Page 109 of The Best Friend Power Play

Beth: "It's not that your sarcasm is bad, it's just that mine is so much better. There's really no comparison between the two."

Amiel: "Think we're getting a little sidetracked here."

Beth: "Agreed. Let's go back to grilling Evie."

We continue grilling Evie, who supplies us with no further information until a very cleavage-y woman walks up to us and declares, in a thick Australian accent, "Oh no. It's a disaster! We're both Marie Antoinettes," she says to Beth. "Except I'm way more busty."

Ah, it's Evie's former boss, Margo. I thought I recognized her. From what I've heard from Evie, she's a no-holds-barred type of person.

She says something to Evie that I don't quite catch, then looks around the ballroom. "Especially when you said the entire LA Swifts team would be here."

"Are you a hockey fan?" Summer asks.

"I'm a hockey player fan, hon. I even bought my husband an entire hockey outfit. The jersey. The shoulder pads. The helmet. The gloves."

Evie frowns. "Oh. I didn't realize Hamish plays hockey."

"He doesn't." Margo takes a sip of her cocktail through her straw, her cheeks swelling with a mischievous smile. "Notice how I didn't say I bought him any pants? Let's just say it's added a whole new level of spice to our nocturnal activities."

For one of the very few times in recorded human history, the Fast-Talking Five have been reduced to silence.

Luckily, Evie's brother Levi, dressed as a Scottish highlander, arrives, a bright smile on his face.

"Aye, it's a pleasure to see ye," he says, followed by a dramatic bow. "And that's all I've got as far as pretending to be Scottish goes."

"What a shame," Beth responds dryly. "I was so looking forward to hearing more of you butchering the Scottish accent."

"See," Summer whispers to me. "That's how you deliver sarcasm."

"Fine. I'm giving it up. Sarcasm, along with cooking, just isn't in the cards for me," I whisper back, and Summer laughs.

Evie breaks off into a conversation with Levi, leaving me, the girls, and Margo and her girls to it.

I take another sip of champagne. I'm not even half a glass in, and I already feel flushed in the face and a little woozy.

We're merrily chatting away when the jangle of a bell rings out.

The room falls quiet, and Fraser appears on a stage at the end of the ballroom. Everyone begins to make their way to him.

I excuse myself from the group and find Culver. I see that he's ditched the crutches, and right as I reach him, he lifts his hands into the air.

"I'm fine," he says in response to my raised eyebrow. "My ankle is healed, and I'm more likely to get injured if I keep using them."

"I didn't say anything."

He gets in nice and close to me, slides his hands around my waist, and says, "That's the beauty of knowing you for as long as I have, I can tell what you're thinking without you having to say anything."

I stare into his eyes. "That is pretty special."

He looks back at me, and even though we're surrounded by people—and most likely increasing their willingness to bet on a proposal before fall—Culver has a way of making me feel like I'm the only person in the world.

Fraser calls Evie to the stage, so we scoot around some people to where we can see what's going on. I snag two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter on the way.

"How are you feeling?" Culver asks as he takes one of the glasses from me and wraps one arm protectively around my shoulder.

"A bit warm and a little light on my feet."

Culver doesn't say anything, but his grip on me tightens.

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