Page 11 of Sharing Shane

“Huh?”

“You can come with me.” Energized by the idea, Veronica leaned forward. “We’ll hang out on the beach, drink fruity umbrella drinks, get spa treatments. It’ll be so much fun, Dee.”

“I’d love to, sweetie,” Delia began. “But I’ve got the hospital fundraiser that week. Julian’s giving the keynote, and he’s so nervous. I can’t ditch him.”

Veronica scowled. “Dammit. I liked you better before you got married and devoted to someone else.”

“You could take your sister,” Delia suggested.

“Oh, no.” Veronica shook her head vehemently, sending her short swing of dark hair dancing. “I’m not asking Gwen. She’ll spend the entire week telling me about her latest fad diet, she won’t want to drink because ‘empty calories’, and every time I eat something that’s not a raw vegetable, she makes this noise.” She sucked air through her teeth to demonstrate. “Plus, last time I talked to her she was raving about some vagina exercises she was into.”

Delia blinked. “Vagina exercises? You mean Kegels?”

“No, I mean like actual weight lifting. She saw some woman on Instagram doing it, and now she’s obsessed.”

“How do you lift weights with your pussy?”

“I have no idea, but if you want to find out, call Gwen. She’ll tell you all about it.”

“No, thanks.” Delia gave an exaggerated shudder. “What about some of your friends from school?”

“I doubt it, not on short notice.” Veronica drained her wine and reached for the bottle. “Are you sure you can’t ditch Julian? I knew you first.”

“Yes, but he gives me orgasms and pays for all my marijuana.”

“Hell, I can’t compete with that.”

“Hang on, hang on.” Delia picked up her phone. “I might know someone.”

“Not cousin Joel,” Veronica said with sudden horror.

Delia laughed. “No, not cousin Joel.”

“Not one of your ooh-la-la rich friends, either. I can’t handle the Ladies Who Lunch.”

“Snob,” Delia said absently, still scrolling through her phone.

“Well, yeah.” Veronica leaned back into the sofa, snuggling into the piles of pillows, and tried not to spill her now straw-less wine. “I only put up with you because I knew you when you were dirt poor.”

“So, I’m what? Your token rich friend?”

“Pretty much.” Veronica laid her head back against the cushions and stared at the ceiling. “You know what?”

“Shh, I’m on the phone.”

“I’m not that sad,” Veronica said, ignoring the directive. “I mean, I’m pissed. My grandmother’s quilt, for God’s sake.”

“Wyatt, it’s Delia Bell. How are you?”

“And without a condom, so I had to go get tested, and you know I hate getting blood drawn.” She could hear Delia talking to someone on the phone, a buzz of sound in the background. “But I’m not sad.”

She lifted her head to look at her friend. “Why is that, do you think?”

Delia tilted her phone away from her mouth. “Because you recognize that he’s a cheating piece of shit who doesn’t deserve your sadness. Now shut up, I’m on the phone.”

“Yeah, but you’d think I’d be a little sad,” Veronica protested, frowning at the ceiling. “I mean, we were together for two years. We were practically living together.”

“No, you weren’t. Yes, that’s her,” Delia said into the phone. “She’s drunk.”

---