Hold On

“Message received,” I muttered.

“I see good things,” Cal announced, and I turned surprised eyes up to him to see him already looking down at me. “He’s a catch. You’re a catch. That shit works, both of you are smart enough to know you scored and scored huge, and neither of you are stupid enough to forget it.”

Joe Callahan thought I was a catch?

Morrie poured another shot. “Babe, hit that, then hit the office. Fortification, then you get the shit job done and you can look forward to eight hours on your heels, which’ll be the best part of your night.”

Morrie totally knew me.

One could say I didn’t like shopping.

One could also say, unless there was a good deal of food to be consumed, the same with beverages, these being alcoholic, I didn’t do your normal girlie-type things.

I didn’t have money for manis and pedis and facials. I didn’t have patience with crowds in order to hang out at coffee houses and shoot the shit or go to the mall and ask my bestie if my butt looked big in things.

No, I wasn’t about that.

But I was the girl for you if you needed a wingman to go on the prowl, were happy to belly up to a bar and throw a few back while righting the worlds wrongs, if you liked to kick back and catch a game on TV, and I always had a dry shoulder to cry on.

Pawing through dresses with my girls around, giving their opinions about what would be just perfect for a date with Garrett Merrick, was not in the top two hundred things I would want to do.

And these men, who spent their free time bellied up to the bar or kicked back watching a game, knew my pain.

Fuck.

I looked to the office door.

I looked to the shot.

I grabbed the shot and slammed it.

Then I slammed the glass on the bar, looked through the men who were now all grinning at me, glad they were at the bar and not heading to the office with me, and I trudged to the office.

I opened the door and shut it behind me, thinking that Morrie knew what he was saying when he’d said I needed three shots.

He should have given me all three.

He also should have warned me.

This was because the office looked like the dressing room of a drag show and Feb and Vi weren’t the only ones there. Mimi, Jessie, and fucking Josie Judd (who was more of a nut than Jessie, and that was nearly impossible) were there too.

“Please, God, tell me Raquel Layne is not about to walk through that door, ’cause I know my bitches wouldn’t invite Merry’s sister to come and offer me a dress to borrow to go on a date with him, a date where, at the end, it’s a foregone conclusion I’m gonna get lucky.”

They all laughed.

I didn’t because not one of them assured me Rocky wasn’t showing.

Finally, Mimi reached to nab my hand and dragged me further into the small space, saying, “Of course we didn’t invite Rocky.”

“How many shots did Morrie pour you before lettin’ you in here?” Feb asked.

“Two,” I answered.

“I thought he’d go for three,” she muttered.

“Right, we got precious little time,” Jessie snapped, glaring at me. “Only you would organize shit like this and give it fifteen minutes. That’s insanity.”

“Just pointin’ out, I didn’t organize anything,” I returned. “I asked Feb and Vi to bring a couple of dresses. I didn’t ask you at all.”

She swung her torso back, eyes getting huge. “Well pardon me that I’d haul half my wardrobe here to make sure you gave Merry good on your first date.”

“Bitch, you and I aren’t even the same size,” I shot back. “I like tight, but days where I let it all hang out are long gone and I only did that shit for money.”