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Meg burst out laughing. “Oh, my God. Are you serious?”
Callie nodded frantically while laughing. “And I had my hand on Liam’s ass when Sam stepped around the corner to surprise him.”
“Wow.” Meg quieted. “He has a nice ass, right?”
Callie moaned. It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t okay. It was spectacular.
“And everything else was in working order?” Meg asked quietly.
Callie remembered back. She’d passed through fear to get to the holy shit level of excited after meeting his monstrous fifth appendage. He put Trent to shame, but Callie would never tell him that. Hell, she didn’t even like thinking it, but sometimes you just wanted to know you’d traded up in models.
The best model.
“You still have me.” Meg interwove their fingers.
“And you still have me.”
“I’m sorry for what I said at lunch.”
“Yeah, me, too. I know that mine was my discomfort with lots of things—that dress, Liam, the unknowing when we’re leaving. And I’m sorry, too. But what’s going on with you, Meg?”
A long sigh filtered through the air. “I was projecting my shitty life onto you. I need to get laid. I need to find someone to unload on about my boss and coworkers.”
Callie squeezed Meg’s hand. “I bet. I hear that boss can be a hardass sometimes.”
“You have no idea.”
“Meg, what you said was right and probably one of the reasons why I decided to go for it with Liam. But I’m worried about you.”
She didn’t blame Meg for the failed sex. She didn’t blame anyone. Her and Liam’s chance was just that. It had a probability; it was just that she hadn’t been on the winning side of the equation.
Meg squeezed her hand back. “In the long run, I’ll be fine. But I am sorry for calling your cooch ‘holier than thou’.”
Callie squeezed her friend’s hand. “She was praying to Jesus when she realized the size of Liam’s dick.”
Meg’s voice deepened with interest. “Seriously?”
Callie motioned a length with her hands, and Meg gasped.
Callie drank the rest of her margarita and handed it off for a refill. “Probably for the best. She might’ve been screaming to God if it had happened.”
“Sorry, Cal.”
Yeah, me, too, Meg. Me, too, vagina.
Callie woke up to a wet area on her arm where her friend was lying. The sound of a tugboat bleated in her head, and every light in the place was on while the wind still howled outside.
“Meg, you’re snoring … and drooling. Gross.” Callie rolled her friend off. They’d taken a long afternoon nap. Callie’s stomach growled. She glanced at the clock. It was just after six in the evening. While she and Liam were picking out their movie, a bus of people from the airport had been transported in for temporary accommodations. The dining room would probably be packed with hungry people. Probably best to order room service, and just wait it out.
Sliding off the bed, she made her way to the desk, picked up the phone, but paused dialing when three sharp taps sounded on the door.
Meg rolled over and basically burritoed herself inside of a comforter. “Go away.”
“It’s Sam,” a voice called through the paper-thin door.
Meg rolled over. “The dying Sam?” she mouthed to Callie, and Callie nodded.
Meg climbed from the bed and opened the door. “Hey, I’m … Meg, Mr. ahem, I mean … sir.” She seemed to be fighting for words.
