“They make tuxedo condoms?” Velma asked before taking a sip of her ginger ale.
“Yeah. I swear, it’s a thing. Who knew? They have little white bow ties printed on them and everything.” Marlee really wanted a glass of red, but the stress of her new life was getting to her and she elected to join in on the fizzy ginger, letting it settle her stomach. Sometimes a girl wanted a dash of merlot, and sometimes she didn’t. A little over a month ago, Scotty would have usually made Marlee’s beverage decisions when they were out and about. Marlee had actually thought it was cute at the time. Nice. He knew what she liked and made sure she had it.
Funny thing about that…she was learning that what she liked was changing. Like drinking ginger ale instead of a glass of red.
Besides, it was probably against the rules to order wine in a dive bar. Even if it was Velma’s husband’s bar and she probably made him stock the good stuff. Or at least the decent stuff.
“I want tuxedo condoms. I’m going to order some.” Claire had her cell in hand, searching novelty condoms. “I mean, can you imagine Dean’s face?”
Straitlaced Dean? No, Marlee could not imagine that. She reached to pat Lothario on the head. He lounged next to her in the booth, noshing on a piece of steak Brek had tossed his way when they’d arrived.
“Brek wouldn’t even wear a tuxedo to our wedding, I’m pretty sure this is totally out of the question in our marriage.” Velma twirled her straw between her fingertips.
“What’s out of the question?” Brek ambled up to their table, a bar towel slung over his shoulder.
“Tuxedo condoms,” Velma said before taking a deep gulp from her drink. “I said I don’t think you’d wear one.”
Brek stopped mid-stride. He gave them a solid stare, the little crinkle what-the-fuck lines prominent between his eyebrows. He glanced from Velma to Claire, then at Heather and Marlee.
“I don’t understand women,” he declared.
He must’ve been talking to Lothario, because he was the only other male in their vicinity. Brek didn’t wait for Lothario to reply. He just turned around, walked back to the bar, and said something to one of the waitresses.
She sauntered over to their table, notepad in hand. “Brek says you’re my table now. How are you, Velma?”
“I’m fantastic.” Velma giggled. “We’re probably ready for another round.”
“I gotcha covered.” The waitress gave her a wink, picked up Heather’s empty glass, and headed back toward the bar.
“So, tuxedos,” Heather said when she was out of earshot. “Where were we?”
Yes, these were Marlee’s kind of friends. Less than twenty minutes into girls’ night, they were already searching tuxedo condoms.
Focusing on her phone, Claire’s eyebrows pressed together just like Brek’s. Well, the lines between Claire’s were not nearly as prominent.
“When did you use one of these?” she asked, tapping at the screen.
Um.
“You and Eli used the tuxedo condom thing when you were in Vegas?” Claire confirmed, the fun seeping out of her tone and getting replaced by strangely intense concern.
“That’s a tad personal, don’t you think?” Velma swatted at Claire’s phone.
“It’s not that private. I mean, you all know what happened there. So, yeah, in Vegas.” Marlee sipped at her fizzy ginger ale.
“I wonder if we get a discount if we order extra?” Heather asked, ignoring Claire’s concern. “I have some bachelorette parties that would go crazy for these.”
Heather’s cookie company had a solid underground following for penis-shaped cookies she called cockies. Marlee had been pretty certain within moments of meeting Heather that they were destined to be friends. Once she’d learned that little tidbit about the cockies? Their friendship was signed, sealed, and delivered.
“A bulk order of tuxedo condoms was not where I thought this evening was going.” Velma giggled against the edge of her palm.
Marlee should get in on that order, just for nostalgia. Especially since she and Eli were officially doing this—whateverthiswas—and she already knew he’d wear one.
Claire set her phone facedown on the table. She rubbed at her temples, her hands framing her face. “Marlee, when was your last period?”
“Okay, seriously, Claire. Stop.” Velma pulled Claire’s drink away from her. “How many of these did you have before we got here?”
“They were recalled.” Claire pushed the button on her phone so the screen lit up. “The condoms were recalled. Was it one of these?”
