over and grabbed Stef’s hand. “Shit,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” Stef nudged her shoulder, squeezed back. “We’re not in a one-upmanship trauma contest. If it hurt your heart, you don’t get to discount it.” She smiled. “You can move past it, but you don’t get to discount it. It’s part of you and important and—”
She broke off.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “This is too serious of a conversation for prickly pear margaritas.”
On that note, she decided to fuck it all, tugged her hand from Tammy’s, and poured herself another margarita.
A Lyft it would be.
Fred would just have to deal.
Tammy’s fingers brushed the back of Stef’s. “You’re an amazing woman,” she said, and Stef forced herself to accept the compliment, to not snort and discount it like her first instinct pressed her to do.
“Thank you,” Stef murmured. “You are, too.”
Tammy grinned. “I wasn’t done, you know?”
“Done with what?” Heidi asked, her focus drawn from across the table to their conversation.
“Done with complimenting Stef and watching her squirm because she doesn’t believe them,” Tammy said.
“Oh!” Heidi clapped her hands together. “I like this game.”
Stef groaned, began sucking back her margarita.
“She’s brilliant,” Heidi said. “My lab wouldn’t run nearly as efficiently without her.”
Another groan, her head falling to the table.
Kate laughed, drawing Stef’s focus. “I’d add kind to that list.” A smile. “And a great baker.” She rubbed her stomach. “Based on the dozen muffins I ate last time you brought them to our house.”
“And didn’t share,” Jaime, her husband, added with a wink. Kate narrowed her eyes, but Jaime just smoothed her hair back, kissed her cheek, and then turned back to Stef. “My addition to the list is that she’s a great dog mom.”
Okay, now her heart was melting. Because Jaime was Jaime the Vet, and knowing that he approved of her dog mom skills meant a lot.
Her Fred was a special boy.
“Thanks, Jaime.”
He winked, snagged a pepper from Kate’s plate.
“Are we going around the table?” Brad asked, his eyes—a slightly deeper brown than his brother’s—sparkling with humor.
“God, no,” Stef muttered.
“Yes!” Cora said. “She has great taste in nerd. Stargate-SG1 is the shit.”
“Oh, Lord,” Stef moaned, dropping her head to the table again. But only for a moment, because Cora tugged her up and shoved her glass in her hand.
“Drink and absorb,” she ordered.
Drink. Oh, she’d drink all right. She glugged down that margarita, refilled her glass, and continued shoveling in chips and salsa.
“Great,” Brad said. “I’ll go next.”
She clenched her teeth together, met his gaze when he waited for her to meet his eyes, all the aplomb of a magician gathering his audience’s attention. “I’d second the good baker”—a pat to his belly—“and good dog mom.”
Her cheeks blazed.
“That Fred, even with his obsession with squirrels, is a good boy.”
“He is,” she murmured.
He grinned. “But I’d say, more than that, you’re a good friend, and we’re all lucky to have you in our lives.”
Not, the girls were lucky to have her.
But all of them.
She sniffed.
All the women sniffed.
“How the hell am I supposed to follow that?” Kels grumbled, even as Stef was thinking how in the hell was she supposed to act like this was all normal when she felt like her heart was going to explode out of her chest?
Meanwhile, Tanner said, “I’ll just reiterate beautiful.”
Silence.
Then more sniffing.
Cora whispered, “All the good men.” A beat. “The bitches have taken them all.”
Stef sighed, even though they were both smiling. Because fucking hell, she was right. “I know,” she muttered and turned to Tammy. “How in the hell are you supposed to date someone and not compare them to those jokers?”
Tammy shook her head, ponytail fluttering behind her. “I don’t date.” A shrug. “So, the problem is solved.” Her lips twitched. “No comparisons necessary.”
“Probably for the best,” Stef said, reaching for her glass again.
She held it up, touched it to Tammy’s.
“To margaritas over men.”
Tammy grinned, tapped back. “To margaritas over men.”
Chapter Ten
Ben
His phone buzzed when he was debating getting up and going to bed.
He picked it up off the table, expecting to see a text but instead heat trailed down his spine and red lips flashed to the forefront of his mind.
Holding his breath, he opened the app.
I’m sorry I didn’t reply.
Shock washed over him, and he found his fingers moving without thinking.
Why didn’t you?
Silence.
No response for long minutes.
His gut sank, and he tossed his phone on the table. He needed to delete the fucking app and just be done with it.
Sweetheart snarled as he flopped back on the couch—well, more grumble than growl.