Lexus.
"Kelly is in town. A little bird told me she might stop by," Dane said as we stepped into my elevator.
"Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse," I muttered.
Kelly was my mom's best friend's daughter. Our mothers, in their infinite wisdom (read: absolute insanity), made a bet when they were pregnant—whoever had a boy or a girl first, their kids would marry each other when they grew up.
Disgusting.
Did they ever consider the possibility that we might have opinions about this?
I hadn't seen Kelly in a decade. The last time we crossed paths was in college, and we barely spoke. That should have been the end of the story.
"It's not that bad," Dane remarked, just as the elevator doors slid open.
And there, standing like a misplaced hobo in my penthouse, was Billie.
Wearing my sweatpants. My grey shirt. My sneakers.
And looking completely ridiculous.
