Page 37 of Handsome Devil

Dylan: Is it SOS-my-life-is-imploding or SOS-my-GHD-died-and-they-don’t-make-that-model-anymore?

Gia: The former.

Gia: Although the latter technically counts as life-altering too.

Dylan: Ugh. FINE. See you there.

Cal: Me too

“So what did you want to tell us?” Cal munched on deep-fried fish fingers at Casablancas in Bryant Park.

She looked adorable in her mustard-colored overalls, only one shoulder strap done, flowery long-sleeved shirt, and red-tipped fringe. “You sounded upset in the text messages.”

“Yeah, I was ready to cut a bitch.” Dylan pulled her long raven hair into a messy bun.

The Super Bowl was playing in the background on giant flat-screen TVs across the restaurant. “Is it your mom? Is she doing okay on the new experimental medicine?”

Calla and Dylan were my best friends. They were true crown straighteners. I’d found them through Tate, who was close with their husbands.

Unlike Tate, both my friends and their husbands were surprisingly sane, not to mention delightful.

Cal’s husband, Row, for instance, was a Michelin-starred chef who opened this New York joint for his wife just so she’d have a place to eat her favorite fish fingers and fries whenever she was in town.

They also offered high-end sushi, though, which was what Dylan and I were eating.

People around us jumped up from their seats and cheered. I guessed someone scored in the game.

I knew nothing about American football. In truth, it had no business being called football at all. They were using their hands mostly.

“No, it’s not about Mum. She is doing fine, though, thank you.” I flashed them a tired smile.

Dr. Stultz told me they were running some cognitive and physical tests before they put her on the drugs and were now waiting for the results. I guessed no news was good news.

“You know you can always ask us to watch over her or keep her company if your workload is too much,” Dylan said.

“I know.” I took a sip of my Cuba libre. “And the same goes for you two. If you ever need me, I’m here.”

“Friendship is not a quid pro quo relationship,” Cal pointed out. “Sometimes you’ll need us more than we’ll need you. You were there when Dylan’s daughter was kidnapped and she went through a panic attack. We’re not keeping track of who is helping who and how much. We just want you to be happy.”

“Thank you.” I smiled.

We tried to flag down a waiter, but the game reached its halftime mark, and all the patrons started ordering at once. It was a bit chaotic, with semi-drunk football fans trying to grab the staff’s attention, before Dylan stood on the leather bench and cupped her mouth. “Someone better come tend to this table, oreveryone’sgetting fired. Calla Casablancas is in the house.”

Not ten seconds passed, and a harem of waiters arrived with more sushi and more cocktails for us.

I waited for the servers to leave before I opened my mouth again. There was no good way to tell my friends I was soon to be married to the man whose voodoo doll was their last birthdaypresent to me. Especially as I hadn’t even bothered pricking it with needles. I threw it straight into a fire.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you,” Dylan blurted out, her smile lighting up her face. “Rhyland and I found an amazing place on a dude ranch just outside New Haven.” She snatched her phone from the table, scrolling through her gallery to try to find a picture. “It has a stable and a huge space to build Gravity a playground. It’ll be great to go there on weekends.”

“Well done, him. Congratulations,” I exclaimed. Gravity was Dylan’s daughter. Rhyland was in the process of legally adopting her, and she was the center of their lives.

“He’s such a great dad.” Cal put a hand over her heart. “There’s nothing sexier than a man who steps up and raises someone else’s kid.”

“I’d say your man is sexy too, but he is my brother.” Dylan made a finger-in-mouth gesture.

I giggled into my drink, immediately feeling lighter. Gosh, I loved my friends.

“I can’t believe Rhyland wore you down.” I shook my head, smiling. “Cal said you were anti-relationship to the extreme.”