Meghan Quinn

Everyone needs both a strong start and a boost from time to time

“Let me guess, you’re from Georgia?”

Her smile brightens. “I am. You could tell?”

Yup, this bodes well for me.

“My grandma is a self-proclaimed Georgia Peach. I spent many brutal, humidity-filled summers out on her screened-in porch, rocking on chairs with her as she filled me in on the latest town gossip.”

“Really? Whereabout?”

“Peachtree City.”

Her eyes widen in delight. She presses her hand to her chest. “I grew up in Fayetteville, just east of Peachtree. Wow, what a small world.”

Yes. Yes, indeed. Especially since my grandma actually resides in San Diego, and I’ve never been to Georgia, actually, but they don’t need to know that. They also don’t need to know I recognize her accent because I dated a girl in college from Peachtree City. All semantics

A dinner date.

With my “fiancée.”

Oh . . . fuck.

Abort, Cane. ABORT!

“That would be wonderful,” Dave says with a jovial smile.

FUCK!

“How does Saturday night work?” he continues.

Saturday night?

Double fuck!

That’s four days from now.

Four fucking days to not only find a fiancée, but a pregnant fiancée.

Huxley Cane, you’re no genius, you’re an absolute moron.

Kelsey turns me toward her and forces me to look her in the eyes.

“Oh . . . you’re going to that reunion. Do you hear me? You’re going, and you’re going to show up with some hot-as-shit guy on your arm who’s going to make Ken look like a freaking troll, and Angela is going to drool all over him.”

Lottie: Working with you would be the dream, but if I want to get out of Mom’s house, I need money. But don’t worry, I have it covered.

Kelsey: What do you mean you have it covered? I told you, no stripping, no matter how nice your boobs are.

“My name is Huxley, by the way.”

Her eyes flutter up to mine. “Huxley, huh, that’s an interesting name. Any inspiration from Huckleberry Finn?”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” Kelsey says.

“That’s what you say now, but tomorrow in the news, missing-sister reports circulate the Interweb.

I rub my temples. “Kelsey, I would appreciate it if you were on my side.”

“I am, that’s why I’m encouraging you to try harder with your comebacks. Think before you react, hit him back where it hurts. You know, something like . . . your, uh, hair . . . well, no, that’s nice. Maybe, that suit . . . hmm, it’s impeccably tailored. Wait, that’s a compliment. Oh, I know, your jaw is so tight . . . it’s actually quite symmetrical. His whole face, very symmetrical. Just an absolute specimen.”

Is this what you were looking for, master?” I ask him.

His facial expression doesn’t change, nor does he show a flicker of appreciation. In a stern voice, he says, “It’ll do for tonight.”

Might as well be the farmer from Babe. Pat me on the head and say, “That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.”

. “I don’t know, arriving obnoxiously early to a dinner date?” I point to the clock. “Honestly, who shows up an hour early? Is that a rich thing us peasants are unaware of?”

“Cutting the snark out of your tone would be helpful.”

“Cutting the asshole out of yours would cut the snark out of mine, so . . . the ball is in your court, Huxley.”