys. Dean took exception to his teammate Dewitt’s statement that the only reason a guy would buy a Porsche instead of a kick-ass car like an Escalade was to match the color of his lace panties. Two Bears players had to pull them apart.

“So tell me the truth,” Annabelle had said to Heath at the time. “Did they really go to college?”

“Yeah, but not necessarily to their classes.”

By two-thirty, Annabelle had fallen asleep at one end of the couch with Leandro on the other, while Heath and Dean cleaned up the worst of the mess in the kitchen. Heath tossed Dean a plastic trash bag. “Hide those empty whiskey bottles.”

“Since nobody got killed, she probably won’t care.”

“No sense in taking chances. She was pretty riled up tonight.”

They shoved the worst of the food mess into trash bags and carried them out to the alley. Dean gazed at Sherman in disgust. “She actually tried to talk me into trading cars with her. She said driving that heap for a couple of days would help me stay in touch with the real world.”

“Not to mention giving her a shot at your Porsche.”