I gave up on trying to get off the floor. “There’s not one.”
“You said there was,” Jonah whined.
Another fit of giggles barreled through me. “Oh, yeah. I did, huh?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Be careful,” Tiffany said seriously. “You’ll get stuck like that.”
I jerked my attention her way, curious as to what she was talking about. She was staring at Jonah, her eyes crossed.
Of course, this was funny, too.
To me, at least.
Jonah huffed. “You’ve got two seconds. Spill it or I’ll tickle it out of you.”
I sobered momentarily. I did not like to be tickled and Jonah seemed quite fond of using that as a torture tactic.
I sat up, schooled my features, and glanced between my two best friends. I’d only known them since my first semester of college, but the three of us had become tight since then. We spent at least one or two nights a week hanging out, laughing, joking, bouncing ideas off one another. And of course, dishing about our love lives. Or lack thereof, which was usually the case for me.
“Whaddya wanna know?” I asked, swallowing the last of my wine.
“On the night in question,” Jonah began, his voice unusually deep—like an announcer’s—as he pretended to interrogate me, “you mentioned you went to a place known as the Wild West room. Can you describe this room?”
“You got me, copper!” I squealed, trying to hold off the giggles. “I’m guilty. I did it!”
Needless to say, this conversation was going nowhere fast. Once again, I was doubled over and Tiffany’s head was hanging off the front of the sofa, her laughter as uncontrollable as mine.
“Is it true, Miss Lautner, that it looked like a barn?” Jonah asked in that same dramatic fashion.
I gave up my attempt to remain upright and just rolled over onto my back. “It’s true. It’s all true.”
I’d already given them the full layout of the Wild West room, right down to the barn door window and the hooks in the wall.
“She’s not telling us everything,” Tiffany insisted. “She’s leaving something out.” She slithered down onto the floor. “I can feel it.”
Jonah, apparently not wanting to be left out, followed suit. He dropped to his knees, slowly crawled across the floor, and lay down between us. “Did you know they’ve got this thing called cuddling?”
I turned my head to peer at him. “What?”
He looked my way. “It’s true. People’ve made careers out of it. They hold cuddle parties and shit.”
I studied him, trying to find the truth in his statement. “Really?”
“Yup.” He peered up at the ceiling once more. “They all lie on pillows, smoking pot and cuddling together.”
“Do they have sex?” Tiffany asked.
“Nope. Just cuddle.”
“Pfft.” I giggled again. “What’s the point if there’s no sex?”
“What do you know about sex?” Jonah questioned. “You’re like the forty-year-old virgin.”
I grinned. “Only I’m twenty-four.”
He waved his hand above us. “I doubt your puss can tell the difference.”
Hearing him say that had me giggling again.
Jonah flipped onto his side, put his hands together, and rested his cheek on them, his big green eyes hopeful, his blond hair purposely mussed. “Tell us more about the club, Mommy. Please.”
I sighed. “Okay, little Tommy, but you have to promise not to judge.”
Tiffany sat up abruptly, drawing my attention. Her usually perfectly styled hair was a mess around her face. Static had it sticking up in crazy directions.
“Seriously?” she asked, leaning over Jonah to get in my face. “When have we ever judged you?”
I cocked one eyebrow. “How about the time I bought that dress—”
“No!” Jonah shook his head, grinning. “Don’t even go there. You know that dress was hideous.”
“I liked it,” I argued.
“It made you look like a garden,” Tiffany declared with a curl of her lips that looked ominously like a snarl. “And not the good kind.” Her arms began to move, as though outlining … something. “Like a big, hideous … garden.”
“Tell me what you really think, Tiff.” Though I’d meant to relay that with heat, it came out on a breathless chuckle.
The three of us lay there for long minutes before I was able to catch my breath. My thoughts drifted to Cav and Edge and I managed to maintain my composure.
“I went to the club,” I said.
“Duh.” Jonah flopped onto his back again.
“It was … exactly what I expected.” I found a spot on the ceiling, studied it.
“You might’ve mentioned that,” Tiffany said with a huff. “A few dozen times.”
“Who’s telling the story here?” My tone rose and fell.
“Certainly not you,” Jonah noted. “Otherwise…” He pushed up onto his side, leaned over until his nose was on mine. “We’d have the juicy details!”
When his hand snaked out, his fingers digging into my sides, I squealed and flailed around as I tried to sit up, to get away.
“Fine,” I huffed, trying to catch my breath.
I made it to my feet, flopped onto the sofa, and propped my head up on a pillow. I crossed my ankles, steepled my hands on my stomach.
