“And you know,” she continued, “you’re such an awesome person that he’s basically hiring me based on the fact that I’m your friend. I mean, he went to my website and looked at my other projects, and I got a floor plan of his house from that friend of mine who works in the records office and I pitched him my ideas in that program I have that renders 3D schematics—”

“So, for more reasons than just being my friend,” I interjected with a smile. “It’s because you’re talented and you’re going to do an amazing job.” But I didn’t really want to talk about Noah Douglas. “How was your night?”

Shelby rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen. I followed her and sat on the barstool at our peninsula counter while she rummaged around for coffee mugs. “The less I say about that, the better.”

“What do you mean?” I needed to go get changed. I had to return this dress, and it was feeling really uncomfortable. Formal wear was not meant to be slept in.

“Harmony pretty much ignored me for the entire evening. I was this close to getting up on her dining room table and doing my old tap-dance routine from junior high, just to force her to make eye contact with me. It’s a good thing I love Allan,” she said as she placed the mugs on the counter. “And I don’t have to ask how your night was because . . . BAM!”

She reached for her laptop and flipped it up. “I wanted to slam it on the counter for the full effect but I don’t want to break it and I need it for work, so . . .” She slid it across the counter toward me.

And there was a picture of me and Noah Douglas. He looked amazing, all self-assured and sexy with the barest hint of a smile. They’d published a picture of me gazing at him instead of at the camera, and it made me uncomfortable. Mostly because I resembled . . . the girl his mother had forced him to take out.

“We look like a set of Goth twins going to an emo prom,” I told her.

“You’re crazy,” she assured me. “You look like a matched set with your dark hair and dark eyes. Like you were meant to be together.”

I sighed. “You need to hurry up and get married so that you can get out of this isn’t-love-so-wonderful phase.”

The picture was listed with Noah’s name on it. No mention of me. Which made sense. Then I scrolled down a little farther, and that’s where the comments started.

Who is this fat ugly skank ho?

I would murder someone to stand next to him like that.

Ick. He could do so much better.

Call me instead, Noah Douglas.

I only ship Noah and Lily and I don’t accept cheap substitutes.

I wish it was me!