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Thirty minutes later, our fivesome enjoys a chicken wings appetizer and cocktails. My lemon drop does soothe what all that face crap couldn’t.
“You look like you have chickenpox,” Juno says before Zelda nudges her. “Just hide your head from West until it goes away.”
“No way,” Tuesday says, wagging her chicken wing at Juno. “My brother is absolutely stupid obsessed with your ginger cousin. He can’t go so long without seeing her head. She’ll just need to meet him somewhere with poor lighting.”
Edith rolls her eyes. “Or she can explain what happened, and he can make her feel better by kissing on her. Oral sex might help, too.”
“I can’t lie to West,” I say and pull out my phone. “Well, I can, but I always fess up eventually. What’s the point of delaying the truth?”
“Having fun?” he texts back when I ask if he’s busy.
“Mishap with face treatment. I look like a goblin. How powerful is your love?”
“Define mishap.”
“I had an allergic reaction. My face is currently the color of a baboon’s ass. Alcohol helps with the pain. Allergy pill made me loopy. I don’t know if any of this is spelled correctly. I’m a regular Cubby at this point.”
“Where are you so I can behave heroically?”
“A restaurant with booze and chicken wings. Does that narrow it down for you?”
“I’ll text my sister.”
A moment later, Tuesday looks at her phone. She types something and then smiles at me.
“I told him we were in South Carolina. By the time he returns from the wild goose chase, your face will be its normal lovely self.”
“Stop staring,” Zelda mutters at the waitress who eyeballs me.
“You’ve seen weirdos before,” Edith adds. “Now, let’s order our main course.”
As we wait for our food, West texts me for clues about my location. I eventually conjure up the brilliant idea to turn over the menu, which—voila—has the restaurant’s name.
I’m too spaced out on the allergy pill and lemony booze to worry about his reaction. Within twenty minutes, West arrives at the restaurant. Several women react as if they’ve known his dick and will worship it as soon as the cult’s leaders get their shit together for a meeting.
“My poor babe,” he says, sliding into the seat next to me and kissing all over my horrendous face. “You look sick.”
“I was nearly pampered to death,” I murmur, grinning like a wasted moron. “But I learned a lot about love and friendship. Also, what it might feel like if I walked through a carwash.”
“This isn’t my fault,” Tuesday announces. “And I don’t think it’s Edith’s, either. However, the jury’s still out on that one.”
West frowns ugly at his sister until I stroke his chest and think of his lemon tattoo. I bet he’d let me lick it if I asked.
“They took good care of me. Apparently, I’m a very sensitive person, according to the crying lady at the spa.”
“Well, after we eat this fine meal, I’ll take you home to pack up your essentials,” West murmurs, kissing my flushed face. “Then, we’ll move you into my house where you can rest.”
“Wait, did you get that cleared with Ma?” Tuesday asks. Once he nods, she follows up with “How?”
West opens his mouth to answer and then glances at me awkwardly. Rather than explain, he hugs me against him and hums “Free Bird” as if that’ll explain everything.
