“Good point.”
Kira groans dramatically. “Yeah, but thatbuzzing. Over and over and over. It has to be against the Geneva Convention or something.”
I chuckle. “Sounds like someone has a hangover.”
“She said it, not me,” Renee says while pointing at me.
“How do you know I’m hungover?” Kira moans, still drawing circles on her temples.
“Because it’s nine in the morning and you’re about to vomit from the humming of a dental drill,” I say.
“She’s not wrong,” Renee adds, and Kira throws her a look.
“In my defense, it was two for one last night at Rumors.”
“Why do I have a feeling you had more than two?” I tease.
“Erin is right. Your breath alone smells more like four. Maybe five.”
“Well, if Erin knows so much, she should go out with us sometime.” Kira uses the opportunity to corner me. Not that I am fazed. They do this pretty much every day, trying to get me to go to the town watering hole with them. Every day I say no.
But the thing about dental hygienists? They don’t mind making people uncomfortable. They just keep scratching until they hit a nerve.
“I agree,” Renee chimes in. “In fact, it’s karaoke night tonight.”
“It is!” Kira suddenly perks up. “Come on, Erin, you have to come.”
“Haveis a strong word,” I say as I type, though I am biting back a smile. Their efforts are amusing, I’ll give them that.
“I just don’t understand,” Kira says. “You’re young. You’re gorgeous. There’s literally nothing else to do in this town.”
I drag my eyes from the screen for a second. “Nothing else to do other than get drunk off PBR pitchers at a seedy bar while listening to Hank from the hardware store sing a Billy Ray Cyrus song?”
“Excuse you! We drink cranberry vodkas, all of which are bought for us, and we sing ABBA hits, thank you very much,” Renee corrects me, and I laugh even though the very mention of vodka turns my stomach sour.
“I’m more of a tequila girl.”
“Hell yeah!” Kira lets out as if her body has completely forgotten about her hangover. “Shots!”
Renee joins in. “Shots! Shots! Shots!”
“No, no.” I wave my hands. “I don’t do shots.”
“Margs then,” Kira says. “They serve ‘em in fish bowls. Six bucks if you order during happy hour.”
“Free if you’re us,” Renee says.
I roll my chair away from the desk and stand up, pointing at my belly.
“Oh, right. The bump,” Kira says as if I don’t look like a bowling ball.
“I keep forgetting. You’re still so tiny,” Renee says. “But listen. They make most of their cocktails virgin.”
They’re both staring at me as I sit back down. “I’m good. Thanks for the invite though.”
“I think she’s secretly married and her old man won’t let her go out and play,” Kira whispers.
“Either that or she’s a nun. Wait. Are you Mormon?” Rennee asks. “Mormons don’t drink.”
