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As if. The jerk hasn’t even reached out to see if I’m okay with this shitstorm! I mean, technically, it’s kind of my fault this shitstorm is even happening, but whatever! We are both injured parties here!
“Don’t worry; Bodhi is officially grounded from reading romance novels for the foreseeable future so he doesn’t get any more romantic—yet unrealistic and would never happen in real life—ideas again,” Tess promises.
“That idea came from a book that was based on a true story, woman! I said what I said. Don’t at me,” Bodhi complains, finally recovering from the gut shot enough to sit up in the middle of the couch.
“In our defense,” Shepherd interrupts Bodhi’s pouting, “Bodhi is technically the one who initially set up the troll account,” Shepherd admits.
“Oh sure, blame everything on me,” he mutters.
“What in the hell do you even have a troll account for?” Tess questions her husband.
“Uh, to troll Palmer, why the hell else?”
“Oh shit!” Shepherd suddenly laughs. “Wasn’t livin4420 the troll account username that first released the video of Palmer throwing his pitching wedge into the water hazard while screaming at his dad at that tournament last year and set it to Buck Cherry’s ‘Crazy Bitch’?”
“Yep.” Bodhi smirks, making Tess sigh, roll her eyes, and tell her belly in a soft voice that he or she is never allowed to ask their father for advice.
“That was you? What the hell, Bodhi?” Palmer shouts, Birdie’s arms around his shoulders now being used to hold him back from launching across the room at his friend and golf caddie.
“The username is living for four-twenty.” Bodhi shrugs, miming the act of smoking a joint with his finger and thumb pressed together by his lips. “Of course it was me, duh. That video went a long way toward making the love of your life forgive you. You’re welcome. Livin4420, out!”
The two men start to argue with each other from across the room, and I quickly put my fingers in my mouth and blow out an ear-piercing whistle.
“Can we please remember this is all about me and stop talking about your problems?” I remind them, trying to simmer down but finding it close to impossible when I start to list all the crap I’ve had to deal with this week because of them, ticking everything off on my fingers. “Alicia Furlan stopped me when I was jogging on the beach to tell me she always knew I was meant to be with a football player. She already has the athletic booster club organizing a steak fry and raffle for Quinn to be the guest speaker at. Katy Corbeil stopped me in the grocery store to tell me the only way to keep an athlete like Quinn Bagley happy is to cook a lot of good food for him. She then stole my grocery cart from me and filled it up with everything I’d need to make her stuffed cabbage rolls.”
“Oooh, her stuffed cabbage rolls are really good. Did she actually give you the recipe? Every time I ask her, she tells me it’s a family secret and—”
“Oh my God, Wren!” I cut her off. “Johanna Wright has the knitting club making us matching couples’ sweaters with Quinn’s jersey number on them. Everyone thinks this stuff is true, and no one will let me explain to them otherwise, including my parents!”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to tell you, but I got a few requests for some sparkly Quemily shirts the other day, and your mom ordered two larges,” Shepherd admits, referring to his side graphic design business he does out of his and Wren’s home.
“What the hell is a Quemily?” Bodhi asks him, saving me from having to do it.
“You know, a mash-up of two names together that people ship.”
“That people ship where? Like on a boat? Oooh, they get to go on vacation?!”
“My God.” Shepherd shakes his head at Bodhi, making me want to scream at the top of my lungs like I’m trying to get the attention of 60,000 fans on a Sunday afternoon. “You really need to spend more time with Owen. He keeps me up-to-date on all the swig teenage talk.”
“It’s swag, babe,” Wren whispers, making Shepherd shoo her away with a whatever wave of his hand before she looks over at me and gives me another placating smile. “Those all sound like very nice things. Has it really been that bad?”
“A woman threw her drink on me at Dockside Eddy’s for breaking Ryan’s heart!”
“Yeah.” Wren winces. “Ryan’s mom was kind of mean until you explained everything to her.”
Of course, right when I was going to sit Ryan down and tell him how I felt—or actually didn’t feel—he won last-minute tickets to some big, professional bowling tournament, and he had to rush out of town for a week. Figuring, what’s one more week, since this conversation absolutely had to happen face-to-face, I never imagined my entire life would blow up for the whole world to read about. Going by the cryptic text he sent to me as soon as the shit hit the fan that just said, We’ll talk as soon as I get home, I’m assuming he saw the gossip magazine post mentioning him, and how much less of a man he must feel like, now that Quinn Bagley stole his woman.
