myself rapidly descending into a stupid case of the mopes. I decided I would check my email and see if Addy had dropped me a line to let me know she'd made it to her hotel (or sent any death threats after the wedding reception debacle) and then I'd get dressed up and take myself out to dinner. Dressing up and eating food always made me feel better. Doing both at the same time was a surefire mood lifter.
No email from Addie. I would have preferred a blistering message from my irate best friend to the sad little wave of self-pity and loneliness that washed over me.
Distraction , I told myself. You need a distraction .
My eyes wandered around the kitchen and landed on my purse—the Quick Pick ticket. I clicked on my Massive Millions site bookmark and pulled it up.
14-16-26-43-52 and the Big Money Ball… 18!
My distraction worked. I pulled the Quick Pick ticket out of my purse, scanned the numbers and immediately forgot all about Chance.
Disbelieving, I read the numbers on the ticket again, holding them up next to the numbers on my screen. 14. 16. 26. 43. 52. 18.
I triple and quadruple checked, but the numbers on the little orange square of paper and my computer screen both stayed the same. Exactly the same.
Holding my breath, I scrolled back up the page to where the jackpot amount was listed.
Holy shit. I had just won 176 million. Freaking. Dollars.
Rather than dance about my kitchen wildly, screaming "I'm going to Disney World!" my palms went clammy, my eyes rolled back in my head, and I hit the kitchen floor hard in a dead faint.
When I opened my eyes, I gasped for breath. Not because I immediately remembered that I'd won the lottery, but because Louie was sitting on my chest, washing his privates and squashing the air out of me.
I turned my head away in disgust, and there on the floor next to me was the lottery ticket.
I sat up so fast that Louie rolled ass-over-teakettle to the floor, puffed up like a blowfish and scrambled into the living room hissing. Ignoring him, I grabbed the ticket and compared the numbers again.
For Pete's sake.
My fingers flew over the keyboard as I typed in "how to claim lottery winnings," and within seconds, I was dialing the number for the state lottery office.
"Please direct me to the person that can give me 176 million dollars," I replied breathlessly when my call was answered by a monotone receptionist. "I won the freaking lottery."
"I'll forward you to the Prize Disbursement Center," she replied mechanically. "Hold please."
I stared at the phone incredulously. How often did she hear that kind of thing? Ten times a day?
I tapped my nails on the countertop, glancing at the clock. 3:30.
"Prize Disbursement, how may I help you?" The man that answered sounded bored.
"I won the lottery," I said in a rush. "I need to come claim my winnings before something awful happens and it turns out to be a mistake."
"Well, ma'am, it depends on the size of your winnings," he said, unperturbed. "Typically, we'll set up an appointment for you—."
"No!" I hollered. "You don't understand. I'm the unluckiest person ever, and this has got to be some huge, colossal mistake. If I don't come claim it now, something rotten will happen."
"How much—."
"The jackpot," I blurted. "The whole fricking shebang."
"Well, technically, you don't need an appointment for anything over 50 thousand. Where are you located?"
"I'm an hour away, but I can be there in 45 minutes."
"We only accept claims until 4:30," he said cautiously, probably sensing the imminent hysteria in my voice. "It would probably be better if you came in first thing in the—"
"No!" I interrupted again and then took a deep breath. "What's your name?" I asked sweetly.
"James… Smith," he answered hesitantly. From his tone, I figured it was a fake name and I sounded so unpredictable, he was afraid to give me his real one.
"Well, James, I swear I'm not crazy. Work with me here. Let me tell you my ticket numbers and then you
Taylor Cole and Justin Whitfield