“Well, Andy should die in the fiery pits of hell and I think I’m allowed a little extra time to be bitter. You didn’t see the black Louboutins I was denied from buying in Nordstrom that day. But I can still have hope for the future for my two best friends,” Paige tells us.
“Well, good luck with that. I’m staying single forever. There is no man worth giving up my independence for,” Lorelei says.
“Right there with you, sister,” I agree as I put my fist up in the air to bump with hers and she just stares at it like it’s going to bite her.
“You two are impossible. You’re going to change your minds when you meet the right guy. And I’m pretty sure Kennedy here is going to be the first one eating her words. So, when’s the big date and can I do your hair?”
I scoff at her and push myself up from the floor.
“I am not going on a date with Griffin Crawford.”
Am I? No, no I’m not. It’s insanity to even think that for a second.
But he’s sweet, and good to your girls and every time you’re around him all you can think about is taking his pants off.
SHUT UP, evil Kennedy!
He’s an arrogant jerk who lied to your face and probably wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
Thank you, good Kennedy.
“Why did he even ask you out in the first place?” Lorelei questions as she and Paige follow me toward the exit.
“He didn’t ask me out, remember? It’s just a stupid bet. I guess. I don’t know. I don’t even know if he was serious,” I complain. “I heard the word bet and all rational thought left the building.”
As we walk to our cars, I explain to them in great detail about how he showed up at my house the previous night trying to plead his case and his parting words before he got on his bike and drove off into the night.
“Oh my God. You know what this means, right?” Lorelei presses the button on her key fob for her sleek, black Mercedes.
“That Kennedy and Griffin are going to go on this date, fall in love, and live happily ever after?” Paige tries, but can’t hide the smile on her face.
“Will you pipe down with that shit?” I complain.
“No, it means that Griffin Crawford is going down,” Lorelei states.
“Oooooh, that’s hot,” Paige coos.
Great. Now I have images of him naked with his face between my legs floating around in my head. This is not good. Not good at all.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Paige,” Lorelei scolds. “There are three of us and one of him. We are smart, resourceful, and good at what we do. If we can’t catch that twit McFadden and you lose this bet, I will turn my back on everything I believe in and go out on a date myself.”
Lorelei is right. Why the hell am I even worrying about the possibility of having to go on a date with Griffin? There is no way we’re going to lose because we kick fucking ass.
“You guys will seriously help me do this?” I ask, pulling open my car door and throwing my bag into the passenger seat.
“Of course we will. That’s what friends are for,” Lorelei states matter-of-factly.
I turn to look at Paige and she stands there with her arms folded in silence until Lorelei finally smacks her shoulder.
“Ugggghhhh, fine! I’m in. But for the record, I still think you should just go on a regular date with the guy.”
Ignoring her and the little butterflies in my stomach when I imagine what a date with Griffin would be like, I reach in and grab my cell phone out of the center console of my car and check my e-mail. When I see a fellow investigator’s name at the top, I almost jump up and down in excitement.
“How would you girls feel about getting to work on winning this thing tonight? One of my contacts heard through the grapevine that McFadden is going to be trying to sell his alien hats at Mulligan’s Bar and Grill tonight. If we hurry, we can make it there and catch this idiot. Someone’s got to be drunk enough to buy one and stall him.”
I glance up from my phone to see Lorelei with a huge smile on her face and Paige with an equally large frown.
“What now?” I ask her.
“We are not going out in public looking like this,” she complains, spreading her arms out, indicating her attire.
“You look like you just stepped off the cover of Vogue,” I fire back.
“Okay, fine. YOU aren’t going out in public looking like that.”
She points in the general vicinity of my hair, which is pulled up into a messy bun on the top of my head, and then down to my clothes, which include a pair of black nylon running shorts and a baggy, gray man’s T-shirt with ARMY written in block letters across the chest.
“It’s a college bar. Who gives a shit what I’m wearing?” I complain.
“I give a shit what you’re wearing. And so would McFadden—you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. As your friend, I cannot allow you to do this to yourself,” Paige replies.
“We don’t have time for this. If we don’t hurry, we might miss him. I am NOT losing this bet.”
Paige walks around to the back end of her red VW Bug convertible and opens the trunk.