“I’m fine, Knox. Thanks for asking. Even though I feel like my uterus is being crumpled up inside my body so it can be expelled through my Lady Canal, I’m thrilled to be working tonight.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but she held up a finger. “Uh-uh. I wouldn’t do that,” she advised.
I shut my mouth and tagged Silver at the bar. “Where’s Naomi?”
Her expression stayed carefully blank, but her eyes skated to Fi, who was making an exaggerated slashing motion across her throat.
“Seriously?” I asked.
My business manager rolled her eyes. “Fine. Naomi was here, but there was some trouble with Waylay’s teacher. She went to take care of it and asked us to cover for her.”
“She’s bringing us pretzels afterward,” Max said around the brownie she held between her teeth as she shuffled by with two fresh beers. I was pretty sure that was a health violation but was smart enough not to mention it.
I eyed the women before me. “You thought I’d be pissed that she went to take care of something at the school?”
Fi smirked. “No. But it’s a slow day. Thought it would be more fun this way.”
I closed my eyes and started to count to ten. “Why haven’t I fired you yet?”
“Because I’m amazing!” she sang, spreading her arms wide. She flinched and clutched her stomach. “Fucking periods.”
“Amen,” Silver agreed.
“Strap on one of those damn heat pad things and take turns getting off your feet,” I advised.
“Look who’s Mr. Menstruation,” Fi said.
“Working with the Synched Sisters has educated me in ways I never wanted to be. Who’s the teacher?”
“What teacher?” Max asked as she blew past us again with a couple of empties. The brownie was now gone. I hoped it hadn’t fallen into one of the beers.
“Waylay’s teacher,” I said in exasperation. “Did she say what the problem was?”
“Is there a reason you’re so interested?” Fi asked, looking too damn smug for my liking.
“Yeah. I’m paying her to be here, and she’s not here.”
“Your tone is aggressive, and I don’t react well to aggressive during my Lady Business,” Silver warned.
This was why I didn’t come near Honky Tonk during Code Red, which is how I labeled it in my calendar.
“Mrs. Felch,” Max called from the corner two-top she’d commandeered. She was sitting on one chair with her feet propped on the second and a damp bar towel draped over her forehead and eyes.
“I’m personally not a fan of Mrs. Felch. One of my kids had her. She gave homework over Christmas,” Fi recalled.
“Fuck.”
Fi and Silver turned to look at me. Max peeked out from under her cold compress.
“Mrs. Felch is married,” I said.
“That is usually what Mrs. means,” Silver said, patronizing me.
“Mrs. Felch is married to Mr. Felch. Nolan Felch.”
Fi got it first. “Oooooh, shit. That’s not good.”
“Wait, didn’t Tina—”