“No,” I say, wobbling on one foot like a drunk flamingo. “It’s not Mars, Shelbs. The Prices are fine. More than fine. They were here last night. You’ll meet her when you get here—” “Wait—her?” Shit. “Ryan Langley, do you have a puck bunny in that house?” “I’m hanging up now.” “—can’t believe you. Don’t think I won’t tell Josh. Your first priority should be your recovery, not adding notches to your bedpost—” “Okay, byeeee,” I say, drawing out the “e” as I hang up on her.
