Page 168 of Hot Mess
“Let me introduce you to my cousins,” Danica said, guiding me along. “This is Mireille’s daughter, Charlotte, and Margot’s daughter, Jolie. You’ve met Jolie. She works at the office.”
Yeah, I remembered her. Super cute chick who kinda-sorta looked like a younger version of Danica, with shorter hair and big glasses.
“Hey,” she said, blushing.
“Hey,” I said.
Charlotte, who was probably in high school, vaguely waved at me and went back to her phone, which seemed permanently glued to her hand.
And that was it. Everyone in the room. Danica’s family. Her mom and sister. Aunts. Cousins.
All chicks.
Not one other dude in the place.
I kept looking around for this tacky-T-shirt wearing dad she’d mentioned, but no luck.
“Where’s your dad?” I asked her as she led me over to a bar in the corner where a bartender was mixing drinks. Apparently, this thing was catered.
“Oh, he’s not coming,” she said. “What would you like to drink?”
“He’s not coming…?”
“He never comes to Vola stuff. He’s on the other side of the family.”
“Huh?”
“My parents are divorced. Did I not mention that?”
“Nope,” I said. “I’ll take a whiskey. Neat.”
The bartender started making my drink. Danica took a glass of champagne, already poured, from a tray on the bar. “Champagne first?”
“I’ll stick with whiskey. Thanks.”
The bartender slid my drink over to me, and I raised my glass to Danica. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“Thanks for coming. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of booze.” She smiled softly, like she was reading my unease.
Yeah, I was pretty uncomfortable, but I wasn’t exactly clueless about why she’d brought me here. She probably just wanted to see how I fit into her world—besides just giving her phenomenal orgasms.
Which was fair enough.
We clinked our glasses and she eyed me as we sipped. “Maybe you can meet Dad another time,” she said.
“Sure.”
“And maybe Jacob’s coming,” she added.
“Jacob?”
“Margot’s fiancé. The homeowner.”
Right. The rich dude with all the cars. At least maybe we could talk about those. Wasn’t sure we’d have much else in common, judging from the decor in his living room.
“Can you judge someone for having too many horse statues?” I asked her. Honestly, I’d counted three already. The one out in the driveway and two smaller ones in the house.
Danica poked me gently in the ribs. “He’s a good man.”
