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“I was waiting for this guy I met the night before. Ronnie. Turns out he’s a lying prick. Ray was there telling me when his wife shows up. Full-blown fury mode. I mean, she was ready to throw hands. Literally. She raised her arm to hit me when Ray stepped in. Grabbed her wrist mid-swing like some kind of action hero.”

They’re both leaning in now, eyes wide. It’s clear that he didn’t tell them. I let the story carry me, its momentum easing the sting of embarrassment.

“He told her he was my boyfriend,” I continue. “Played it off like we were there together the whole time. Tiffany backed him up. It was over in minutes. Ray saved me from public humiliation and at least a black eye.”

“Son of a bitch,” Erica mutters, looking away.

Monica shakes her head slowly, lips pressing into a tight line.

“This Ronnie didn’t tell you he was married? He just let you walk into that mess?”

“Exactly.” I sigh, bitterness creeping into my chest. “And I thought he was sweet. Attentive. Guess my loser radar is still working just fine.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Erica says, but her voice catches on something sharp. Guilt, maybe. Or fury. “We’ll leave it at that. What matters is Ray was there. He pulled you out of a dumpster fire.”

“That’s true,” I say softly. “To thank him, I invited him over for a drink. And listen…” I lean forward, tucking a leg beneath me. “This is where it gets weird.” “You know how he usually is—teasing his brothers, cracking jokes?”

They nod, perfectly in sync.

“Well, last night… he was different. Quieter. Focused. He actually said things that made me think.”

“Are you sure it was Ray?” Erica asks, half-laughing.

“Oh yeah.” I smirk. “Six-foot-one, blond hair, dark green eyes, lean enough to make a girl sin.”

Monica chuckles behind her mug.

“Maybe he doesn’t feel like joking around you,” she offers. “Maybe he’s trying to be… I don’t know. Serious.”

“So he’s the class clown with everyone else, and suddenly he’s brooding Mr. Darcy with you?” Erica scoffs.

“I asked him about it,” I say, leaning my head back against the chair. Clouds shift above, casting shadows across the patio tiles. “He told me he likes me, but thinks we want different things.”

“Okay, so what? He likes you but won’t do anything about it? That’s not romantic. That’s cowardly,” Erica snorts.

“You know how it is, Erica, how it’s different for them. Physical attraction means nothing if he’s not willing to take the chance,” Monica shrugs.

“I just…” My voice dips lower. “Different things. The words loop in my head, over and over. What does that mean? Whatcouldit mean? Should I ask him? Would there be a point?”

“What do you have to lose?” Erica shrugs. “Ask. Don’t forget—we’re having lunch with the Crawfords today.”

“Wait for it…” Monica drops her voice to a dramatic whisper.

“I’m looking forward to dessert,” Erica grins, teeth flashing like a wolf’s. “Maybe some light touching, heavy kissing… tongue definitely on the table.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Monica groans, flailing her arms like she’s chasing off flies. “How many times do I have to ask you notto bring up sex in front of me? I can’t even touch Raul until after the first trimester. Please, have some mercy.”

“You’re a real bitch sometimes, hun,” I say through a laugh, shaking my head at Erica.

“She’s right,” Monica huffs, rubbing her temples.

“Fine, fine.” Erica lifts her hands in mock surrender. “No more sex talk. But let me ask you this—if Red here gets lucky with Ray, are you going to let her go on about it? Or will you ask her to zip it and pretend it never happened?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Monica says, half-smiling. “If it happens, that’ll make three out of three Crawfords.”

“Three out of three.” Erica winks at me. “Girl, I’m getting all kinds of ideas. I mean, for starters?—”

“Has anyone ever poured hot coffee on you?” Monica cuts in, eyes narrowing. “Do you want to know what it feels like?”