Page 3 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

My phone buzzes again in Kat’s hand. Probably the pharmacy. Dad’s prescriptions need refilling, and?—

“Stop.” Kat’s fingers wrap around mine. “Whatever you’re thinking about fixing right now? It can wait.”

Something in her tone makes my throat tight.

Kat sighs. “One night. No responsibilities. No overthinking. Just good, ‘fuck you’ fun.”

I hesitate, and Lily bounces up, heading for the closet. “You need something sparkly, several inadvisable cocktails, and to remember that you’re Ariana fucking Bristol.”

Kat nudges me. “Let us help. One night. If you hate it, you can come back here and stop your latest client’s ass-injection photos from going viral.”

I look at them—one holding revenge dresses, the other holding my hand like she’s afraid I’ll break.

Maybe I already have.

I take a deep breath. “I guess…”

Kat quirks an eyebrow. “You guess what?”

“I guess…I’m in.”

Lily claps. “Yes! This is gonna be so good.”

I swing my legs out of bed. “But just so you know, I’ve been sober for six months. So under no circumstances should you let me drink.”

They exchange knowing looks.

“Of course not,” Kat says.

“Absolutely,” Lily agrees. “What do you think we are, heathens?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

But first, I need to wash my ass.

2

HOW NOT TO MEET YOUR FUTURE HUSBAND

CONNOR

There should be a rule about being a grumpy drunk in Vegas. At forty-five, I’ve been every type of "Vegas drunk" there is.

Happy drunk. Celebratory drunk.

Going to puke in my shoes drunk.

But this? This is the type of drunk I can’t handle.

But I guess anything’s possible when the IPO at the company you’ve built with your bare hands might be going to shit.

And…

The woman you’d once called the love of your life is happily sharing pictures of hers, hitting milestones you’d never wanted. Never dreamed of.

Until now.

The first time Amanda got married, I wasn't invited.

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