“You’re not going,” Joss says. “It’s not that complicated.”
I look up and give her puppy dog face once more.
Ah. There’s suspicious Joss. Not as fun, this one. “Oh, Ash. What’d you do?”
“I got the invitation this morning. Before I’d thought about it, Maxwell called me—”
“Maxwell DeBakey? That man is so fine...”
“You’ve met himonce.” Two years ago, he stayed with me when he drove down to Corpus Christi from Dallas for a weekend trip.
She shrugs. “Once was enough to know he’s hot.”
I pat her knee. “He’s married, baby girl.”
“Not in my fantasies, he’s not.”
“Ha. Ha. Aren’t younot into relationships?” I say the last words with air quotes.
She gives me her crooked Joss grin, the one that promises mischief and mayhem. “There you go again, confusing sex with relationships.”
Yep. She’s more thannot intorelationships. She crosses herself from fear if they come anywhere near.
See? Look at us. Joss and I are burning down stereotypes left and right. She’s a playboy and I’m a romance-novel heroine.
If I wasn’t actively trying to strike the pairing ofpussywithweak manfrom my psyche, I’d be chanting it in my head.
Need a better word for that.
I shake myself. “Whatever. Max is Julian’s best friend. They were together when Max asked if I was coming so he could plan numbers for the bachelor party—”
“And you said yes, didn’t you? Because you’re incapable of saying no.”
“That is... correct.”
“Okaaay.” She tilts her head. “Well, the answer’s obvious, then. I’m coming with you.”
I blink a few times. Didn’t expect that. “What?”
She rolls her eyes and tucks some free strands of hair behind her ear. My gaze catches on the angel wing earrings her sister gave her—a tribute to their parents.
“You’re nervous enough that you dragged me to this freezing-ass call room in the middle of the night instead of talking about it at a normal time of day. Like in four hours. When I’m covering your hysterectomy.”
“This is the first time I saw you today—”
She sits tall. “Well, you need moral support, so I’m there.”
“The wedding’s in Florida.”
“Ugh.” She shakes her head. “That excuse for a state shouldn’t even exist. Whatever. I’m still going. I’ll whisper about how ugly the bride is all day and definitely won’t tell her when she has toilet paper stuck to her shoe. I’ll be completely head over heels in love with you and pretend like you hung the moon just for me.”
A laugh crawls up my throat. Uncomfortable. Is laughtersupposed to feel barbed? “You’ll come to the beach with me and pretend we’re together just so I don’t look pathetic?”
“Isn’t it the best friend’s job to prevent pathetic vibes? You’d do it for me.”
“Yeah, but I love the beach.”
She throws her head back and sighs at the ceiling. “I don’t hate the beach.”
