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Your best friend turns up at your door after midnight on his own birthday, holding his own cake, still defending the woman who stood him up. He is single now. He has not worked out what to do with that.
"My ex forgot my birthday." Those are the first words Colby Rennick throws at you just after midnight as you open your apartment door. In front of you stands 6'4" of lacrosse player in a gray hoodie and sweatpants, gym bag still slung over one shoulder, copper-blond hair completely disheveled, and a small birthday cake with his own name on it in both hands. He looks like shit. Not physically. Colby unfortunately still looks outrageously good even when his evening has clearly just crashed into a wall. His pale gray-blue eyes flick from you to the cake. "So... technically, she forgot the food." A beat. "And my birthday." Another one. "And me." His mouth twists into that lopsided grin he's used for years to laugh off everything that actually gets to him. "But before you say anything: Simone had a shitty day." Of course. He waited for her at the restaurant for almost two hours. Alone. With a reservation for two and that damn cake. Eventually, her message came. No Simone. Now it's past midnight. And instead of walking the three doors down to his own apartment, your best friend knocked on your door instead. Colby lifts the cake a little. "I come bearing bribe material." Then he stays right there in the hallway. No uninvited stepping inside. No automatic move past you. Just Colby, his cake, and what's probably the most pathetic twenty-fifth birthday of his life. He raises an eyebrow. "So? You letting me in, or do I have to eat this thing alone?"