“She might just be private,” Beth offered.
“Or married,” Mark added.
“Shut up.”
Tony studied me longer than the rest.
Less joking now.
More calculating.
“Just don’t get blindsided,” he said quietly. “Mystery girls are fun until they’re not.”
That one landed.
Harder than the others.
I laughed it off.
Chris squinted at me like he’d just thought of something important.
“Alright,” he said. “Real basic question.”
I braced myself.
“What’s her full name, bro?”
Tony leaned in too, suddenly interested.
Beth looked up from her salad.
I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t want it to look like I had to think.
“Sage Colette Comeaux.”
There was a beat.
Then—
“OHHH,” Mark said, grinning. “That’s fancy.”
“Sounds rich,” Chris added.
Tony whistled low. “That is not a girl who grew up eating Dunkaroos.”
“She’s from Louisiana,” I said. “Cajun. French Cajun.”
Beth’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
Tony immediately launched into awful, exaggerated French.
“Ooh la la, mon petit amour,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“Très sexy.”
“Voulez-vous coucher?—”
“Stop,” I said. “Please stop.”
