Chapter One

10.6K 210 65

"I heard that you're settled down, that you found a girl and you're married now..."

The opening chords of Adele's most famous, and most overplayed, sob story came blaring over the stereo as Morgan turned her keys in the ignition.

"You have got to be kidding me," she thought, panicked. Eyes starting to water, her shaky fingers couldn't find the dashboard quick enough. She missed the power button by half an inch and, of course, nudged the volume with the stupid rock that was still sitting on her finger.

She screamed. Loud. Even louder than the now-blaring music. And then she burst into tears, attempting to rip the stunning 3.5 carat ring off her left hand. It didn't budge.

"COME ONNNNNN!" She hollered as she tugged with a strength so vicious she thought she might actually dislocate her finger. The platinum band stuck with the force of industrial grade super glue. That's what happens when you gain 20lbs in the six months after your engagement, Morgan, she thought to herself. She sighed.

Even though her screams had quieted, the tears kept flowing. She laid her head on her steering wheel. Adele continued to bellow on about finding someone just like her ex. Morgan gave a bitter snort. Screw that, she thought, Adele could have her copycat boyfriend, Morgan didn't want anyone even remotely like Brock Andrews. Never, ever again.

Momentarily moving on from the vice-grip appendage on her finger, she dug her iPhone out of her purse and dialed.

"WHAT?" growled the voice on the other end of the line.

"Soph-" her voice cracked as she broke down again.

"Ugh. Morgan, girl, I love you. But you know I don't do phone calls before noon. Text me, babe."


The line went dead. She sighed. She should have known better. God love her oldest friend but Sophie St. Clair was not a morning person. She was a night person. An all-night person, for that matter. At 29, while most girls were readying themselves to settle down and get married, Sophie filled her time with martinis and mixers and memberships to every VIP club in town. And as the Head of Social Media for one of the city's biggest gossip rags, it was as much about business as it was about pleasure for her.

"I have to party, Morg! It's basically written into my job description," her former roommate once told her, as an explanation as to why she hadn't been home in three days...and why she was still wearing the same clothes she had left in. Needless to say, their cohabitating didn't last very long.

As irony would have it though, Sophie was now the only one of her close girlfriend who was in a committed, long-term relationship. Sophie and Jake had been an item since...god, Morgan couldn't even remember. High school? Middle school?

The only person who has ever been able to perfectly balance the chaos of Sophie life was Jake Roberts, a devastatingly handsome, alarmingly shy "good boy", who was about as interested in his girlfriend's high-flying, hard-partying lifestyle as Tim Tebow would be at the Playboy Mansion.

Luckily enough, the hard-working mechanic was also the only person for whom Sophie was willing to put the brakes on her wild ways. Relationship rules - they never go longer than three hours without talking (whether it be via text, phone, or email), have set-in-stone Sunday and Wednesday date nights, and they never, ever go to bed angry - were the glue that held them together for all these years and, Morgan hoped, would continue to hold them together forever.

Everyone knew that Jake desperately wanted to get married and start a family with Sophie, but everyone also knew that it wasn't even remotely on Sophie's radar yet. Lord, the woman wasn't even willing to move out of her miniscule one-bedroom apartment in the heart of the city and into his spacious three-bedroom house just outside the city limits. The 'burbs scared her, she claimed. And so Jake waited.

And waited.

And though she would never say it aloud - for fear of dealing with the rath of Sophie - Morgan and the other girls worried that it wasn't far off when Jake was going to tire of waiting.

Beep, beep.

Distracted, she glanced down at the text message on her phone.

Sophie: Well, don't leave me hanging woke me up at this godforsaken hour, you better have something good.

Morgan: It's over.

Sophie: Well thank fuck, it's about time.

Morgan stared at the message and shook her head. Obviously Sophie was not the person she ran to for sympathy at a time like this. Thankfully she was well aware of this fact. Before she could respond her phone beeped once more.

Sophie: Honestly tho babe, you're better off. This was a LONG time coming. That prissy, primadonna didn't deserve you and you knew it.

Morgan: I can't get the ring off. I'm too fat now :(

Sophie: HA! Oh noooo! K, come over. We'll lube that finger up with some good ol' fashion Palmolive, make plans to hock-the-rock on eBay, and then we'll have a toast to your new found singledom.

Morgan: LOL. It's 9am Sophie!

Sophie: My dear, it is never too early for a cocktail. Get your plumper-than-thou ass over here and let's get pissed...xo

Morgan laughed at her friend. Crude and vulgar and highly inappropriate. Exactly what a girl needed when she felt like her world was crashing down around her.

Her eyes watered again. She picked up her phone once more and, through blurry eyes, punched out a new message. Attaching the names of two contacts, she hit send. Her phone made a swoop sound as her message was send. She threw her car into drive and hit the gas.

Yes, even at 9am on Monday, cocktails were definitely in order.

How To Tango With Tom CollinsWhere stories live. Discover now