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I eyed the bag warily. “What are you doing?”
“The question you should be asking is what are we doing,” she replied, dragging out a mountain of clothes, makeup, CDs, and a bottle of that cheap prosecco we both loved. “And we, my dearest, oldest, most gorgeous friend in the whole wide world, are going to a house party.”
“No, no, no.” I shook my head. “You’re going to a house party. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, you are,” she chimed back, ignoring my protests. “Katie’s fella has a free house, and he’s throwing this huge party before school starts back on Monday. They’re having an actual DJ, with a mountain of free booze. It’s going to be packed to the rafters with all of his buddies from the rugby team, and you are going to come with us.”
“No,” I vehemently protested. “I am absolutely not.”
“Did you not hear me?” She gaped at me like I had lost my mind. “I said it’s going to be filled with rugby players, Aoife. Big, hot, sweaty, sexy rugby players.”
“I don’t care.”
“Best of all, it’s a Tommen party, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into anyone from BCS,” she quickly continued, ignoring my wishes entirely. “And by anyone, I mean that good-for-nothing asshole.”
“Casey, if you told me that the entire Irish rugby team was going to be in attendance, I still wouldn’t come.” Reaching for a pillow, I hugged it to my chest and sighed heavily. “Do you remember the Cadbury’s advert that used to be on the television when we were small—the one with the woman devouring a square of Dairy Milk while ‘Show Me Heaven’ played in the background?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Yeah, well, I’m the woman in the ad and Joey’s the chocolate bar.”
“So, you’re saying that he’s the only flavor you want to taste?” She shook her head. “That’s so stupid when he’s the only flavor you’ve ever tried. He dumped you, Aoife. He cut off your chocolate source. So get off your ass and come sample something from the luxury menu with me instead.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Get up.”
“I’m too sad.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not leaving this room without you. Now, Katie, go and turn on the shower for our girl here,” she ordered. “And put this on,” she added, tossing Christina Aguilera’s Stripped album into Katie’s hands. “Track two.”
“Is it really that kind of an intervention?” Katie asked, hurrying over to the stereo. “You’re bringing out the big guns?”
“I think I need a new haircut,” I mumbled, pulling on my long braid. “I need a change.”
“Oh my god, it is,” Katie yelped, quickly switching discs.
“You can bet your ass it is,” Casey replied. Christina’s “Can’t Hold Us Down” blasted from the speakers a moment later, and Casey nodded her approval before turning her attention back to me. “If you chop off those long locks, I will use the strands to strangle you with. Now, get up.”
I shook my head. “No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Get your ass up, Molloy.”
“Never.”
“Don’t make me climb on there and get you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
After a ten-second stare-down, we both dove for my duvet at the same time, arms flailing and legs kicking.
“If you’re not ready to get over your ex by getting under one of those fine-ass rugby boys, then I will take one for the team and do it for you,” Casey growled, wrestling the blanket out of my hands, as she straddled me. “But you’re still coming with me to be my wingwoman.”
“Never,” I protested, trying and failing to knock her off by bucking my hips. “How are your thighs so freakishly strong?”
“It’s called using my mam’s ThighMaster, bitch,” she shot back, pinning my arms to the mattress. “Now, do you relent, or do I need to kick your ass some more?”
