Zoe, Ryleigh's right-hand woman and manager of Licked, peered over her shoulder. "Now hand over all your credit cards and I'll keep them safe."
"Won't. Can't. All my money is going towards new lawyers to get me out of this mess and ruin my father and Dawson's lives in the process."
"And if that doesn't work, I suppose you could always hire a hit man," Ryleigh mused.
I snapped my fingers. "Exactly. Great plan. Maybe Quinn'll do it."
Ryleigh laughed as the phone began to ring, and she held up her finger for me to hold on as she went to the kitchen to answer it. Fine by me. I needed to drink myself into a coma, stat.
"That looks amazing," the woman beside me said, staring in admiration at my shake. She was a petite thing who'd barely made a dent in her own small bowl of what looked like a Tease Me sundae.
I took a long pull of the mint-chocolatey goodness and then swallowed. "It's necessary, trust me."
"Bad day?" she asked.
"Right up there with the worst."
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you mention you got married, and I have to say, I don't think I've seen a more miserable person in my life."
Giving a humorless laugh, I nodded. "You would be right about that."
"You don't believe in it?"
"Fuck no. Marriage is a crock of shiitake. It's either a business arrangement between two people who want to get farther up on the food chain and don't give a fuck about using another person to do it, or its sole purpose is to make someone miserable."
She chuckled. "I'm guessing that miserable someone is you."
"Damn right it is." I waved over at Zoe, whose hair was bright orange today and shaved on one side-she seemed to change it up the way I changed batteries in my vibrator-and pointed to the empty space on the counter in front of me. "Zoe. More balls." An amused expression crossed her face, but she seemed to understand, because only moments later a bowl of fresh cookie dough balls was pushed my way.
"Don't you wrangle enough balls at all those weddings you plan?" Zoe said, smirking at me before moving on to help the next customer.
"You're a wedding planner?" the woman beside me asked.
"Yuuup."
A bemused expression played on her lips. "A wedding planner who hates marriage?"
Ohhh, whoops. Maybe I shouldn't go around broadcasting that info at this moment, but fuck it. It wasn't like I'd see this girl ever again.
"Look, marriage is fine for other people, it's just not something I ever planned on doing." Ever in a million years ever.
"Totally get it. It's not for everyone."
"Oh God, you're not a newlywed who thinks I'm a horrible person now, are you?"
"No," she said, blushing. "Not that I would mind or anything, but the guys in L.A. are … well, noncommittal is the word I'd use, but it doesn't seem like that's a problem for you. Don't worry, I won't tell you congratulations." She smiled. "I'm Tiana, by the way."
"You can just call me Mrs. Richard James Dirty Dick Dawson," I said through a mouthful of dough. "Also known as wife of can't-keep-it-in-his-damn-pants."
Tiana's eyes went round on her pixie face, and some of the ice cream she'd just taken a bite of came sputtering out of her mouth, which she promptly covered with a napkin.
Yep, I got that a lot. Probably taken aback by my unfiltered mouth, which was nothing new for me. It seemed to get me in trouble more often than not.
When she'd composed herself, she gave me a tight smile. "So, you don't seem overly thrilled to be married to this … Dawson guy."
"If you met him, you'd understand why."
"Then why did you?" she snapped, and then, as if she realized how that came across, she cleared her throat and tucked a piece of blond hair behind her ear. "I mean, how did it happen?"
"Just a stupid drunken mistake between friends, I guess. Well, former friends."
"Right … uh-huh."
"Did you want to try one of these?" I said, holding out the bowl of balls.
"No, you can keep all the balls. I should be going." She stood up to leave, and got a couple of steps away before turning back to face me. "It was, uh … nice meeting you. Good luck with … everything."
Before I could swallow and respond, she was practically running over other customers to get out the door.
People are so fucking strange, I thought, piling a marshmallow on top of a Butterfinger chunk on top of a smushed dough ball and then dunking it into my shake.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Three's a Crowd
"YOU KNOW, I'VE never understood why Ryan Reynolds's character complains in this movie. I'd love to be Sandra Bullock's bitch." I tossed a handful of Shayne's buttered popcorn and M&M mix into my mouth. As if I hadn't had enough sweets this week, but since I hadn't gone into diabetic shock yet, I figured I'd load up. Besides, the combination of sweet and salty was my favorite, and it was a must during our girls-only movies-in-pajamas nights. First up tonight was The Proposal, and it didn't matter that we'd already seen it two-point-five million times in the past. We ended up quoting and talking through most of it anyway.
"That's only because you've never been anyone's bitch before," Shayne said, grabbing her own handful of popcorn. "Until you work for a diva boss from hell, you have no idea what you're saying." Poor, sweet Shayne had worked for the most notorious, ridiculous matchmaker cow in Los Angeles, until my friend grew a pair and told the woman to fuck off. That also happened to be the same day she moved in with me, so I'd like to think my influence on her has been a positive one.
~Pats self on back~ Good job, self.
"I sort of feel like one right now, but you may have a point," I said. "I'll save it for a role play. Speaking of which, you look like Pippi Longstocking with your hair like that. Nate coming over later?"
Shayne twirled one of her long red braids and grinned. "You're a kinky bitch, you know that, right?"
"Don't tell me you haven't been tied up a time or two with those suspenders he wears."
The blush on her face said it all.
"Hah, knew it," I said, throwing kernels across the couch at her. "Really, Shayne, I'm so proud. How's rockin' the cradle still goin' for ya?"
Shayne answered by sending a handful of the buttery stuff in my direction.
"So I take it that means it's going great, spanks so much for asking, but you still have an issue over the fact that he's barely out of diapers."
"Paige!"
"Sorry, sorry. If I had a twenty-four-year-old at my beck and call, I'd never come out of my room."
"He's twenty-five now," she said, rolling her eyes as the doorbell went off.
I hit the pause button. "Did you order pizza?" I asked.
"No."
"Chinese?"
"No."
Ding dong ding dong ding dong-
"Then who the hell … " I swung my legs off the couch and got to my feet as the doorbell continued to chime.
Ding dong ding dong ding dong-
"I heard you the first time, buddy."
Ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong-
"Jesus," I muttered, as I speed-walked across the foyer to the front door. "Calm your tits, I'm coming."
Ding dong ding dong ding dong ding-
"What the hell is so-" I threw open the door and faltered. Dawson stood there with his finger still pressing down insistently on the doorbell.
"Would you knock that off?" I said, swiping his hand.
"Just wanted to announce my arrival … " His eyes lowered to my pajama shorts and he let out a hum of approval.
It was the first moment in my lifetime that I'd wished I knew how to cover myself up, because I did not need or want his eyes on me.
Looking down, I noticed the hand not ringing the shit out of my doorbell was attached to a mighty large suitcase. "Dick, what are you doing here, and why are you hauling a suitcase around at night like you're homeless? Wait. Are you homeless?"
"I'm moving in, of course. Wife." Then he pressed a kiss to my cheek and rolled his suitcase right on past me as I stared at him, mouth agape.
Did he say moving … in?
Leaving the door open so he could waltz right back out, I dashed across the foyer and blocked his path. "Uh, you're not moving in."
"Are you going to stop me, love?"
"I've already got a roommate."
Dawson's gaze traveled up the grand staircase and then down to the halls branching out from the foyer. "You've also got a pretty sweet pad with at least five bedrooms to spare, though I have my eye on one in particular."
"This house isn't big enough for your ego. It already has to deal with mine. Besides, there's nothing in my father's little arrangement that says we have to live together."
"You're right. I'm just doing this for fun."
He started moving again, this time toward the living room where Shayne was lounging, and I let out a huff and slammed the door shut before following after him.
"Oh … hi, Dawson," Shayne said, sitting up and looking between us. Then she noticed the suitcase. "You, uh … spending the night?"
"Moving in, actually."