Page 96 of Big Dick Energy

“I don't want to know,” she said flatly.

“Good,” Davina replied, her voice impressively steady. “Is that my burger?”

Abby handed it over, then stopped. “Why is your blouse buttoned wrong?”

Davina didn't miss a beat. “Fashion.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Abby looked at the ceiling as though asking God for patience, then disappeared into the control booth, muttering something about hazard pay.

Davina caught my eye and grinned, and I thought, yeah. This is exactly what I didn't know I needed.

CHAPTER 29

HOW TO TELL YOUR BEST FRIEND

DAVINA

The fabric swatches were spread across my desk in color order, and inspiration boards were covering the floor. Right now, those boards were all Paris. Jewel-toned swatches pinned next to venue photos and silhouette sketches.

“The burgundy velvet is giving mother of the bride,” Marcus announced from across the room, holding up a swatch. “We need something that says we're taking over Paris, not that we brought a side dish.”

“The burgundy velvet is staying.” I didn't look up from the blazer sketch I'd been fussing with all morning. Structured shoulders, nipped waist. It was almost right. “It's rich, it photographs well, and we're keeping it.”

“It photographs like my grandmother's curtains.”

“Your grandmother has good taste.”

He made a pained sound and leaned back against his drafting table. Marcus was six-two and built like a linebacker, but he committed fully to the drama. I'd learned to work around it.

“Fine,” he said. “But when they call the collection aggressively cozy, that's on you.”

My phone buzzed. Fourth time in the last hour. Since the podcast went live yesterday, it hadn't really stopped. I'd been leaving most of it unread.

I grabbed the phone and knocked over my coffee. Cold latte spread across three swatches and the blazer sketch.

“Shit…”

“Did you just say shit?” Brooke's voice came through the speaker before I'd even said hello. “Because that's exactly what I said this morning when I checked my phone and found out my best friend got married without telling me.”

Marcus sat up straight.

“Brooke, I can explain…”

“Explain?” Her pitch climbed. “Davina Marie Lawson…”

“Lawson-Dodger. Or just Dodger.” I winced. Poor timing.

“Oh, so you know your own name. Interesting. I would've thought someone who knew their name might also use their best friend's phone number to share, I don't know, major life news.”

Marcus had fully stopped working. He was just watching me now.

“You were on your honeymoon,” I said, pressing a tissue to the coffee spill. It fell apart immediately. “In Italy. I didn't want to interrupt.”

“Matt and I were eating gelato in Florence when my phone started going off. I had to explain to a very concerned Italian waiter why the American woman was yelling at her screen while her husband watched his best friend get emotional on a podcast.”

“Dallas didn't cry.”