Fumbled (Playbook #2)(90)

“Don’t you dare.” I point at her, stepping backward.

But before I can get far enough away, she lunges toward me, grabbing me with one hand and using her free one to cover me in glitter.

“I hate you so much.” I stand still, glaring at her.

“You love me.” She shrugs off my declaration, knowing it’s a lie. “Plus, I invested in fine glitter, you’re gonna sparkle for at least a month.”

And as awful as my day—my week—has been, I start to laugh.

“Only you would think that’s a good thing.” I shake my head, thankful for her craziness.

“Come on, you sparkly bitches.” Charli pushes open the door. “Let’s take this party back to Poppy’s.”

We are halfway to my house, all of us laughing, even Jacqueline, when my phone rings in my purse. I recognize the number even though it’s not saved in my phone so I slide my finger across the screen to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Patterson?” the friendly female voice asks.

“This is.”

“Hi, this is Julie from Hamilton Elementary. I have Ace here and he’s feeling a little worried. He said his dad was supposed to pick him up, but nobody came. Could you come in and get him?”

Ice slides through my veins before fire melts it away. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” Julie says, her voice holding the barest amount of judgment.

I don’t say anything else. I hang up and go straight to TK’s name. I hit Call and listen to the phone ring and ring before his voicemail picks up. “Forget something?” I spit into the phone, hitting the End button and throwing my phone back into my purse.

“TK forgot to get Ace,” I say to the worried—again!—faces watching me.

At this, a few things happen. Vonnie and Sadie get pissed. Charli and Aviana look sad. And Jacqueline walks to me, takes my hand in hers, and squeezes it.

“Go get him,” Vonnie says, her no-nonsense voice taking over. “We’ll meet you at your place and I’m taking Ace to have a sleepover with my boys.”

“Vonnie—” I try to interrupt, appreciating her offer, but not going to take her up on it.

“No,” she says, cutting me off and pointing a red fingernail in my face. “Ace loves playing with my boys and he’ll be sad his jackass dad forgot him at school. You’re going to find TK, cuss his sorry ass out, go home to an empty house, drink wine, take a bath, and sleep in.”

“But . . .” I try, and fail, again.

“But nothing!” she yells, and for a moment I have to remember I’m the one who should be yelling now.

“Vonnie, I appreciate this, but you don’t have to get worked up, I’ll be fine.” I reach for her hand but pull it away when I notice my words only served to piss her off more.

“Did I say you wouldn’t be fine?” she asks.

“Well, no . . .”

“And I damn well do have to get worked up! You’re my friend, this is what happens when people fuck with my friends. I get fucking angry!” She keeps yelling, ignoring the faces of strangers as they pass us, not even attempting to pretend they aren’t listening. “Fuckin’ TK. Always messing around, thinking everything’s a goddamn joke. Piece of shit.”

“I thought you like TK?” I meant for it to be a statement, but Vonnie’s kind of scaring me right now, so it comes out as a question instead.

“So!” she booms, causing Jacqueline’s hand to flinch in mine. “He’s not my friend. He’s my husband’s co-worker. You’re my friend!”

My sinuses don’t even warn me before tears fog my vision and I have to suck in my lips so I don’t cry.

I didn’t even realize I was afraid of it until this moment, but now I know even if TK and I never get back together, I’m not going to lose my new friends.

I let go of Jacqueline’s hand and pull Vonnie in for a hug.

Then because these bitches are so extra, everyone piles on.

On a Friday afternoon, we cause a massive traffic jam on a busy sidewalk just outside Downtown Denver.

And I laugh.





Thirty-nine




Before Vonnie took Ace to her house, she entered TK’s address into the navigation app on my phone. Driving across town was the last resort. I was positive TK would answer his phone eventually.

But like always, I was wrong.

Now, parked on the street in front of his mansion—literal mansion—I don’t know if I’m grateful he moved to my tiny bungalow or pissed he didn’t push harder for me to come here. I’m pretty sure the landscaping alone costs more than a car.

I take a deep breath and turn onto his driveway, which loops around a fountain right on the verge of gaudy. I park in front of his door . . . well, doors. Two glass doors framed in wood that form an arch with an exquisite iron design decorating them. It’s all so un-TK-like I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t still raging.

I push the doorbell, which I know sends a notification to his phone and is recording me, and wait.

Then I ring it again.

Lights are on throughout the house and his Range Rover is parked uselessly in front of his garage, so I know he’s home.

Finally, I see him approaching through his door.