Free Modern Girl's Guide to Friends With Benefits by Gina Drayer

out of here. What size are the girls wearing now? This summer Rose was in a ten, but I swear the girl had shot up an entire foot when I saw her at Thanksgiving. And little Jen isn't so little anymore. God, you're getting old. Can you believe your nieces will be teenagers soon?"
    "Where are you? Let me come get you."
    "I'm at Vince and don't come down here." Someone pounded on the dressing room door. Irritated, Megan gathered her bags. "What's wrong with these people? Shouldn't they all have their shopping done?"
    "Aren't you there shopping at the last minute, too?"
    "Hey, I have an excuse. I've been busy with the end of the semester, my writing, and all the house repairs. But this is nuts. I should have called your sister. I'm just going to get the next size up. Lucy can exchange the girls' stuff if it's too big. Your sister practically lives in the mall." Megan gathered her small pile of clothing and slipped out of the dressing room, giving the woman who'd banged on the door a dirty look on the way. "Speaking of busy, I've got too many things on my To Do list right now. Can I leave the girls' presents at the front desk for you to bring to your mom's this year?"
    "Why? You are going to be there, right?"
    There was a note of panic in his voice that was cute. Like she'd ever miss Christmas with his family. It had been the one thing that had gotten her through her teen years. She loved Peter's family almost as much as she loved him. "Of course I'm coming. I just don't have room in my car."
    "Please don't tell me you're still driving that deathtrap. It's December. You swore you'd put it up before winter."
    Megan sighed and stuck her tongue out at the phone. "It hasn't really snowed yet. After Christmas, I promise to start driving Bertha." She hated the Mercedes SUV her father had bought for her last year. The huge thing wasn't a car, it was a frickin' parade float. But her sporty little Austin-Healey Sprite wasn't made for the Chicago winters, so she accepted the behemoth. "I've already arranged for the boys at the garage to get Baby on Thursday for a full tune-up and then she'll go into storage for the winter. Happy?"
    "Hey, your choice. But I'm not coming to the hospital to visit you when some moron in a minivan runs that roller-skate you call a car off the road."
    "Meg?" a woman from behind her called.
    Megan turned around to see who it was but didn't recognize anyone in the crowd. "You're just jealous. It's not my fault that you can't buy a sports car because of your freakishly long legs."
    "Meg Wylde!" A woman bundled in a heavy winter jacket and loaded down with bags squealed like a teen girl. "I can't believe it's you."
    Megan frowned. This was the last thing she needed right now. Megan went to great lengths to keep her identity a secret, including wearing a wig during appearances, but occasionally someone would recognize her. At least this time it was a woman. She always felt strange talking to men about how much they loved her sex scenes.
    "I can't talk now. I'll drop the packages off at the desk and see you Monday." Megan shoved the phone into her pocket and turned around. "I'm sorry. You must have me confused with someone else."
    "No. I thought it was you when I saw the photo in the paper this morning. I wasn't sure because of the brown hair, but when I heard you just now on the phone I knew." The woman shifted her packages and held out a hand. "Sarah. We met at a book signing in Iowa. We talked about your books. I recognized your voice."
    She went out of her way to keep her identity secret, from the pen name to the wig and glasses she always wore, but occasionally she ran into someone who recognized her. Megan was debating what to do next—continue to feign ignorance or just accept the fact that her cover was blown and get this meet and greet over with? "Hi, Sarah." She stuck her hand out and plastered on a smile. "Nice to meet you. Again."
    Sarah dug into her purse and produced a cell phone. "I need a picture. My