“How does it not make sense?” My nerves are raw and it’s taking effort that I don’t have not to snap at these well-meaning, but not all that helpful, women. “Quinton has now rejected me twice. Once when I wasn’t even trying and again when I threw myself at him. I’m pretty sure the only thing that doesn’t make sense is how surprised we all seem to be here.”

“No. You’re wrong. After the game on Sunday, his face fell when you weren’t with Donny. Then, yesterday, I did not imagine the way he watched you from across the room or the way he trailed behind you just so, keeping his eyes plastered on you, but not in a creepy way.” Brynn tosses her napkin on her now empty plate and pushes out of her chair. “And the way he was with your neighbor? That all said he wants you. He had huge donors begging to spend time with him and he ignored them all to talk to Mrs. Rafter.”

Liv and Marie—my beautiful, loyal, concerned friends—suck in air through their teeth. The hiss of breath cuts through the air and slices my heart.

“Mrs. Rafter was there?” Marie asks.

“Who’s Mrs. Rafter?” Vonnie’s eyes bounce back and forth between me and Marie.

Liv ignores Vonnie’s question. “You called her? Why wouldn’t you tell us?” Liv’s always solid and confident voice trembles.

“I didn’t call her.” I focus on the loose thread on the hem on my sweater. “I ran into her at Stanley’s when I was meeting Quinton about the event. Hence why she was there, he got a front-row seat to our reunion.”

“Oh fucking hell,” Marie says on an exhale.

“I’m sure you handled that well.” Liv picks up the drink she’s been nursing and takes a giant gulp.

“Yup.” My laugh shows just how well I did not handle it and that whiskey looks even better. “I flipped out. It was not my finest moment.”

“Hold on!” Vonnie hits the table, not one to be ignored or left out. “Who is Mrs. Rafter and why do all of you look like you’re about to fucking cry?”