She snorted. “Don’t sound too excited.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, pasting on my fakest smile, though I knew she couldn’t see it. “I’m excited for you, Kay. For both of you!”
“Aw, thanks, babe. I almost believe you.”
“It’s true.” The shrill tone of my voice was reaching a pitch only dogs could understand. “I’m excited to meet your person.”
“Actually, about that—”
Whatever she was about to say was cut short when Xan came barreling through the door. “Somebody sideswiped your car!”
“What?!”
“Right outside.” They pointed toward the end of the block, coffee sloshing out of the to-go cup in their hand, all over the floor. That was a problem for future me. “Some douche canoe in a Tesla. Go!”
“Kay, I got to go,” I told her, already halfway out the door. “I’ll call you later.”
“Gingerlee casts a spell to animate the weeping willow. It comes to life, wrapping its limbs around Brogan’s army and flinging them into the air. Brogan cries—”
“Eleven hundred dollars.”
Four sets of eyes shifted in my direction. June’s hand, perched over the map, froze in place. We were thirty minutes into our bimonthly Dungeons & Dragons session, but even troll armies and witchcraft couldn’t improve my mood. Not after spending the entire afternoon at the auto shop.
“Nessa—”
“Eleven. Hundred. Dollars. Juniper.”
June’s eyes narrowed, darkening to the color of lava rock. And like Mount Saint Helens, she looked like she was ready to blow at any second.
“It was an accident,” she said through gritted teeth. “Landon didn’t mean to hit your car.”
“He was texting and driving,” I deadpanned.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that he was going to show up. I only mentioned where you worked to brag about how amazing you are.”
“Before or after I turned down the blind date?”
All sense of levity vanished. “This isn’t my fault, Nessa.”
Clarke’s and Dani’s eyes ping-ponged back and forth between us. Awkward silence descended amongst the table, save for the sound of Jo chipping away at the ice in his marionberry gin fizz. Apparently, I was making a habit of having public arguments at my brother’s bar these days.
“You’re right,” I told her, softening my tone.
Maybe I was just PMS-ing. I had been craving salt and vinegar chips the last couple of days. That wasn’t an excuse. June didn’t deserve attitude, angry uterus or not.
She eyed me wearily, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But my Birks were planted firmly on the floor. “I am?”
“You’re not the one who fucked up Terry.” Terry, my beloved Toyota Prius, was currently tucked away at the local auto repair, beat to hell and short one side mirror. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”
June smiled. “Save that feminine rage for a good cause, yeah?”
I nodded. “Besides,” I told her, “Landon Blakeis covering the repair costs.”
Dani snorted. “Landon Blake? What is he, a Gotham City crime reporter?”
“I don’t know,” Clarke drawled. You could take the girl out of the South, but you couldn’t take the Southern twang out of the girl. “Sounds more like a trust fund kid who still goes on spring break in his thirties.”
“Who wears plastic sunglasses with company names on them,” Jo added, launching us all into a fit of laughter.
