Page 23

Well.

Hard to argue with that.

“Fine.” I set the menu down. “Doesn’t matter now anyway. I found somebody else to make a baby with.”

Scout slowly lowers her mimosa. “I’m sorry, I must be drunker than I thought because I swear you just said⁠—”

“That I found somebody else to fertilize my egg?”

Tatum gags and Andie shudders.

I ignore them both, nodding. “Yep. Met him at Bottom’s Up last night, took him back to a hotel, and let him spend the next however many hours trying to knock me up.”

Tatum stares at me. “Girl, I spent longer deciding on my name when I transitioned than you spent picking your baby daddy.”

“Speaking of names, tell me you at least know his,” Ellie says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Tell me you have a picture. Gimme,” Scout demands, practically climbing over the table.

I pull out my phone. I obviously couldn't ask Sumner to pose for a portrait, but I did sneak a selfie around four in the morning while he was passed out. I flip the screen around. It’s grainy and dark, but you can clearly see my messy hair in the foreground and Sumner’s massive, bare, muscular chest and buzzed head behind me.

Is it a masterpiece? No. Does it clearly show that I bagged a walking, talking thirst trap? Yup.

Ellie stares at the screen. “Holy shit.” She holds up her hand for a high five without looking away. She looks about two seconds from licking my phone.

"His name is Sumner," I say, snatching my phone back before Scout can zoom in on the edge of the sheet barely covering his dick. "You know those guys who fly planes into hurricanes so we know when to evacuate?"

They all nod because Florida. "That's him."

Scout whistles. "Judging by those hands, I'm guessing his dick is the size of a fire extinguisher. Please tell me he knows what he’s doing with it.”

I laugh. "Oh, he knows. I had to hobble to my car when we left the hotel."

They all crack up just as Cherry makes her way back to our table carrying a giant pink goblet loaded with dragonfruit, edible glitter, and three tiny umbrellas.

She sets it in front of me.

I stare at the thing. “Jesus. Is there even a drink under all that?”

“Somewhere.” Cherry adjusts one of the umbrellas. “I told them to make it obnoxious enough that you wouldn’t miss the vodka.”

I take a sip and immediately go back for another.

“Okay, this is actually really good.”

“I know.” She gives me a satisfied little smile and heads toward the next table.

For the next two hours, we eat an obscene amount of brunch food, throw cash at the queens, and make so many jokes about Grant’s cheating ass and his little house-trashing tantrum that eventually I’m laughing harder than I’m pissed.

By the time we leave the restaurant, hit St. Pete Beach for a few hours of sun, and finally head back to my house, the sky is starting to turn dark purple. The cleaning service did their job while we were gone. The hardwood floors are spotless, the wine is wiped up, and the monstera plant is back in its pot.

But when I walk into my bedroom, a heavy weight settles in my stomach. The bed is perfectly made. The exact bed where I walked in on Grant balls-deep in his coworker.

"Nope," Andie says from the doorway, reading my face. "Absolutely not. You are not sleeping in that."

"I can buy new sheets tomorrow," I say, crossing my arms.

"Sheets don't fix bad juju," Scout says, pushing past Andie. "Grab a corner, Ellie."