My second response, post-Google, was to nearly crap myself. Although this happened almost as soon as we got back from Vegas, I still sometimes can’t get over what a big change this is going to be for her life. In only a few months, the press will start: She has some interviews, a couple of trips to little boutique shops, and then her baby, Razor Fish—for which she’s been drawing characters since she could hold a crayon—will be launched into the wild.

While we talk, Finn wanders back over, leaning against the booth and listening to the tail end of our catch-up.

I peek over his shoulder. “Your drink is empty.”

He shakes his glass, looking at the liquid sloshing over the ice. “No, I have a little left.”

“Oh, just mine is empty, then.” I hand it to him, eyes wide and innocent.

He laughs, taking the glass.

“Tell them to put it on my tab,” I call to him as he heads over to the bar.

Finn throws me a dirty look over his shoulder. “I got it.”

“Smooth, Mistress Vega,” Lola says, her eyebrows raised.

“Harlow Vega?” Not-Joe asks, blond brow quirked.

I nod, popping an olive into my mouth and repeating, “Harlow Vega,” around it.

“Did your parents ever want you to go to college, or did they plan for you to go straight to the pole?”

I cluck my tongue at him, licking my fingers. “Careful, Not-Joe. Your boner is showing.”

“Oh!” Not-Joe says, turning to Lola. “Speaking of boners. I’m excited for your book to be out and selling like crazy, and then at Comic Con it will be unreal. You’ll be in your chick author getup, strutting around. Wearing a sexy mask, and spand—”

“Are you high?” Lola asks.

I realize it’s rhetorical so it cracks me up when Not-Joe answers, “Well... yeah.”

“I’m not going to deep-throat a corn dog and then go make out with a bunch of chesty girls in Catwoman costumes just to show I can hang with the comic guys.”

Oliver chose this moment to arrive and looks a little stunned, eyes wide behind his thick frames. He stares at her, gaze softening with what clearly appears to be admiration. His speechless reaction makes me do a slight double take. Is quiet, sweet Oliver beginning to fancy Lola? I meet Mia’s wide eyes and can tell she’s wondering the exact same thing. Swear to God, if my head weren’t so fucked-up right now, I’d be all over getting these two together.

“But would you let a comic book guy make out with you if he wore a Catwoman costume and deep-throated a corn dog?” Ansel asks, tilting his head to Oliver. “Theoretically speaking.”

“Reckon the fanboys will be gobsmacked regardless,” Oliver deflects, collecting himself. “Corn dog deep-throating or not.”