I step forward, pleased I tower over this tart by quite a bit. “You’re not as clever as you think, bitch. I’m aware the ‘women who’ve fucked Z club’ isn’t an exclusive organization. If you need a commemorative patch to help you reminisce about the good ol’ days, I’ll order it up.”

“Huh?”

See, I knew that was too many words. “Z’s mine. That clear enough for you?”

Josey narrows her eyes as if she’s considering challenging me. When I don’t back down, she shrugs. “A brother comes to me, I ain’t turning him down. Not my problem if he’s saddled himself with some nag.”

I refuse to be drawn into a catfight with this twit. She’s not worth the effort.

Next to me, Serena shakes her head. “I told you.”

“Oh, shut up, Serena,” Josey snaps. “You’ve fucked almost every brother between here and upstate, but I don’t see your skanky ass wearing a patch.”

Serena’s cheeks turn red and, feeling protective of her, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “If you’re not here to help, then you need to leave.” I pin Sasha and Josey with a hard stare so they understand I mean business.

Sasha takes a few steps away from her friend. “I want to help out, Lilly.”

“Fuck that. I ain’t a damn maid.” Josey flails her arms around, narrowly missing scratching Sasha’s cheek with her long, dagger-esque nails.

In case she forgot the way out, I point to the door. “Don’t let it hit your ass on the way out, sweetheart.”

She stomps off in her ridiculous lumberjack-meets-stripper boots and hits the door so hard one of her fake nails snaps and flies into the air, landing on the floor with a sad little clatter.

Shaking my head, I turn to the rest of the girls. “Anyone else have some smartass remarks for me?”

The girls blink and shake their heads. A few murmur “no.”

“Questions?” I search their blank faces. No one pipes up. I take Serena aside. “What usually needs to be done before a party?”

“The bar is the most important.” She scans the large entry room that’s basically set up like a living room. Couches, chairs, a few tables, two big screen televisions, and a ratty, almost threadbare carpet fills the space. This seems to be the central location for most of the parties.

Serena taps her finger against her bottom lip and shifts her gaze. “Josey was being a bitch, but they do usually set out bowls of condoms.”

Of course they do.

“No glove, no love, right?” I joke.

Serena stares at me for a second before laughing. “Maybe we can hang that over the door.”