I groaned. She was right, of course. This was going to be the family legend, the one recounted at every holiday gathering, my personal Mount Rushmore of mortification. But as I navigated the throng of ballroom revelers, something shifted. These women—these giggling, conspiracy-spinning, slightly unhinged women—weren’t just friends. They were my tribe. My partners in crime. My support system for life’s ridiculously awkward moments. And that, I realized, was far more valuable than any shred of dignity.
“Josie!” a voice boomed.
“And there he is.” Laurel snickered, elbowing Bailey.
“Mr. Vibrator himself,” Bailey hissed dramatically. “Say the word, Josie, and I will unleash the hounds of Hades upon him. Literally. I know a guy.”
I narrowed my eyes at George, the unfortunate owner of the rogue vibrating device. “No. This one’s mine.”
I marched over to him, snatched his hand, and pressed the offending little silver bullet into his palm. “Here. You can have your little... friend... back.”
George’s eyes widened. “Oh shit! I forgot to turn it off!”
He actually forgot.
“You sure did, bucko,” I said haughtily, spinning on my heel and abandoning him to his fate. I needed a shower, a hazmat suit, and possibly a new... everything.
“Wait, Josie, I—” he began, but I cut him off.
“Save it,” I said, not wanting to hear his pathetic excuses. The damage was done. The buzzing incident was already legendary. My friends would be re-enacting it with spoons by midnight. Time to reclaim my dignity, one triple-strength martini at a time.
Heading for the elevator, I willed the doors open with the force of a thousand suns. I needed a moment of solitude. A moment to decompress. A moment of silent prayer for my poor, overstimulated nether regions.
She would never be the same.
Never.
The elevator doors hissed shut, sealing me in with my own chaotic thoughts. Relief washed over me, potent as a shot of tequila. The buzzing was over. But the embarrassment? That was a stubborn little weed, refusing to be uprooted.
Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes, picturing Bailey already crafting a graphic PowerPoint presentation of my shame for the next girls’ night.
Just then, the elevator jerked to a halt, and the doors opened as an unexpected voice shattered my fragile tranquility.
“Hey, babe.” A familiar face appeared in front of me.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered, my hopes of fleeting solitude dashed as I glared at Freddie.
Chapter Twelve
Josie
“We need to talk, babe,” the con artist said, stepping into the elevator just before the damn doors closed and it started its assent again. I wasn’t in the mood for his games. All I wanted was a hot shower to wash the embarrassment of the last twenty minutes off my body and a clean pair of panties.
I wasn’t asking for too much.
Well, at least I didn’t think I was.
“I’m busy.”
“Aw, come on, babe,” Freddie whined. “Don’t be that way.”
“Go away, Freddie,” I huffed, ignoring the two-timing con artist, willing the elevator to move faster. The elevator slowed, came to a stop and the doors opened. Moving fast, I stepped into the family apartments when I clearly heard my dad speak.
“Oh, there you are.” My dad smiled as he walked toward me, adjusting his tie. “LeeAnn called. She wants me to help her choose— What the hell is he doing here?” Dad sneered, glaring at the man behind me.
“Came to see my wife.”
“Soon-to-be ex-wife,” I snapped, heading for my room. “Which reminds me. You sign those papers yet?”
