I took a long drink of wine and grimaced. “TJ’s famous spaghetti-secret recipe, straight from his grandmother in Sicily.”

“I’m so glad you called.” Gretchen sat up and reached over to touch TJ’s hand. It was brief, just a squeeze, but I noticed her long, manicured nails, painted bright red, an uncharacteristic color for her, and it reminded me sharply of Mrs. B.

She turned her gaze to me again, and there it was, that feeling like someone had just reached their hand into my belly and twisted. “I’ve thought about you so often.”

I held my empty glass out to TJ, who poured with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve thought about you, too.” It wasn’t a lie. When I’d first ended things with Gretchen, I thought about her all the time, and I knew it would drive me insane if it didn’t stop, so I did what I needed to do. Vince, the guy I was dating at the time, was a personal trainer-gorgeous, ripped, he had a brilliantly rational mind but was more than a little OCD-and he taught me how to get rid of Gretchen for good.

I’d put a rubber band around my wrist, and every time my thoughts turned to her, I snapped it-hard. Really, really hard. Sounds silly, but it worked. Between that and the incredibly huge eleven inch cock Vince presented me with to handle at every possible occasion-I’ve never had bigger, before or since-it was enough of a distraction to get me through. But the truth was, while it worked to keep me distracted, it didn’t work all the time. No, not all the time.

Both of TJ’s eyebrows were raised at me now and I tried to change the subject. “So, how are the Baumgartners? What’s everyone up to?”

“Oh Ronnie, you wouldn’t believe how big the kids are!” Gretchen smiled, shaking her head.