Page 27 of Just Joshing
Down, Molly.
"Come with me on Saturday."
I tilted my head, "where?"
"Venue shopping. I'm stuck driving Bess and Pete around."
My eyes widened. "Wait, you're going with them?"
He grimaced, "they want a," he lifted both hands making quotation marks, "professional opinion."
"What does that even mean?"
"Translation – Ma offered my services. I'm now roped in as the creative director of bridal operations." His lips pressed together in an unimpressed line. "I wish that was a fake title."
Joe, Tom and I burst out laughing.
"Dear lord," I chuckled, handing him my glass. "You need this more than me."
He turned the glass, pressing his lips to where mine had sipped. My eyebrows lifted, eyes widening slightly as I watched him sip. An awareness, a shiver, spiraled out from my abdomen.
He licked his lip, chasing a drop of liquor. "This is your smoky malt."
Tom nodded, "2010 edition. I prefer the '88 but we can't be picky at a time like this."
Joe bumped my shoulder, "You gonna save us, sis?"
I glanced up, catching Joe's normally serious blue eyes dancing with mirth.
"Oh, go on." Tom laughed. "It's a small price to pay for keeping this disaster from the silver screen." He waggled a finger at Josh, "I see you, Greenfeld. I don't put anything past you."
Josh grinned, "better save your family, hermoso."
Hermoso? I flushed, feeling suddenly shy. Down girl, he's just being nice. He doesn't mean anything by calling you beautiful. It's your horny hormones going crazy.
But the pleasant frisson of heat he'd ignited flared out, warming my blood, sending a flush across my skin. I pushed the feeling away, unwilling to examine it at that moment.
"Well?" Josh prompted.
"Fine," I blew out a long breath. "But I expect dinner."
"You got it, Pecas."
Chapter Six
Molly
Bess was what they referred to in my circles as new money. Second generation, her father was the Brazilian king, having patented hair removal technology back before the boom. Mrs. Kirkson had been Miss New Jersey back in the day, complete with signature big hair, hoop earrings and thick accent. She'd shed the accent, toned down the hair and upgraded to Cartier.
I'd cut my baby teeth on backstabbing nannies and gossiping groups of deadly divas. Little girls had been weaponized as tools for scheming fathers to schmooze with my parents. I'd once been told that the only reason I'd been invited to a tea party was because the girl's father promised her a pony.
Little wonder my best friend had been Pete.
That had all changed in high school. Bess had been my roommate at boarding school. Irreverent, hilarious, she was the first genuine person I'd ever met. We'd been thick as thieves and twice the trouble. Our only fight, our only rough patch, had been Peter.
Well, until today. Today was the day I killed her.
Venue eighteen. Eighteen. As in One-Eight. As in the number that came after seventeen. We were up to venue eighteen.
