Tomboy (The Hartigans #3)(77)

“It was the tequila,” she mumbled through her fingers.

“Nice try.” Gemma laughed and peeled Zara’s hands away from her face. “It was your secret desire bubbling to the surface because of the perfect storm of that shithead Kevin using you like the parasite he is and God’s gift to the lime.”

Roxy handed Zara a glass of wine—white because she was the queen of nervous jitters. “And the fact that you were with Mr. Inch Dick since college and somewhere deep inside you, oh Miss Grudge Holder Extraordinaire, you knew he wasn’t the man you wanted. More like he was the guy Daddy said you shouldn’t want.”

That was true, but she didn’t feel like having that thrown at her—or thinking about the dad she’d pretty much cut out of her life years ago—so she grabbed on to the one thing that she could argue. “I don’t hold a grudge.”

Gemma and Roxy just laughed. Right in her face. Without hesitation.

She glared at them over the top of her wineglass as she took a drink. “Maybe I should rethink the plan I made in fourth grade to be best friends with you two forever.”

“Nice try, but who else would put on Spanx for you when there are neither pictures being taken nor any chance of getting the magic peen, if not us?” Gemma asked.

“Speak for yourself.” Roxy shook her head at their born-to-wear-pink, be-queen-of-the-Junior-League, and have monogramed everything best friend. “Spanx are the devil, and I’m not wearing them.”

“Either way,” Gemma said. “We are in this fancy-pants place to make sure your date isn’t a serial killer, because that’s what best friends do.”

Roxy flashed her signature up-to-some-shit grin. “And the chance to observe what will probably be an encounter of epic awkwardness is just a bonus.”

And this was the decades-in-the-making result of three nine-year-old girls having access to a Costco-size bucket of bubble gum and a shared desire for vengeance against the same bully. Tommy Heston had been forced to shave his head to get all the gum out. The three of them had ended up assigned in-school suspension. It had been totally worth it.

Even as she sat at a table, trying not to look at the hostess stand every two point six seconds to see if the one guy who’d messaged her and didn’t sound like a total creeper was there yet. Really, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was a total no-show. It wasn’t that she had her fingers crossed he didn’t, but who in their right mind would answer that ad?

A man in a custom suit and a pinkie ring walked in.

“Do you think that’s him?” Zara asked.

“Not unless you’re into threesomes.” Gemma nodded her chin toward the woman with the million-mile-long legs who came in behind him.

Okay, heart, stop trying to beat your way out of my chest. Chill the fuck out, nerves. We’re good. We’re…another man walked in, and her blood pressure skyrocketed.

“What about that guy?” she asked.

Roxy shook her head. “Nope.”

The guy was alone—and in a hideous puce-colored sweater—but she wasn’t here for fashion sense. “Why not?”

“He said he was six-two, right?” Roxy asked.

Zara nodded.

“That guy is maybe five-eleven,” she said before taking a sip of wine. “That’s the problem with you being so short. After a few inches above you, everyone is just tall.”

It was true. At her height, people went from being normal-size to gigantic in the span of about three inches.

She checked her phone. It was eight minutes after seven. She’d treat this like a client meeting for her business—after ten minutes, she was out of there. That was the benefit of being seriously in demand; she waited for no one. And with that, she polished off her wine and gave a discreet nod to the waiter so they could get the check.

Gemma let out a quiet sigh. “And there he is. Oh, honey, you let me know if you want me to take one for the team here. He’s delish.”

Zara froze, and the wine sloshed around in her stomach. There was no turning around, only holy-shit-what-was-I-thinking panic. “How do you know it’s him?”

“Because I slipped the hostess a twenty to give me the signal when a Mr. Smith arrived.”

“I am friends with you for all the right reasons.” Roxy high fived Gemma. “So are you going to turn around and look, or what?”

She did a quick body scan. Yep, her muscles were still locked in place because they were, unlike her brain under the influence of tequila, totally unreliable. “I think we should ghost.”

“Nope.” Roxy shook her head. “Not gonna happen.”

“This is so weird, though. ‘Hi, we just met, let’s knock my cobwebs loose.’” Oh God, it sounded even worse when she said it out loud.

Gemma cocked her head as she pursed her lips together and regarded Zara with all of the pity she usually directed at one of the unfortunates on her home makeover show. “I’d recommend not putting it that way.”

Why was she doing this? She pressed her hand to her stomach in a vain attempt to calm herself.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at her two best friends. “Promise me you won’t leave.”

Gemma held her hand over her heart and held up her pinkie finger, the same sign they’d been making since they were girls. “We might fill you full of tequila, but I pledge on Tommy Heston’s formerly-luscious gum-filled locks that we wouldn’t ever abandon you.”