“I know that gleam,” Daisy said, switching the subject back to Whitney. “You got laid while I was gone.”

Her friend’s gaze flicked away, just for a moment, as she took a sip of her drink.

Daisy knew that look and groaned. “Oh Whitney. You didn’t.”

“What? Jay may be a first-rate prick, but he’s still the best I ever had.”

Whitney had met Jay Cunningham in a bar one Saturday night when she was twenty-four and had married him three days later at the county courthouse after one too many mimosas.

The marriage had lasted four years and six months, which was exactly four years and five months longer than Daisy had thought it was going to. Their divorce and their relationship since had been exactly the same as the marriage itself: tumultuous.

“He’s your ex-husband. You hate him,” Daisy countered.

“Hell yeah I do. Which is what makes the sex so damn good.”

Daisy speared another of the pigs in a blanket, deciding that there was something dangerously addicting about them.

Whitney gave a happy sigh. “It just doesn’t get better than the anger bang.”

Daisy choked on her mini hot dog. “The what?”

“Anger bang. You know, that rough and furious and dirty sex with someone you can’t stand. Tell me you’ve had it?”

Daisy shook her head. “Nope. I don’t really anger that easily, and when I do get angry, I sure as heck don’t feel like doing it.”

Whitney gave her an indulgent smile. “Doing it. You’re so cute. So tell me about the guy you did it with in New York?”

Daisy rolled her eyes, grateful when the buzzing of her phone next to the coffee machine gave her an escape from her friend’s inquisition.

She couldn’t help the smile when she saw the text. Who it was from.

Wallflower. Took your advice about keeping The Ladies away. You’re right, nobody likes a guy with a rash, no matter how I swore it wasn’t itchy.

She’d been back in North Carolina for just over a week, and she’d been pleasantly surprised when she’d gotten a text from Lincoln the moment she landed in Charlotte. A harmless, joking text about Britney Spears going on tour.

She’d texted back that her and Britney only got along in private venues, clothing optional.

He’d responded that his apartment was always available—which he didn’t mean, obviously—and that had made it all the safer. Not a day had gone by that she hadn’t heard from him, and somehow texts from this guy she barely knew had become the highlight of every day.

She texted back. Tell them that there’s nothing to worry about—that the medicated cream you use shouldn’t cause any irritation unless they’re part of the 2% of the population that’s allergic.

His response was immediate.

Tried that the first time. Unfortunately for me, she was a dermatologist. Took it as a turn on.

Is it hard then? Being so handsome you literally can’t keep them away?

So hard, Wallflower. Last night I cried about it.

“Oh. My. God.” Whitney’s voice was awed.

Daisy turned back toward her friend with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Whitney looked fascinated as she held out her hand for the phone. “Gimme.”

“What?”

“The phone. Hand it over.”

Daisy laughed. “No!”

“So it is a guy.”

“It is,” Daisy admitted. “But it’s not what you think. We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit,” Whitney said around a fake cough. “Is this your wedding hookup?”

“My wedding non-hookup. The best man, but nothing happened. He’s…unavailable.”

“Oh poo.” Whitney pouted. “Girlfriend?”

Something like that.

“Wait,” Whitney said, her eyes narrowing on Daisy. “If he’s got a girlfriend why are you and he sexting?”

“We’re not sexting.”

“Fine, regular texting then.”

“It’s harmless.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Whitney said, crossing her arms. “Tell me this. If his girlfriend was to discover his phone, would she look at these texts and find them harmless? I know that smile you had on your face, sweetie. That’s a crush smile.”

Daisy thought about this as she lowered herself to the barstool beside her friend, absently running her thumb over the edge of her Tory Burch phone case. “It’s not a crush,” she replied, meaning it. “But I’m comfortable around him, and he around me. And I need that right now a hell of a lot more than I need sex.”

Whitney’s expression softened, and Daisy wondered if her friend suspected more about Daisy’s relationship with Gary than she let on.

“You know what that tells me,” Whitney said, picking up a fresh toothpick and thoughtfully munching on her greasy snack. “It tells me he’s ugly. Maybe a little dorky, but wicked witty, right? Better on text than in person, right?”

“Weelllllll…”

Whitney sighed and pointed toward Daisy’s phone before snapping her fingers rapidly. “Picture. I need to see this guy.”

“I don’t know that I have any pictures.”

“Look him up on Facebook. Oooh, better yet, you must have some early shots of wedding stuff, right? Even if the official ones aren’t done yet.”

“Actually, yeah,” Daisy admitted. “Emma and Cassidy’s wedding website has a place for the guests to submit their own pics. I bet he’s on there…”