Laurel Dunaway
Journal Entry
“Ready?” James asked, dangling the car keys in my direction. “Jesus, Laurel—you’re white as a ghost.”
I ran my hands across my face and shook the thoughts away.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine. Just a little tired.”
He raised his brow before offering me that boyish, impish look, the one that spreads across his face whenever he’s excited. “Eighteen tonight.”
Eighteen. Generally, there are twenty of us or so. Sometimes more, sometimes less. No one will ask where the missing members are. It’s not that kind of club. The rules are simple. The rest is not so.
Eighteen.My husband slipped his arms around my waist. “You look amazing. I’m going to have to watch my back.” Another smile. “Yours too.”
It’s an unconventional arrangement, the club…but then who really knows,
