Page 57 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

“I just like to rile you up. You do your thing, Evelyn,” Bette adds with a bye-bye wave.

Evelyn nods at Dot, assuring her, “I’ll take care of everything.”

Take care of what?

Did we enter a deal with the devil? Are we about to get roofied? Should I run for cover? But Nolan seems chill about the whole thing.

Goth Girl points to the chairs across from her. “Sit, please. I have some items to review.” Her tone brooks no argument, and we sit like proper marionettes. “Let’s start from the top,” she says. “Have you ever had a DUI?”

I shake my head. Nolan does the same. “No,” we chime in unison.

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“No,” I say emphatically.

Nolan says no as well. Obviously.

“Have you ever posted a shot of yourself guzzling a beer, wine, tequila, or other beverage and looking like a dumbass online?”

My brain quickly cycles back over the last ten years. God, I hope not. “No.”

Nolan lifts a hand sheepishly. “I once posted a picture of myself drinking a beer at a baseball game with my buddies,” he confesses.

Evelyn nods without giving anything away and seems to make a checkmark on her phone.

“Have you ever said anything inflammatory, derogatory, rude, stupid, idiotic, or insensitive about a marginalized group of people?”

“God, no,” I say.

“Of course not,” he seconds.

She rattles off a few more feet-to-the-fire questions, then nods a few more times as she takes notes on her phone. I glance at Nolan with a silent What the hell? He shrugs an I’m as surprised as you are .

Evelyn sets down her phone, steeples her fingers, and stares. Damn, she’d give Jack Donaghy on 30 Rock a run for his money. The kid is intense.

“Here’s the deal. I already ran a background check on the two of you. It looks like everything is solid. You don’t have any priors. And a thorough review of your social media indicates that you haven’t posted any nudes, any racist or inflammatory remarks, or any douchey comments about anyone.”

“You checked out all of that?” Nolan asks. “In twenty-four hours?”

“That’s, like, literally my job,” she says as if she can’t believe anyone wouldn’t do the same.

“But I did want to confirm a few things.” She holds my gaze.

“Let me know if these facts are correct. If not, please elaborate, as we like to know who we’re working with.

First, I see that for the last five years you’ve lived in an apartment you shared with your twin sister until her death.

And now, you live by yourself. Is that true? ”

I swallow past the knot of memories in my throat, but words are harder.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Nolan says, jumping in like a superhero, sensing what I need at this moment.

Evelyn turns to Nolan. “You were in France for two years with an Inés Delacroix. You moved back to San Francisco, worked in a restaurant there, and rented. Now you’ve been going back and forth and staying with friends in New York and San Francisco, including your brother.

Go Hawks,” she says, with a fist pump. “Love them—they used to be in Vegas. Anyway, all of that is correct?”

“Yes,” he mumbles.

“What? I didn’t hear you.”

“That’s all accurate,” I put in. It’s my turn to look out for him as she outlines the ups and downs of his recent years.

“Well, let me just say—living with your brother... that is such a great millennial life hack,” Evelyn says with admiration.

“Yeah, thanks,” Nolan says drily. I can hear his sarcasm, but I know him. Hopefully, she can’t tell. “It’s my DIY life.”

“Perf. You two are all Gucci.” She swings her phone to us. “Sign this memorandum saying you won’t talk smack about Dot and Bette, and then you can shoot.”

Wow. This kid is a shark. “I want you repping me someday,” I say as I sign her memo.

“Let us know if you take on more clients,” Nolan adds as he signs.

“I will, but let’s be honest. I have a lot of calculus homework, so it’s probably not going to happen.”

“Understandable,” I say solemnly.

She points to the hall then returns her attention to her phone. “Oh my God, that’s so extra,” she says to the screen, and we’re done with the sixteen-year-old Great White.

This is a dream kitchen, and Nolan has a woody for it.

“I want to marry this kitchen,” he says of the palace where we’ve set up the taste test.

“I want to have babies with it,” I put in.

“Let me tell you, sweetie pie,” Dot says, “this kitchen has seen some action, if you know what I mean.” She adds a bawdy wink.

“You’re such a bad girl.” Bette laughs then smiles for the camera. “Now, did you know it’s my favorite time of day, Dot?”

“Bedtime?”

“Try again,” Bette says.

“Wine o’clock?” Dot offers.

“Girl, it’s taco time.”

We spend the next few minutes indulging in the food we brought, finishing with the tacos, then Bette starts in again.

“Now, I have a bone to pick with you, Dot.” She shakes a finger at her bestie. “How can you have been my friend for years but never once taken me to Tacos El Gordo?”

“Shame on me. Just shame, shame, shame.” Dot lowers her head but quickly snaps it up.

“This just means we’re going to need regular recs from Nolan and Emerson.

These two know where everything good is, from the Brussels sprouts to the egg sandwiches to these divine tacos.

Will you two please keep sharing your faves? ”

Nolan flashes a panty-melting grin. “You two will always get special treatment,” he promises.

And hearts flutter.

“But you know what I really want to try?” Nolan continues. “Those zucchini nachos you were teasing me about. Don’t hold out on me now.”

Dot slides a tray to us. “Never. You can have everything you want. But, Nolan,” she chides, “we have a ladies-first philosophy here.”

“But of course,” he says, then scoops up a zucchini nacho and offers it to me.

From his hand.

He’s feeding me the chip, the fucking ham.

When in Vegas . . .

I part my lips and crunch into it, and my taste buds shimmy. When I finish, I lick my lips. “Look, I know I have a rep for loving stuff, but I just do! This is a double I’d do it again . I’m giving it a nine point one.”

Our hostesses bump hips. “We got it going on,” Bette sings, then flaps her hand at Nolan. “Your turn, bad cop.”

He takes a chip, chews, then groans in absolute delight. When he’s done, he takes a deep breath, then issues a declaration: “I’m giving this an eight point nine two.”

Dot and Bette squeal.

“He hasn’t given anything close to a nine in months,” I say.

“If you gave us a nine, I would know you were sucking up,” Dot says. “So, I like this score a lot.”

Maybe we are sucking up a little, but for a good cause. This is special, the chemistry the four of us have, and I can’t help but think YouTube will see it too. We will be hard to beat, and maybe this is it—our chance.

At their party later, Dot and Bette introduce us to friends and family like we’re the special guests. It’s heady, and I feel all kinds of floaty. I can’t help but admire what Nolan achieved—this last-minute opportunity at a win we need.

That gratitude blooms inside me over the evening, as swing music plays, as guests indulge in cauliflower tater tots and Greek salad skewers, and as conversation flows like the Bellagio Fountains. This night is an unexpected oasis in the middle of all the work-my-ass-off weeks.

It’ll end, of course, when we hit the Hyundai to haul our butts across state lines in the middle of the night. But even the prospect of the drive looks brighter than it would have yesterday.

As the party winds down, Dot and Bette tug us down the hallway to a quieter section of the house.

“Listen, cuties,” Bette begins, touching my shoulder lightly. “We are so glad you made your way out to Vegas.”

“And at the last minute too. We’re just so tickled,” Dot continues, all the Texas charm dripping in her voice. “We love meeting new friends, and you’re good people.”

“So, we wanted to thank you in a special way. We have a little parting gift for y’all.” Bette points to the living room. “Evelyn can give it to you.”

My cup of gratitude overfloweth. “You ladies are the best.” I hug them both. “And I’ll edit the video tonight and send it to Evelyn in the morning for approval.”

Dot smiles. “I know it’ll be fabulous. But you do that, or Evelyn will have my hide.” She faux shudders.

“We won’t let you incur her wrath,” Nolan promises, then does his whole kiss-on-the-top-of-the-hand routine, eliciting giggles and you’re the best s.

As they return to their guests, Nolan starts toward the living room, but I grab his arm. He’s next in the Emerson love fest. “Hey. This was an amazing idea you had, reaching out to them. I have a good feeling about this.”

A smile spreads nice and easy on his lush lips. “Yeah?” He sounds so happy, like I’ve thrilled him with the compliment.

“I do. You found a great opportunity. Is it crazy that I feel we’re onto something?”

“I told you we’d get lucky in Vegas,” he says, those playful eyes straying to my ladybug charm.

His stare lasts longer than usual. My skin heats under his gaze, my emotions flipping from gratitude to... desire.

Ugh.

It’s so annoying having a charming, sexy, fun best friend I want to bang.

But I’ve dealt with it for years.

I’ve got this.

I reroute to friendship.

But when Nolan pulls his gaze away, dragging a hand through his hair, he looks like he’s clearing away his thoughts.

Were they the same thoughts as mine? Is he resetting too?

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Oh, my.

That’s a little terrifying.

But it doesn’t matter. I refuse to obsess over things that won’t happen. I can’t.

“And now we’re getting out of Vegas,” I say, focused on the plan, only the plan. “We’ll need lots of caffeine for our drive. What do you think the gift is? Hot coffee? Chocolate? Kale chips?” I ask as we walk down the hall.

“I’m praying for snacks. We can indulge on our midnight road trip,” Nolan says.

We reach the living room, where Evelyn’s waiting by the door, empty-handed. Maybe it’s not snacks, then.

Evelyn twirls the charm on her phone. “Thanks again for coming. Dot and Bette had such a good time with you, and since they’re friends with the women who own The Extravagant, they wanted to get you a suite there tonight. I don’t know if you already have a hotel room but?—”

“We’ll take it,” Nolan and I say at the same time.