Her bedroom door was open, coats piled on the bed. I nipped in, out of sight of anyone passing in the hall, and hiked my skirt to my waist. I stretched and jiggled, trying to shift my shapewear. A toilet flushed. I froze as a door on the other side of the room opened, and Ned walked out, his pants gaping. Ack! Ick!

“Shit!” he yelled.

“Sorry!”

Ned fumbled for his zipper. “What are you—”

Trey stuck his head in the door. “Are you all . . . Oh. Hey.”

Heat swarmed my face. My entire body burned. His black, observant gaze skipped from my exposed underwear to Ned’s unbuckled belt. I dropped my skirt hastily. “I just came up to fix my . . .”

“I had to use the bathroom,” Ned blurted.

“Meg?” It was John. Of course he’d come looking for me now. “You ready to go?”

I smoothed my dress over my thighs with fingers that trembled only slightly. “Yes.”

John’s brows flicked together. “Everything okay?”

I nodded, wordless with embarrassment.

Trey looked like he was trying not to laugh. “She wasn’t feeling well. I brought her upstairs to get your coats.”

It wasn’t a bad lie. But . . .

“She didn’t have a coat,” John said.

Trey shrugged. “I didn’t know.”

John looked at me. “You didn’t tell him?”

“No coat. Sorry,” I said to Trey. Or John. I wasn’t sure.

John frowned.

“Well. Time to go. Thank you for a lovely party,” I said to Ned.

And escaped.

Did you have a nice time?” I asked John on the way home.

“It was fine.”

“I was looking for you. I missed you,” I said.

“It looked to me like you were having a pretty good time without me.”

“With drunk Ned?”

“I don’t pick your friends.”

I shifted on the soft leather seat, trying to dislodge my wedgie. “They’re your friends, too.”

John grunted. “They’re customers, Meg. I’m just the car guy.”

“So, what did you all talk about all night?” I asked. “Cars?”

“Boats.” John slid a glance at me, a hint of humor softening his set expression. “Apparently size matters.”

I smiled. “I can see why you decided to hang out with the waiter.”

“The waiter? Oh, Hunter. He’s home from college, making a little money over the holidays. He was in my American history class. On the wrestling team, too.”

“He seemed very interested in what you were saying.”

“He’s a junior now. Starting to think about careers.” John glanced at me. “He wants to be a teacher.”

“You were a great teacher. Not that you’re not wonderful at your job now,” I added quickly. Being supportive.

He didn’t say anything.

I tried again. “And of course you make more money at the dealership than you could in teaching. Teachers don’t get paid anything close to what they deserve.”

“That’s what I told him. But it’s a great job, teaching. If you don’t have a family to support.” John switched on the radio. We listened to music the rest of the way home, James Taylor singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in a mournful key.