For the past five years, I’ve been the Volunteer Coordinator for our district, which means I’ve also been responsible for training the summer interns. That’s how I know that on a good year, we’re lucky to get one decent intern. Most of them are disastrously incompetent. They’re more of a hindrance than a help around here. But we’re stuck with whoever the regional office picks for the program.

At least they’ll be someone else’s problem this year.

“Think Marlow’s ready to take them on?” Hunter asks without looking up from his computer screen.

I don’t think Marlow will last a week with the interns, but I can’t tell Hunter that without making it seem like I did a shitty job of training her.

When I don’t answer after a few seconds, Hunter glances up at me.

“Yeah, probably,” I say quickly. “She had some trouble getting their uniforms ordered though.”

“Sounds about right. The purchasing department is still sitting on some of my POs from over a week ago.”

Hunter takes everything at face value. It’s a trait that makes him a good boss, but a frustrating as hell friend. He doesn’t hear the way I spit Marlow’s name out like venom or notice that the two of us can barely stand to be in the same room as each other.

“I’m going to copy you on the emails I’m sending to Marlow with all the internship information. She might have some questions about some of it.”

This is Hunter’s way of saying that he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with any of the emails from the regional office about the summer interns. And he’s right – Marlow won’t either. Not that I blame either of them. The emails are mostly auto-generated garbage. They’re tax ID numbers that we’ll never use and letters of recommendation from the interns’ high school gym teachers that we’ll wish we never read.

“No problem,” I say. “I got a call about some stealth campers up near Ramsey Gulch, so I’m heading out there for the rest of the afternoon. I’ll check in with Marlow tomorrow.”

Hunter nods, but he’s already squinting at the computer screen. I can’t tell if he needs glasses or if his eyes just haven’t adapted to technology yet. Before he met his wife and she dragged him back to civilization, Hunter was pretty much aforest hermit. Granted, he was a government-sanctioned forest hermit…but still. A CB radio was just about his only encounter with technology for years. Now that he’s the boss, I won’t be surprised if all the computers are not-so-mysteriously replaced by typewriters.

On my way out to my truck, a text alert chimes in my pocket. I pull my phone out and see Blair’s name flash across the screen. It makes my stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot.

The last time we called or texted each other was when we were coordinating the logistics of our break-up more than two years ago. Turns out, there are a lot of moving parts to consider when your girlfriend is moving out of your shared home and straight into your stepbrother’s condo. We had a lease that needed her name removed, furniture that needed to be divvied up, and a cat.

Okay,shehad a cat.

But I’m man enough to admit that I would have loved the hell out of that cat if Blair didn’t insist on taking him with her.

All of this is in the distant past though (except the cat, who is still very much alive), so what could Blair possibly be texting me about?

I open the message, which reads:Hey, sorry to bother you. Need your date’s name for the wedding place cards.

Oh right…that. That little line I left blank on my RSVP because I don’t know the name of my date for the wedding; I just know that Iwillhave one. There’s no way that I’m attending my ex’s wedding alone. Especially since she’s marrying my stepbrother.

When I shove my phone back into my pocket, it’s not Blair or her stupid wedding that’s on my mind – it’s Marlow. Because when it comes to being a pain in my ass, there’s no one on earth who does it better than those two women.

Chapter 3

MARLOW

I hate pranks.

I meanreally, reallydespise them to my core.

It’s a weird byproduct of growing up in foster care. There were so many kids with misdirected anger and lots of time to spare. I was an easy target: a shy redheaded girl who was never very quick to make new friends. Everything from a few plastic spiders in my bed to stealing my clothes in the group home’s communal bathroom seemed to be fair game.

Most of all, I hate that I hate pranks so much. I wish I could just laugh them off like a normal person, but my knee-jerk reaction is always to get upset. It’s embarrassing.

The fact that it was Ryan playing the prank only makes matters worse. It’s not like we’re friends, and my overreaction certainly didn’t go unnoticed.

But seriously – glitter? What a stupid prank. What is a grown man even doing with all that glitter in the first place?

Our uniform pants are basically the same texture as a Brillo pad, so removing the glitter is an exercise in futility. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve only managed to grind it deeper into the fabric.

So, yeah…my crotch is a disco ball today.