"Listen, Greta, it's not you…It's me,"

It was almost too easy.

"Things have been really hard at home lately, what with Mom brining in her millions—oh, sorry, billions—" she laughed almost sheepishly at her silly mistake.

Just like clockwork.

"Baby," she whispered, a strategically placed hand grazing the other girls nerve stricken knee.

She really should have been expecting it.

"I think we should break up."

Cianara, bitch.

Spencer squinted in annoyance as she pushed her way through the local Starbucks and into the Massachusetts sunshine, wondering, as she slid her expensive black Ralph Lauren sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose, why it had to be so goddamn bright out. Not to mention Greta's sobbing had drawn attention to them, which was fine except for the fact that Spencer only drew attention to herself on her own terms.

Still, Greta had been terribly attractive, incredibly wholesome, she did do volunteer work five of seven days a week, the other two spent playing croquet with her wealthy grand parents, who she loved and adored obscenely. The thought of it all made Spencer nauseous as she mentally added another notch to her bedpost, noting the lack of space and the apparent need for a new one.

Fuck, I'm good, she mused as she stepped into the driver's side of her black Aston Martin DB7, quickly punching in her best friend and coveted wing woman's number before revving up her baby for another spin.

"How'd it go?" A curious voice inquired, half amused and half wary of her best friends far beyond promiscuous relationship patterns.

"How does it always go?" Spencer laughed, incredibly self-satisfied, as pulled the car into reverse.

"You're the best."

"Kate, you say it like it's a bad thing. It's really not." Spencer reminded her. This argument was old as time and Spencer always won.

"I just don't want you to end up rich and alone with only your memory of short lived, and can I say overtly sexual, conquests to pass the time."

"I won't!" Spencer promised sincerely, making a note to, out of love, get her friend laid fast, "I mean," She paused, "There'll always be a one night stand!"

"Spencer" Katie groaned, smiling through her best friends antics.

"What? The price of a hooker is decreasing at an increasing rate—by the time I'm sixty I'll probably be able to afford an orgy for fewer than eighty dollars. That's a deal, Kate, I don't care where you're from—that is getting the bang for your buck, no pun intended of course."

"I'm hanging up now."

"And I'm pulling into your driveway, GET OUT HERE, BITCH!" Spencer yelled playfully hopping out of her car and into Katie's cobblestone Weston mansion.

"You're so charming," Katie teased meeting her at the large wooden front door, "It's no wonder you've slept with so thirty-five girls—"

"Thirty-six women," Spencer chimed in, "And at the tender age of twenty, I don't intend on backig down."

"Jesus, we need to get you tested…"

"For what?" Spencer inquired.

"Everything,

"Cake."

"Seriously? You know this."

"Well, I couldn't decide whether to just get the Boston Crème with gummy bears, which, by the way, is absolutely revolting, but then it'd have to be a huge cake, or like several, which is fine, whatever, I mean, we can do several, several's good, several's great—"

"Kate…"

"Sorry," She sighed sweeping a hand through her straight brown locks. She really was very pretty. Standing tall enough at 5'6 and weighing in at 130 pounds, Kate was the perfect complement to Spencer, the most appropriate ying to her yang. They had grown up together; attended the same day school then private school, only parting ways for college though, not to anyone's surprise, they stayed in touch better than anyone else could: emails, and IMs, phone calls and surprise flights. Spencer would never confess, but she always did have a soft spot for brunettes.

"Or, we could just do hoardes of fried ice cream." Katie finished, bracing herself for the squeal that would be Spencer's delight.

It came.

"Ahh, I can't decide. We'll do both?" She replied, scanning over the guest list of three hundred for the thousandth time. The upcoming weekend was her birthday and this year she was celebrating the big 2-0 with a bash. Big and flashy parties in her honor usually weren't her style, but she had had a good year and figured she might as well reward herself. After all, she had managed to escape her third year at Wellesley with a not only perfect G.P.A in tow, but also the entire school's GLBT community, not to mention two thirds of the straight population. All accomplished with a bottle of Smirnoff in hand and her good looks in tact. She never faltered. She was always in control. How could she not pat herself on the back for it? After all, it wasn't easy.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. "Fuck…I mean, flip?" Spencer tried, grabbing her purse and sliding out of her chair—Kate hated it when she cursed. "I have to go. Lunch with mother!" She squealed in faux glee. "I'll call you later though?"

"Not if I don't see you first." That was their thing. They always knew if they'd find the other, probably before the other could find them—it was comforting.

"Oh, hey, Spence, don't forget to take your medicine, okay?" Kate chided as Spencer turned to leave.

"Already did," Spencer said as she waltzed out of Gregory's and towards her car. Just as she was about to pull out of the parking lot, her phone vibrated—It was Kate."

"I guess you called me first?"

"Shut up," She laughed, "So, my cousin's coming down for weekend, is it fine if I put her on the list?"

"Yeah, you don't even have to ask, K." She backtracked, "Two questions though—"

"Yes and Yes."

"Perfect."

"Alright, give me a call later—"

"Wait, what's mystery girls name?"

Kate laughed, answering her before hanging up, "Ashley."