The Truth

I shake my head. “No way. That is not a frying pan fire I’m jumping into.”

“Well, I guess there’s always the chance that it’s not romantic,” Megan says hopefully. “What if she’s their insurance agent or something?”

Stephanie and I meet eyes, both of us solidly on Team Dating and dismissing the possibility of Team Insurance. But I nod slowly, not wanting to hurt Megan’s feelings. “Sure, that might be true.”

Stephanie barks out a laugh of disbelief, making her opinion obvious. “Honey, there might not be any actual dating involved, but I guaran-damn-tee you there’s plenty of sweat and bodily fluids involved. The only insurance they need to worry about is their health insurance.”

“I don’t think the company health plan covers mutual combat.”

Steph grins. “Do you think it covers her keeping their balls in her purse?”

“Well, maybe they know about each other and are enlightened like that,” Megan says hopefully. “You know, like that Netflix show about a throuple?”

“And when did you watch a show about polyamorous relationships?” I ask Megan, surprised.

“Ooh! You planning on giving Davis a surprise for Christmas?” Stephanie adds, taking it not just a step further than I did but an entire leap.

“No . . . but I mean, I understand that people need all kinds of relationships, and . . . well . . .” Megan stammers, making me chuckle. Maybe there is a wilder side to buttoned-down, bland rice cake Megan than she normally shows. It just takes enormous amounts of sugar and alcohol to appear.

“Come on, let’s see your relationship with the dance floor,” Stephanie says, grabbing Megan’s hand. “Be my wing girl?”

“Sure . . . Tiff?”

I shake my head, patting my purse. “I’m good, and I’ll keep an eye on these.”

Steph and Megan head out to the dance floor, dancing with each other. I sit back and nibble at my donut, trying not to guzzle my drink. I promised Ace that I’d be at his place early tomorrow, and I’d prefer to do that without my head threatening to split in two.

Jasmine drops off our order of wings, and the heat assails me, burning my nose. I don’t think I’ll be eating any of those unless I want to clear up what I smelled ten years ago from my sinuses. Instead, I pick up the donut, digging in and eventually eating the whole thing, along with a few more sips of my drink.

Stephanie moves on and dances a few songs with a guy who’s rolled up his sleeves, flashing an expensive watch, but preppy analyst types aren’t my taste.

I don’t want a guy who’ll be the boss one day. I want a guy who is the boss.

Megan’s content to groove on her own, never keeping the same partner for more than a song and frequently swaying on her own in the throng of people. But after a bit, she leads Stephanie back over to our table.

Megan takes a healthy chug of her water, downing most of it as she eats a few hot wings.

“Whoo, you looked hot out there! Did you get Mr. Rolex’s name?” I tease Steph as she chows down too. Neither of them seems affected by the heat at all. “You sure you should eat that much spice?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steph says, barely sipping her drink. “If I can eat my grandpa’s chili, I can eat anything.” To prove her point, she bites down on another one. “And no to Mr. Rolex. Pretty sure it’s a fake. I’d rather have a guy with a real Timex than a fake anything. If I wanted imitation, I’ve got a vibrator at home for that.”

Megan’s purse buzzes, and she looks at her phone, smiling at whatever she sees there. “Sorry, ladies, I have to go. Davis is here to get me.”

Stephanie groans. “He picks you up too?”

Megan laughs lightly, as if she doesn’t understand what Stephanie means. “Of course.”

I’m glad she’s got a ride home, though. I feel responsible for getting them home in one piece. I’m their boss, and I’m the safety monitor.

It’s simply what I do, what I’ve always done . . . for Ace, for Elle, and even for myself.

And now for my team.

I turn my attention to Stephanie, who’s smiling wistfully, probably secretly jealous of Megan and her bland happiness. “What about you?”

“Meh, I should get home too,” Steph says. “I’m just tipsy enough and horny enough to make a bad decision, but I’m sober enough to know I’ll regret it in the morning.”

“Maybe put that vibrator to use?” I suggest.

“Vlad,” she says, nodding absently. I look at her stupidly, trying to connect my suggestion with her answer, but I come up empty. “The Impaler,” she explains.

“Oh!” I exclaim, not sure what else to say. “Okay. I’ll close out the tab and head home too. I’ll see you bright and early on Monday morning?”