Jason and Bill set off instantly on their hunt for a meaningless fling with one of the barely clad girls who swayed their hips in rhythm to the hip-hop beats. Jason and Bill were wearing the same floral shirt, as some sort of running gag that was supposed to impress the chicks. I doubted that the Beach Boys look made girls want to drop their panties. I stalked over to the bar, Kevin at my heals, and ordered a vodka-martini, my favorite drink. Kevin got his usual non-alcoholic beer and gave me a pained smile when a drunk girl leaned against the bar next to him, batting her eyelashes at him. He, always the gentleman, didn’t have the guts to send her off; instead he ignored her advances. And that was proving more and more difficult by the minute. She ran a hand through his long blond hair. A year ago he would have readily took her up on her obvious offer but ever since he met Reagan everything had changed. The guys and I often taunted him about being whipped but I had to admit that his relationship with Reagan was admirable.
