THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,86

the Y’s just compared Lululemon workout pants to baby Jesus. Others chatter quietly about their own, real babies and how advanced they are because of their father’s obviously glorious sperm contribution. I cringe when a brunette with a huge mane of hair announces her plan for a weekly spouse/girlfriend meet-up while the men are deployed. She bats her huge, fake lashes a few times and says we should do lunch next time. What. The. Freak.

I clear my throat and send Morganna a text message, keeping my phone hidden under the table. You’re going to gag me with a spoon when this is over, aren’t you?:) Wait! I know. It’s a joke…It has to be a joke.

She responds quickly, liking the distraction. She smiles. No. Phillipe is going to do that to you. I won’t have time. I had to clear my schedule for this waste of fucking time. Welcome to the Rosy Team, Win. Where the only thing the women love more than themselves is their husband’s career.

Rosy? I text her back. I gathered the rest just by listening to them talk.

Everything always looks “rosy” to the rest of the world.

That makes sense. Shit that doesn’t stink and all that jazz?

Morganna grins and responds quickly. Yes. Obviously they are more disturbed than Fifty…

A reference to Mr. Grey—I’m impressed. Whips and chains? :-O

Worse. Straps on Pilates boards, a mascara wand, and charity events. I laugh out loud.

You’re part of it, Morg. You’re making fun of yourself.

Her response is immediate. Bullshit. They don’t mess with me. They’re too scared. Don’t let them see you sweat. Rule #4.

Another rule. Fabulous. I’m still laughing to myself trying to come up with a witty quip when a female voice hisses from across the table. “Do we bore you?” I know it’s directed at me because of the tone. It’s not the bogus friendly voice you use with fake friends. It’s the mean, petty one you use on the rest of the world who resides beneath you. My mom has the tone perfected.

I shock them with something they probably don’t hear often. “Of course not. It’s just work…you understand,” I reply, waving my phone in the air. Most of them have no freaking clue about work. I watch their faces shift in confusion. Maybe they think I’m being a bitch, but I can’t find it in myself to care. “I have a few deadlines to meet,” I add on, just to drive the point home. Morganna snorts. I shoot her the side-eye, smirking a little. I text Maverick.

They hate me. I watch him check his phone. He meets my eyes, and gives me this perfectly planned wink paired with both dimples. Narrowing my eyes at him, I sigh and try my best to focus of the task at hand. I catch the eye of one Y and I notice she’s looking back and forth between Maverick and me.

She raises her perfectly arched eyebrows and says, “Maverick doesn’t date. What do you have that I don’t?”

I pause, because I have to let that question roll around in my head before I can answer. She’s implying she’s been with Maverick…and he didn’t date her. So he must have had hotel sex with her. “Excuse me?” I ask perfectly, politely.

“Do you habla English? Maverick. Girlfriend. How?” she snips. Giggles buzz around the table and unfortunately I can’t help the shade of red I feel my cheeks turning.

Morganna clears her throat, ostensibly to see if I plan on laying into these women before she does. I miss the simplicity of Gretchen’s friendship. I’d never be facing the wolf pack’s Rosy Team with her—I’d be facing a lingerie rack with my arms laden with bras and garters.

“You should ask him that,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. The high road is a lonely one. Especially when I feel like taking the dirty, low one. She rolls her eyes and scoffs. I have to purse my lips to keep from slinging insults her way. Not only am I jealous she’s had sex with Maverick, I’m angry I didn’t know I’d be running into his conquests at this thing. I guess just because they’re with other men now doesn’t mean anything about before. It’s a new fact to add to the weird ass list. They share. Everything. How polite of them.

“Shut the fuck up, Marney. Don’t be a bitch. He wanted her here. Why do you care anyway?” Morganna grates. It’s nice to hear her stand up for me, when most of the time