“Go. Do it, Winter. He’s watching you.” Dottie arches her eyebrows and nods like we’re teenagers sneaking a smoke behind the bleachers.

“Jesus, fine. What the hell.” I shrug and throw my inhibitions—along with my self-respect—into a pile of sticks, douse it in lighter fluid, and strike a match.

Opening my mouth wide enough to clear the mountainous peak of whipped cream Hot Bartender Guy put on this shot, I lower my O-shaped mouth over the rim of the glass, tighten my lips, then shoot it back, swallowing the salted caramel flavored booze in one go.

“There you go, Win, elongate that beautiful neck,” Sondra purrs, making Dottie and Keith chuckle beside me.

My lips loosen around the rim of the glass, dropping it into my hand. Licking my lips, I dab the corners of my mouth with a napkin like the lady I am.

“And that is how it’s done, you little sluts,” I say, a gleam of satisfaction glinting in my eyes.

“And that is why they call it a blowjob shot, you little slut.” Keith chuckles into his extra dirty martini with six olives and an ice cube. “My Queen,” he praises, then pops an olive into his smiling mouth.

“You made that look angelic, Win.” Sondra laughs before taking a sip of her wine.

Sondra and I have been best friends since the womb. Her mother was best friends with mine…until her mother married Max Bose, founder and owner of Bose Hotels Corporation, that is. Her mom tried to stay grounded, even after marrying into an empire, but her schedule filled up quickly, leaving girls’ night with my mom a thing of the past.

Sondra and I stayed as close as sisters, though. And at the age of sixteen, when I lost my mother to a piece-of-shit drunk driver, throwing my life into an unmanageable tailspin, I started spending a lot of time at the Bose household. Especially when the air around my father became too dense to breathe. There were days I could tell he wished I hadn’t been there—being my mother’s twin must have made it hard for him to want me around.

Dottie and Keith came into our crazy mix five years ago when I got a job at Java House—a coffee hut on the East side of Port Blue. They quickly became my work wife and husband, hitting it off with Sondra the first night we all hung out. By the time I quit my barista gig to accept a full-time position as a publisher’s reader for Black Ink Publishing, we four were ingrained in each other—just like family.

Dottie lifts a napkin, wiping the corner of my upper lip, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, it worked, because he’s coming over…”

“You guys! I am not going home with him! Sondra, it’s your bachelorette party. I’m supposed to make sure you have fun, then get you home—”

“Lock it up,” she hisses through her smiling teeth. “He’s almost here.”

“Okay, but you all are going to hate yourselves when he turns out to be a serial kille—”