Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(5)

If you’d told me twenty-four hours ago that Luca Buchanan, Boston’s most badass MMA fighter, would be on his way to bail me out of jail… I’d have laughed in your face. Now, all I can do is set the handset in its cradle with a dull click, lean back against the gunmetal gray precinct wall, and wonder what the ever-flipping heck I’m going to do when he gets here.

Especially given the last time I saw him…





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.”

Oh no.

Her eyes have begun to gloss over — a telltale sign she’s about to dissolve into weepy tears. Once the waterworks start, with a BAC level this high, I fear there will be no stopping them.

Determined to avert a total meltdown, I force my features into an expression of alarm and grab my best friend by the arm.

“Wait… you don’t mean June twenty-sixth, do you? Of this year?” I wince. “I actually have a commitment that day..."

Phoebe shoots me a death glare with eyes that thankfully have stopped watering. Just as I predicted — any threat to the impending nuptials promptly incurs Bridezilla’s wrath and puts an end to all tears.

“You are not funny, Lila.”

I sigh. "My jokes tend to go downhill after five drinks."

"Six," Chrissy corrects again.

"Speaking of drinks..." Phoebe scoops up her shot glass. “TEQUILA!”

Gemma throws up her hands. "I take no responsibility for what happens after this round. For the record, I tried to talk you out of it."

"Oh, come on. This is my bachelorette party, for god's sake!” Phoebe bellows over the band, drawing the attention of several surrounding tables. “We are required by law to drink until our feet go numb and dance until we drop."

"Oh, really? Is this your bachelorette party? I had no idea." Gemma rolls her eyes and sips her water. "It’s not like I planned the entire evening, or anything." Her eyes slide to me. “Except the strippers. That was all Lila.”