Take Your Time

CHAPTER TWO

"Sure, I'd say I'm a hard worker... I make almost everything harder than it needs to be."

- Delilah Sinclair, interviewing for job she absolutely will not get.

___________

24 hours earlier...

"Another round? You guys are just asking for a hangover, at this point."

"True." I grin as I slam the cluster of shot glasses down on our high-top and cast a glance around at the four women gathered there. Three gorgeous brunettes and one blonde with a platinum pixie cut — my best friend Phoebe, her big sister Gemma, our recently-divorced pal Shelby, and married mom-of-two Chrissy. "You know what they say... One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, more!"

"No, Lila." Gemma's nose crinkles. "I think it's actually one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, FLOOR. Because after three shots, that's where you wind up."

Shelby shrugs. "Irrelevant, since it's about our fifth round."

"Sixth," Chrissy corrects. "Assuming you're counting the body shots we did off the stripper."

"Who could forget that?" Gemma rolls her eyes. "I'll never get those images out of my head. In fact, I have photographic evidence I plan to use as blackmail, should I ever need to exact a favor from any of you."

I scoff. "Blackmail? Oh, please. As if I'd be embarrassed by that. Did you see the abs on that guy?"

"Seriously." Phoebe nods, wide-eyed, before her gaze slides to her sister. "And Gemma, I'm sorry you can't drink with us, but just because you went and got yourself knocked up doesn't mean the rest of us have to act like Quakers. Especially tonight."

"I know." Gemma sighs and leans back with her hands on her stomach. She's more than seven months along, but you can barely tell with her small frame. "I'm not trying to be a spoilsport. I am, however, trying to prevent you all from getting hit by a car. Or losing your panties. Or catching chlamydia."

"Aw, I guess those maternal instincts are already kicking in." Phoebe pats her sister's small bump and makes clucking noises.

Gemma bats her hand away. Her blue eyes narrow in menace. "Keep touching me like that and my fight or flight instincts are going to kick in... and your ass will either be stranded here or thoroughly whupped."

"Gemma, you can barely waddle. Flight isn't much of an option," Phoebe teases.

"I may be more pregnant than April the giraffe, but I will still kick your ass, little sister," Gemma fires back.

I snort. Shelby and Chrissy hide grins behind their glasses. By this point, we're all used to the sisters bickering — and we know better than to interfere. Whatever disagreement they're having usually resolves within forty-five seconds, and they're back to being best friends before you can say mood swing.

I pick up my shot glass. "A toast to the bride!"

"Bride-to-be," Chrissy amends, brushing platinum blonde strands out of her eyes. "The wedding isn't for another week."

"One week. Less than a week, actually! Can you believe it?" Phoebe asks dreamily. Her voice is slurred, but I can't recall ever hearing her happier. "On the twenty-sixth, I'll be a married woman. Married. To a man. No... to the man." She hiccups. "Of my dreams."