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“Don’t tell me that!” Allie holds up her hands. “Girl, that is just too sad. We’re going to have to pull out all the stops.”
“What are the stops?”
“Shots…” Dylan starts.
“Drinking games…” Allie adds.
“Fuck, marry, kill.”
“What’s that?” My eyes widen.
“We make up different scenarios, and you have to decidewho falls into which category,” Allie explains. “Like Chris Evans, Chris Pine, Chris Hemsworth.”
“Wait.” I stop walking. “I have to decide which of those I’ll fuck, marry, or kill?”
“Easy—kill Pine, fuck Evans, marry Hemsworth.” Dylan counts off on her fingers.
“What?” Allie cries. “Marry Evans, fuck Hemsworth.”
“You still get to fuck Hemsworth if you’re married to him, and just imagine waking up to that every day.” Dylan’s eyes flutter. “And have you seen his dick?”
“What am I going to do until tomorrow night?” I do a little skip.
I’m so glad I’m not a virgin anymore, even if I’m still mad at Zane. I’m not sure how I’d participate in girls’ night never havingdone it. It would be too theoretical.
“Have I mentioned you’ve been really glowing these last few days?” Dylan narrows her eyes at me, and my cheeks flush.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’m blinking fast, and I know she knows I’m hiding something.
“Okay… you don’t have to talk about it yet.” She puts her arm around me. “But just know I approve.”
Her words nudge the ache I’m hiding behind my anger. I’d love to break down and talk to Dylan about everything, including what happened today, but what would I say? Her brother, whom I’ve had sex with a million times over the last five days has suddenly withdrawn over past trauma. Trauma he refuses to talk about.
We’re back at the restaurant, and the three of us share a hug.
“I’m headed home. I’ve got to shower.” Allie waves. “I plan to sleep in all day, and maybe I’ll get up and do something productive before I come back here to get crunk with you ladies!”
I do a littleWhoo!cheer.
“You’d better leave those expectations at home.” Dylan circles her finger in the air. “We arenotbeing ladies tomorrow night!”
With a little happy-clap, I follow her into the restaurant.
“I’ll see what Thomas made too much of tonight. It’ll be our dinner.”
“I’ll just grab my brother.”
I walk over to the side porch to see what Eddie is doing, and I find him with Kimmie and Austin talking like old friends. Austin is pretty sharp at pool as well, and between the two of them, they’re clearing the table fast.
Kimmie bounces on her toes, calling out as each ball sinks into a pocket. “Red number seven!”
“That was actually maroon,” Eddie corrects her before lining up to sink the last ball.
“Black number eight!” She throws up both hands, shaking her stuffed red turtle over her head. “Eddie Nashville wins again!”
Austin only chuckles, shaking his head. “I guess I’d better stick to football.”
The two of them do a fist bump, and I almost start to cry. We never had this in Birmingham, not even at my grandmother’s.
