Chapter 25

Omlet felt a little pang of guilt. Ben Thornton seemed like a friendly guy. They’d had an encounter—one Thornton wouldn’t even remember, most likely. They actually had a mutual acquaintance, one Omlet saw quite infrequently of late.

Anyway, of the pictures that actually were Ben Thornton, him in a headlock with his mouth close to a buddy’s fabric-covered crotch bulge was as racy as it got.

Omlet’s cell rang. “Y’ello.”

A thick accent, almost fake sounding—When the hell did this turn into a foreign spy movie?Omlet wondered—asked to meet him behind Club Gold at sunrise, claiming to have something Omlet would definitely want to see.

“Why sunrise,” the blogger asked, “instead of at night?”

“It’s a dance club, idiot. People will be there at night.”

The rude mystery informant had a point.

“I promise, what I have will make getting up early worth your while.”

What to do, what to do? Omlet wondered. “Fine. See you at sunrise.” 30

Club Gold after team finals?