himself and everyone’s arms from the copious belly rubs he’d received.
“Yeah,” Cora murmured, “it can be.”
“Well,” Tammy said. “I didn’t know the fucker, but if he did that to you on a date, then he was a dumbass. You’re beautiful and smart and a total catch.”
Stef winced again. “First date.”
Heidi’s brows rose. Kelsey scowled.
“What a bastard,” Kate snapped. She slammed her fist on the table. “The next time I see him, I’m going to take this glass and shove it up his ass!”
There went that fictional record scratch again, the room falling silent for a second time.
Mostly because Kate didn’t get mad at anyone, least of all threaten to shove things up other people’s derrières, whether or not any of the rest of them thought her target was a worthwhile one.
“One could say I was an idiot for giving him a second date,” Stef said. God knew, she’d certainly said it to herself more than enough times.
“Idiot or not, he is more of a douche canoe than the fucker on TV,” Cora muttered.
Which earned her a smack from Heidi.
“What?”
“Stef is not an idiot,” she snapped.
“I—” Stef began.
Heidi held up a finger. “Not one word from you, missy. You are beautiful and kind and smart as shit, and just because Jeremy didn’t see that doesn’t mean it’s any less true.”
“Heidi,” Stef said.
“It’s true and just because the guy had a little dick and—”
“Heidi,” she repeated, more firmly this time.
“And thinks he’s got a pretty face—”
“You’ve never even met him.”
“I saw his picture, and that was enough for me . . .” She trailed off, her glass nearly tipping over in her earnestness to set it on the coffee table. “I knew he was one of those frat boy fuckboys.”
“I’m not sure that’s actually a thing,” Cora pointed out.
“It is,” Heidi said.
“Technically, I think it’s two things,” Kels added, both helpfully and not.
“And none of this is really pertinent to this situation,” Tammy said, her voice as gentle as her hand patting Stef’s knee. “As much as I want to see Kate’s attempt at glass shoving.”
Stef snorted.
Cora’s lips twitched.
Heidi lost it altogether.
Kels merely put a finger up and stated with authority, “The governing board has affirmed Jeremy’s status as Douche Canoe and Stef’s as Much Better Off Without Him. Now, we shall all drink to that before returning to First Dates and—”
There was a knock at the door.
“Curfew,” Kate groaned.
But Kels was already tipping back her glass and stumbling to her feet. “My Tanner’s here!”
He was there.
Along with Brad and Jaime. The three boys having gone to catch a hockey game before returning to gather up the girls. Tanner took Kels and Cora home. Brad and Jaime took Heidi, Kate, and Tammy, since the latter was their younger sister and the newest member of their friend group.
She was wonderful.
They all were.
Even with their drunken shenanigans as they were bundled out the door, trying for one last margarita, insisting on cleaning up, pointing out to their new audience how much of a douche canoe Jeremy was (especially when Kate asked what had happened to the pretty vase that had previously sat on the shelf and had thus been claimed by Jeremy the prior Monday), and then waxing poetic about the wine, the moon, and ironically the pretty pink color of the wax of the candle Stef had burning on the kitchen counter.
Not that Stef herself was immune to drunken shenanigans, considering exactly what she’d blurted when she was supposed to be watching a silly reality show.
Still, she’d never had anyone stand up for her without reservation, without knowing if she were a hundred percent right. Not before these women.
So, Stef knew she was lucky, damned lucky to have found them.
Even if they had snared the final three good men on the planet.
The damned lucky bitches.
So, she told them.
Which earned her a round of hugs, more cackling, and then, eventually, a quiet apartment.
A quiet, lonely apartment.
Chapter Four
Ben
Sweetheart growled at him when he sank down onto one end of his couch.
The end without the tiny set of stairs he’d bought for the damned dog.
So the damned dog could easily get on his expensive couch and make herself at home.
“At home” meant snarling at him if he dared sit down on said expensive couch.
“Shut it,” he muttered, sipping on his beer and reaching for the remote. “And I’m not turning on Dr. Pol,” he added. “No matter how much you like to watch the male animals get castrated, you ball buster.” A snort. “Literally.”
Smirking at his