Page 45 of Rush of Jealousy

“Yes, sir. I have them, yes. I understand, sir.”

“Big Boss Man going all kamikaze on your ass over us?” I pry. Claire stifles a giggle and tries her best to keep it together. It feels really good to be able to joke around with my bestie. She needs this just as much as I do.

Parker meets our eyes in the rearview mirror, and the sight of his terse look makes us just burst into fits of laughter, spitting out little pieces of burger bun. Poor guy is going to have an aneurism over us.

We spot a Smart Drug and point frantically out the window, tapping on the glass for added emphasis.

“I de-Claire you stop!” Claire, through her tipsiness, discovered how cool it is to incorporate her name into phrases. Yes, it is as obnoxious as imagined. I must admit that it is working for her, because we get our way.

When the car is safely parked, our gatekeeper keeps us locked in the back until we have proven that we consumed some food.

“I think the six drinks was overkill, but who am I to judge?” I say, sucking three straws to sample them all at once. I make a face. “Ew, that’s gross. Not doing that again.”

When we meet Parker’s expectations, we get out and all walk up to the entrance. It’s just the three of us, but I assume the other two add-on men are not far behind.

“Do you think we should be taking one of these wheel-y things inside?” I ask.

Claire scratches her head as if what I am saying is the most intriguing thing she has ever heard. “Uh yeah, they are cold out here.”

I burst into fits of laughter over her concern over their temperature. “But…but what if I hit something? Can we get arrested?”

Claire’s eyes squint together, and she cups her hand near her mouth, leaning into me. “We make him drive it,” she whisper-yells, pointing with her other hand in the direction of Parker. I completely forgot he was still with us.

“Good idea.” I smirk. “Oh, Parker, honey, will you, fine gentleman, help us poor defenseless ladies with our shopping?”

Shopping is pretty awesome when you are too out of it to look—or see—the price tags. Because it’s fun, we make Parker go up and down every aisle. When we hit the junk food section, Claire goes a little crazy and fills up half the cart with snacks for tonight’s reality TV show viewing party. It’s at our place again.

It isn’t, however, until we get to the pharmacy section that we get a little cruel. As Parker pushes the basket through the cosmetics, shampoo, and medicine sections, Claire and I throw in box after box of tampons and pads. She even tosses in several packages of condoms—the mega size ones.

“Don’t let the mags fool you. Size most definitely does matter,” she announces.

Like perfect angels, we make Parker unload all of the items. He allows Claire to swipe her credit card but only because she throws a minor temper tantrum.

“You are not my sugar daddy,” she reminds him.

“Or mine,” I echo. I twiddle my fingers in the air, marveling at how the tingly feeling is starting to disappear. The alcohol is wearing off. But I miss the feeling of having zero fucks to give.

We load up the trunk and fall into the backseat ungracefully.

“Take us to the gym, Captain!” Claire yells, way louder than necessary for only being a yard away from Parker, who appears to be having some anxiety in the driver’s seat.

My phone buzzes with a text, and I open the app to read it.

Graham: Behaving yourself?

Angie: Nevvvvva!

Graham: Can you at least try to be a good girl?

Angie: Tried it. Failed. Being bad is more fun.

I toss my phone into my bag and lean my head against the window. I groan at the dull throbbing ache starting to form. There is no amount of alcohol that will help me forget Graham Hoffman. I don’t even know why I tried.

* * *

Blake goes shirtless for Zumba and all the girls go wild. He shows off with his bright yellow cargo pants that are made from the easy-dry material and with a lot of snaps. Despite sweating like a dog, his spiky black hair stays intact. He looks very urban chic with his elegant script tattoo curving over the top of his chest, in some language that I cannot identify due to the high speed of his movements. It looks rather fresh from the red outlining. Even Claire is surprised that he actually went through with it.

“This is exactly what we need!” I yell over the Zumba-specific music. It is like an island-rap version of techno beats. I am glad I sobered up relatively quickly. Otherwise, I would never be able to keep up with all the moves. I’m in a neon green tank and bright blue capri pants; Claire has the same type of outfit but in orange and pink.

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