She didn’t even blink, just bent to blow on her cup. “Pink Pony or G-Spot?”
“G-Spot. I worked at Pink Pony for a while but had a falling out with the owner.”
“Hank Weller? That guy’s an odd duck. But that’s gotta be how I know you. I worked there for a hot minute too.”
“You danced too?”
“No, bartended.” She waved her hand like it wasn’t important. “What did you do to piss off Hank?” Her eyes lit up like she was looking forward to the answer no matter what it was.
I smirked. “He’s Team Winston. I dated one of them. It didn’t end well.”
“Shut up. Which brother?”
“Jethro.”
The coffee stopped halfway to the table. I’d seen this reaction before too. People thought I was trying to get some claim to fame.
So I quickly added on, “But this was a while back. Way before he married freaking Sienna Diaz. Before he got straight, even.”
“I had a feeling about you.” She sat back and shook her head. “I knew as soon as we met, we were going to be great friends.”
“Did I miss something?” I had definitely never given off that impression before.
“I dated Jethro too.”
“Seriously?”
She laughed with a little shake of her head. “Yup. PS Jethro.”
“PS Jethro?”
“Pre-Sienna. That or Piece of Shit. Depending on my mood that day. That’s how we refer to him.”
I studied the skin of milk on my cooling coffee then sat up straighter. “Wait. At the same time? When?” Was this some sort of weird trap? Was I about to be ambushed for shit I did almost a decade ago?
“We need to compare notes. Actually, we probably need a spreadsheet. There are a lot of us and I’m sure some of our timelines overlap.”
“Wouldn’t that not make us friends then?”
“No way. Enemy’s enemy and all that. We’re sisters in battle. I don’t know about you but those months with Jethro were not my finest hours. I was changed.”
I nodded. I had almost gotten caught up in a life I wasn’t ready for when I realized I didn’t mean shit to him. But some other girls weren’t so lucky. I heard a lot of ugly rumors. Splitting from Jethro probably saved my life.
Not that I was exactly winning Oscars or writing movies.
“This is unreal.” Gretchen slapped the table.
“It really is. I mean, I guess it’s not so hard to believe. Jethro was a bastard back then. I bet we could start a club.”
“We could track down some of the others and compare notes.”
I snorted. “Yeah, but who has that kind of time.”
She kept on with the joke. “We could meet every other Thursday at seven to talk crap and scheme petty revenges.”
“That’s oddly specific. Wait. Why are you making that face?”
She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Club is a strong word. We like to think of it as a society. A causal get-together.”
