Tamara’s eyes narrow instantly. “Okay, what was that?”
“Nothing,” I say way too fast, hiding behind my straw.
“Mm-hm.” She takes a slow sip, the picture of casual, except her gaze is razor-sharp. “Funny, because it looksexactlylike the face someone makes when their… ‘wishlist’ is being checked off.”
Zoe chokes on her cocktail. “Wait, what wishlist?”
“Oh my god.” Charlie gasps, already leaning in, tiara tilting.
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss at Tamara, but she’s smirking into her glass.
“I’m just saying,” she murmurs, all faux innocence, “if you’re going to leave a jar full of fantasies in plain sight, maybe don’t also leave the evidence on the kitchen counter.”
Zoe slaps the table so hard the drinks rattle. “YOU DID NOT.”
“I didn’t!” I protest, voice cracking. “It wasn’t—”
Tamara arches a brow. “Then who exactly left a note about wanting, what was it… Oh, right,‘to give the best head ever’… conveniently unfolded on your counter?”
Charlie covers her mouth with both hands, and Claire nearly falls out of her seat laughing. Zoe’s eyes go feral.
I’m already beet-red, sinking into the cushions. “I don’t have time for any of that. I’ve beenvery busy,” I blurt, trying to reroute. “School, the production, Halloween, the flood, dog-sitting—”
“Ah.” Tamara cuts in. “Dusty.”
Zoe pounces instantly. “As inPookie’sDusty?”
“He needed help, that’s all!” I feel my face combust as I throw my hands up a little too dramatically to pass for innocence.
“Sure,” Zoe says, slow and smug, her grin wicked enough to set the table on fire. “Help. With his dog. While he was conveniently not home…” She takes a slow sip of her drink. “And maybe sometimes when heishome, too. Mm.”
Tamara lifts her brows into her signatureI don’t want details, but I see themkind of look. “Between the jar, the note,your sudden lack of dates, and the Halloween costume, I’m connecting more dots than I want to…”
Charlie groans, half-horrified, half-thrilled. “Oh my god, Lulu, are you—”
Before she can finish, the karaoke host’s voice booms through the mic: “Next up, we’ve got Zoe, Tamara, and Lulu to the stage!”
Charlie’s head snaps around, eyes wide. “What the hell?”
“Oh, this is going to be good!” Claire grins, phone already lifted to record.
Zoe shrieks like she’s just been crowned Miss Universe, seizing my hand in one and Tamara’s in the other. “Showtime, bitches!”
Before I can protest, I’m yanked out of the booth, sequins flashing under the neon as we stumble toward the stage. The host gives us each a mic, smirking as though he knows exactly what kind of chaos three drunk women are about to unleash.
Charlie’s watching with wide-eyed suspicion from the booth with Claire, her tiara askew. She shouts something over the noise—probablyWhat are you doing?—but it’s swallowed by the bass and the crowd.
Zoe, of course, works the crowd like a pro, immediately speaking into her mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to the absolute goddess in the tiara at the back! That’s our Charlie—isn’t she fucking gorgeous?”
The crowd roars approval, wolf whistles echoing, while Charlie drops her face into her hands.
“And!” Zoe adds, eyes shimmering. “She’s officially off the market, folks. One man, one dick for the rest of her life.” She pauses, cups her hand to the mic again in a whisper. “But apparently it’s agooddick.”
The club eruptswith laughter, clapping, hoots from every direction. Charlie is screaming into her palms, shoulders shaking, tiara sliding dangerously low.
Tamara and I are already doubled over before the first notes ofSuper Troupereven hit. When they do, the lights swing to spotlight Charlie in the booth. She claps her hands over her face, groaning, but she’s glowing so hard she might combust.
Zoe belts the first lines of the song into her mic, completely off-key, but with the kind of confidence only tequila shots can muster. Tamara and I join in half a beat late, harmonies wobbling, and the whole club dissolves into laughter and applause.
