Angie cracks up at the death glare on my face. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it for now.”

“And they say miracles don’t happen,” I mumble, making my way back to one of the lounge chairs surrounding the pool.

Angie gives me the middle finger before swimming between Justine’s golden-brown legs and kissing her cheek.

“Okay, so on to a new subject then. Have you talked to Tevin to let him know you’ll be leaving town?”

I hit her with another one of my death glares because she is pressing all my damn buttons today.

“You know I haven’t talked to that man since he couldn’t stop trying to put his lips where they don’t belong.”

Tevin was the last in the string of casual flings that make up my so-called love life. I have two simple rules—no serious relationships and absolutely no kissing.

I’m always up front and honest about my boundaries at the very beginning, but Tevin thought he was going to be the guy to change my mind. He wasted his time. Three months ago he tried to kiss me goodbye after what had been a decent sexathon. He kissed the door instead and I haven’t spoken to him since, despite his constant texts and calls.

“My, my, you are one testy bitch today.” Justine smacks Angie in the arm for that but she just laughs, and I can’t help it; I laugh with her.

“Okay, so clearly I taught you nothing. Let me show you how to adequately change a subject.” Justine turns to face me. “So I got you a private plane to get you back to Texas.”

Angie snorts. “Damn, babe, that was good. Hold on, let me get a notepad. I should be taking notes.”

I can’t have heard her correctly. “Jus, have you lost your mind? Why would you do that?”

She waves me off. “Well, technically I didn’t. You know my wallet cannot sustain that but Tyson did. He insisted actually.”

Tyson is Justine’s brother. He plays power forward for the Los Angeles Tyrants. As soccer players, Angie and I unfortunately make a good deal more than Justine, but Tyson undoubtedly trumps us all. He’s humble about his fortune, but he’s definitely not afraid to spend it. I can’t remember the last time I saw Tyson on a commercial flight or in a car that wasn’t expensive and foreign. I’m not surprised at all that he offered me a private plane to fly home. He’d give anyone the designer shirt right off his back, but I am surprised Justine thought I would take it.

“I don’t need to fly private, though. It’s unnecessary.”

“So you’d rather be cramped on a commercial flight with your crutches and leg brace when you could fly in style?”

The argument that I could just fly first class rather than charter a whole plane dies on my tongue as I realize how silly I would sound. Fuck it, if he wants to spend the money on me, who am I to stop him?