Grumpy cat

JENNIE

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Lisa steps out of the bathroom surrounded by a cloud of steam. I've never met anyone who showers for as long as she does. She's dressed in dark jeans, a white shirt, and a casual suede jacket in burnished cognac with polished oxfords to match. She looks edible. Oh god, what is wrong with me? I already sent a text to Chaeng to say I won't be joining them for dinner because I'm not feeling well, but maybe I really am sick. Maybe I need my head examined. I clear my throat and swallow hard.

She runs a hand through her damp hair and her gaze slides over me from head to toe. I'm wearing my Grumpy Cat PJs. After a minute of staring, she doubles over with laughter. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

"Pajamas." I close my laptop and glare at her. "What?"

"You sleep in Grumpy Cat pajamas?"

"So?"

"Oh, baby. You really are a crazy lady."

"Don't call me baby; I'm not your baby. And so I like Grumpy Cat. So what?"

"So what?"

"What's so wrong with that?"

"Okay, remember twenty minutes ago when your ex-fiancé and your best friend were having wild monkey sex in the room next door? You know why she's wearing his ring right now and you're not?" Lisa raises a brow at me, as if she's waiting for a response, but she doesn't miss a beat before she opens her mouth again. "Because you're a fucking crazy lady. Crazy ladies don't get married; crazy ladies don't get laid. Crazy ladies die alone in their apartments surrounded by their crazy fucking dogs, who eventually eat their owners."

I straighten my pony tail, pulling it so tight I give myself a mini eye-lift. "My dogs would never eat me."

"You say that now, but ten days after your rotting corpse has been fermenting on the living room rug, and those dogs have eaten all the kibble left in their bowls, they will eat what's left of you."

"Could you just leave already?"

"Hey, I'm trying to help. God knows you need it."

"I don't need help. I don't need advice from a whore. And I definitely don't need anyone. I have a vibrator. Several, actually, and some other things that I don't even know the names of . . . or did you forget about the giant basket you had delivered to my workplace?"

"How could I forget when I get updates every day?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The we vibe."

I cast a surreptitious glance toward my luggage, which happens to house the vibe in question. It's not like I thought Chaeng and I would be having that kind of slumber party, but we have tickets to Magic Mike, and since her husband-to-be is on this trip, and I have no one to take the edge off but the goon standing right in front of me—and that is so not happening—I thought I may as well bring it along.

Lisa's mouth twists with a lopsided grin. "You brought it with you, didn't you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You dirty girl. You brought my vibe to Vegas."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Not unless you picture my face when you use it."

"Not on your life," I say. "And what did you mean about getting updates?"

She stares at me in disbelief, as if I'm simple. Then she walks to the bedside table and picks up her phone. After punching in her security code, she turns the screen to face me. There's an app open, and it's showing me Pop Tart's Playlist. I snatch the phone from her and hit play. My vibrator starts buzzing in my bag, and realization finally dawns. I scroll through a list of songs: "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails, "Gorilla" by Bruno Mars, "Wicked Games" by The Weekend. The list goes on and on.

"Oh my god." My mouth gapes open in horror. All this time she's been . . . "You!"

Lisa smiles. "Me."

"You've been spying on me through my vibrator?"

"Spying? Jesus, Pop Tart, you make it sound so covert. What exactly do you do while you're masturbating? Sounds like I'm missing out on all the fun."

"I can't believe you. This is an invasion of my privacy."

"Oh, come on. You used the vibrators I sent you—what did you expect? You'd never seen a We-Vibe before?"

"No. And I certainly wouldn't have used it if I'd known."

"Why?"

"Because, you freak, you're you, and I'm—"

"A crazy lady in desperate need of a good, hard fuck." It isn't a question. She takes several steps toward me. I shoot farther back on the bed, but Lisa seems unperturbed. She wedges herself between my legs and my mouth opens in shock as she leans down into my space, forcing me to lie flat to avoid our bodies colliding. She hovers above me with that fucking Manoban smirk on her face and lowers her hips until we're touching. "Tell me, Pop Tart, is your pussy this unhappy, too?" She fingers the print of Grumpy Cat right over my nipple. I gasp before I can help it. The sound just slips out. Lisa's eyes darken with lust.

"Right now? Yeah, because some asshole doesn't know what personal space means."

She smirks and lifts herself up off the bed and away from me. I can't help but shove her to make her move quicker.

"I hate you."

"Aww, you say the sweetest things. You okay, there? You look a little worked up."

"Well, it's not every day my archnemesis climbs between my legs and tries to get me to sleep with her—as if that would ever be an option."

"You won't fuck me, just my vibrator, right?"

"Fuck you."

"You wish."

"God, fighting with you is exhausting."

"You think this is fighting? No, sweetheart, this is foreplay. Now imagine how good it would feel with your grumpy pussy wrapped around my cock."

"You're sick."

"I prefer the term sexual deviant, but hey, whatever floats your boat. Oh, wait—I know what floats your boat." She taps her screen and the buzzing starts up again.

I grab my pillow and throw it at her.

Lisa is as cool as ever when she walks to the door. Swiping her room key from the counter, she winks at me. "Don't wait up."

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