I leaned back against the display table, vexed.

I pictured myself meeting him at the door wearing my short black dress and tall black heels—spiky, sexy back-scratchers—while greeting him with a delighted smile and a kiss of apology for what I said to him.

Instead, I’m wearing a pair of raggedy denim shorts and a T-shirt from Keisha’s closet that says: Martini time, bitchezzz!

“For fuck’s sake, baby, put down your weapons.”

I looked at the cell phone I held in one hand, then at the vibrator, I was still clutching in the other. It’s happily humming away.

“Are you done trying to take out my eye? Can I hug...