Winning Hollywood's Goodest Girl

Me: Ah, yes. Advice from an expert in being easygoing.

Cap: I’ve matured. Changed my ways. Ruby has shown me the light.

He’s so full of shit that even he has to know.

Me: Uh-huh, whatever you say, dude. And yes, I’ll see you at Thatch’s tomorrow night.

Fuck. Tomorrow. When I actually have to face the honesty music with my closest friends.

Cap: Okay, honey. I’ll bring your light beer and a copy of People so we can go over the best and worst dressed.

I don’t even bother telling him to fuck off. Instead, I put the phone down and put the Golden Globes back on.

It may be pure torture, but for today, I’ll take it.

Without a direct phone call from the woman on TV, this is my only window into what’s going on in Rocky’s and my baby’s lives.

Harrison

The aroma of goodbye is in the air, and yet sausage is the only thing on the menu tonight.

Ever since I arrived at Thatch’s apartment a few hours ago, honesty about my move to California has been on the tip of my tongue. But with this group, it’s not easy to take a stroll down Serious Lane. If anything, the longer the normal, ridiculous chitchat continues, the further away from sanity the crazy train goes.

All aboard! Next stop, Nowhere Rational! Choo! Motherfucking Choo!

“My dick’s a great white, son,” Thatch challenges Cap at the top of his lungs, and my internal reaction is equal parts amused and frustrated. “Cassie sees me coming in the bedroom, and she starts in on the Jaws theme song. Duuun dun. Duuun dun. Dun dun dun dun—”

“Ruby calls my cock The Meg,” Cap retorts before Thatch can finish, perpetuating a ridiculous competition that started, if you can believe it, when Milo started talking about taking Maybe swimming with the dolphins.

The camaraderie, for as ridiculous as it is, feels bittersweet given the conversation I need to somehow manage to have. But I know it’s time to bring it up before everyone starts tapping out from tonight’s poker night to head home to their wives and kids.

This is the last time I’ll be here for a while, and I’ve reached the now-or-never part of the evening. I have to bite the truth bullet before the moment is completely lost to more dick banter.

“Listen, guys,” I try to cut in as they laugh and talk among themselves. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

I’m not sure that anyone hears me until I get a sarcastic response.

“I don’t want to know about your yeast infection, Harry,” Cap says with a smirk. “Take it up with your lady doctor.”

I flex my clapback muscle for the sake of nostalgia before trying to bring the conversation back to the point. “Don’t worry, Cappy. I borrowed your Vagisil from your purse and used some of it already. This is about something else.”

Cap, of course, isn’t quite ready to let go of the fun. “Was that before or after you used my credit card to buy the new dress and heels your sad not-billion-dollar bank account couldn’t afford?”

I could explain the logistics of how inheriting my dad’s fortune has turned me into a billionaire—and my uneasy indecisiveness about whether I should keep it or not—but to keep things simple, I roll my eyes and smile instead. “Definitely after.”

Cap snorts.

I try again, hoping the third time is the charm with this group of raucous, billionaire leprechauns. “This is…serious. As serious as we get around here, I guess.”

“So…not serious at all?” Trent asks with a laugh, and I shrug earnestly.

“I’d like it to be. For just a couple of minutes.”

Kline gives the group a stern look as they all start to realize I’m not setting up for more of their one-liners, and finally, they all nod. If there’s anyone who can influence them to pull their shit together, even briefly, it’s Kline Brooks. There’s a reason he’s everyone’s secret favorite. He’s fun and funny, but he’s also so fucking smart. Basically, he’s the shit.

“Right. So, I told you I was probably moving to California—”

“Still a terrible fluffing idea,” Thatch interjects morosely, but Kline raises an eyebrow that quiets him. As best friends for decades, they’ve got a well-orchestrated routine with each other.

“Well…” I start and then clear my throat. I could swear all of these macho fucking guys are already starting to look sad, and I haven’t even said it yet. The somber mood makes it that much harder to speak my next words, but I know I’m saying them—doing it—for a reason. A good one. “I’m officially going.” Thatch tosses his cards down on the table dramatically, and I offer him a small smile before admitting, “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but the truth is…I’m going to be a father.”

The room explodes into all sorts of loud reactions.