In the time I’ve known Monica, I’ve always thought of her as being somewhat plain. She has some nice features, but she doesn’t wear makeup and she dresses like a choirgirl, which makes her look fairly average. But tonight she looks very different. She’s got on mascara that makes her dark eyes pop, dark red lipstick that compliments her jet-black hair, and a low-cut blouse that shows off her now impressive cleavage.

Monica isn’t just attractive—she’s really hot. Much more attractive than I am, if I’m being completely honest. Especially right now, when I’m rumpled and exhausted from my twelve-hour workday.

“Abby!” Sam exclaims when he notices me staring at them, probably for far too long. “You’re home!”

He gets up off the couch and stumbles in my direction, nearly tripping on the carpeting. Oh my God, how much has he had to drink? He plants a wet, sloppy kiss on my face. “We missed you. The leftover lasagna is in the kitchen.”

At first, I think he’s going to go get me some, but instead, he returns to the sofa next to Monica and falls back down with a plop.

“Are you drunk?” I ask him, eyeing the half-empty bottle of wine. Sam rarely has more than one drink, so that’s more than enough to put him over the limit. And presumably, Monica wasn’t helping him make a dent in the bottle.

“No!” He blinks a few times and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I barely had anything. We’re just having fun here. Right, Mon?”

“Abby.” Monica smiles up at me. I still can’t get over how much makeup she’s wearing. “You didn’t tell me how funny Sam is.”

I didn’t, because he isn’t funny. Well, sometimes he is. But certainly no more than average. Nothing worth commenting on. “Oh,” is all I can muster.

“He’s been telling me all these math jokes,” she says. “They’re really funny.”

Okay, I have heard Sam’s math jokes and they are not funny. The only thing funny about them is how incredibly unfunny they are. Like how something is so bad that it’s good? Although I think the math jokes might have circled around and gone back to being unfunny again.

“Monica was a math minor in college,” Sam informs me. “Isn’t that incredible?”

Yes. Incredible.

She grins at him. “Do you have any other jokes, Sammy?”

Sammy? She’s calling him Sammy? And he’s apparently calling her Mon. When did they get nicknames for each other? How long was I at the office?

Sam scratches at his chin, thinking for a moment. “Um… why did the chicken cross the Mobius strip?” When she doesn’t answer, he says, “To get to the same side.”