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“Thank you,” I whisper, trying hard to hold back my emotions.
Vivian, ever the one to break a somber moment, lifts her glass in a toast. “To new beginnings, unexplored feelings, and the hope that Lily breaks her celibacy streak soon.”
Again, my face heats, but laughter fills the room as we clink glasses in cheers.
The tension in the room dissipates with our shared laughter and lightness. Being with the Dirty B’s feels like a sanctuary from the heavy, complex world outside.
I catch Quinn's eye, and there’s a mischievous sparkle in his gaze I’ve come to recognize over the years—a sure sign that Quinn has a story to spill.
Inwardly, I cringe just a bit knowing full well, it’s going to be about me somehow.
He clears his throat dramatically, drawing attention as he often does with his natural flair for the theatric. “Speaking of unexplored feelings,” he begins, waggling his eyebrows in my direction. “I believe I had a front-row seat to the rekindling of Lily’s epic romance. Would everyone care for a trip down memory lane as I describe how this meet-cute went down?”
The group leans in with interest, their gazes flicking between Quinn and me. I narrow my eyes at him, a nervous thrill running through me.
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Tasia urges, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Quinn’s grin widens, the dramatic pause only heightening the intrigue. “Picture it—a fine Thursday afternoon, and our dear Lily in Dirty Deeds—on the hunt for Tasia’s bookmarks. Anyone remember?” There’s a group consensus and he continues, “Well, as I’m describing the absolute many uses of our new vibrator line, who does she bump into but London—the prodigal son returned.”
My cheeks are burning—even the tips of my ears feel hot. The memory of that awkward yet electric encounter floods back.
“Quinn, they know all of this,” I protest, though there’s laughter in my voice. The embarrassment is real, but so is the fondness for that memory.
I can’t believe I practically dong-slapped London’s box of stir sticks out of his hands.
“Oh, let him speak,” Vivian interjects with a delighted cackle. “This is the quality content I live for.”
Ignoring my feigned outrage, Quinn continues, narrating the encounter with an added flair that only he can muster. He describes the charged air, the unspoken tension, and the undeniable chemistry that even a casual observer like him evidently couldn’t ignore.
As the tale unfolds, the room is filled with laughter, teasing, and the kind of camaraderie that has seen us through the best and worst of times.
Despite my initial hesitation, I find myself drawn into the reminiscing and the memories that paint London in a light that’s both nostalgic and new.
When the laughter dies down, there’s a moment of silence, the kind filled with unsaid words and unexplored territories. We’re on the brink of something, something terrifying yet thrilling—at least I am.
“See,” Quinn concludes with a wink, “destiny has been knocking on this door for a while, my dear. It’s about time you answered. I, for one, bow down to the Fate’s matchmaking skills.”
I clear my throat, trying to shift the spotlight a bit. “Speaking of destiny, what’s this event you’re going to next weekend? And why does it have you questioning your worth?”
Carlie shrugs. “I’ve had a hard time maintaining my weight and since I spend so much time sitting down at a computer, it’s only gotten worse the past few years. I guess, I just want to feel sexy and desirable. You know?”
Vivian opens her mouth like she’s going to interject, but Anna cuts her off. “Desirability is all in your head. If you feel it, so will your partner.”
We all turn to give Anna a surprised once-over with that little nugget.
She simply shrugs.
“Well, I’ve got an appointment with a nutritionist next week, and then I'm starting with a personal trainer on Monday after the event. My hope is just to get to a point where I feel strong and healthy again,” Carlie says with a shy smile.
Tasia, ever curious, asks, “Oh? Who's the trainer?”
"Just a sec," Carlie says, reaching down to rummage through her purse. As she pulls out a card, the edge of a lavish-looking invitation gets snagged. In classic Carlie fashion, it slips from her purse, gliding to the floor, the familiar golden embossment shimmering in the dim light.
My heart skips a beat as I stare at it.
Everyone pauses, their gazes shifting between the invite and Carlie.
Vivian's eyes glint with her brand of mischief as she makes an attempt to reach for the envelope. “Oooh, what’s this? The invite to your fancy event, Carlie?”
