I’m sure my eccentric boss, Annie, had meant well when she set me up with Marcus, telling me that she was sure he’d be the love of my life, but he was clearly not the man for me. “Maybe there isn’t a man that’s right for me,” I grouched. “Please tell me you used the battery-operated gadget I bought you to finish off the work that dream-guy started,” Courtney said. She narrowed her eyes at me, assessing, then said, “I can tell you didn’t. You’re too grumpy. There’s nothing wrong with a vibrator, Abby. It can ease some of that tension that’s been building up for way too long.” “You mean forever?” I quipped. Courtney smiled at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She knew how sensitive I was about this subject. After all, how many 28-year-old divorcees had never had an orgasm? I felt like the only one. “I can tell where your mind is going, so just stop.” Courtney gave me the look that she uses when she means business. “Don’t go down this path again. There is nothing wrong with you. That two-pump-and-dump bastard, who was married to you for two years but didn’t take the time to learn how to please you, is the one who should be feeling bad about himself.” I snorted with laughter at the name she had called my ex-husband then started giggling uncontrollably. “You are the one who needs to stop. You’re going to make margarita shoot out of my nose. Where do you come up with this stuff?” “I’ve been saving that one, waiting for the perfect time to zing it.” She grinned and lifted her glass to clink with mine.