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“Well, I’m up now, for fuck’s sake.”
“Wow, someone isveryfoulmouthed and grumpy in the morning.”
I’d meant it as a joke, but when he promptly disconnected the call, I assumed he didn’t find it funny.
So naturally, I FaceTimed him.
I didn’t expect him to answer, honestly, which was why I gasped when he popped up on the screen.
“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” He was obviously still lying in bed, because his phone was super close to his face, and I could only just make out his shoulders in the darkness of the frame.
“I kind of do, yes,” I said, picking up my cup.
“So why are you bothering me this morning? Just being a dick, or was there something else?”
His words were harsh, but I could see the twinkle in his sleepy eyes.
“I had some ideas overnight and I kind of want to do some plotting with you.”
“What kind of plotting?” he asked, and it was disgusting how good he looked while still half-asleep. My hair usually stuck up everywhere, but his looked sexily tousled. “I’m not going to prison for you or anyone.”
When I woke up at two fifteen a.m., I had an epiphany. Well, actually I had multiple epiphanies, but the first one was that it felt good to have a friend again. I mean yes, I had work friends, and Asha was still my bestie on the other side of the country, but Stuart had become such a big part of my life that he—we—inadvertently pushed everyone else out of my daily life.
So I’d been kind of alone since the holidays.
It wasnicehaving someone to exchange mindless banter with again.
My other overnight epiphanies were as follows: Larry was wrong about kissing, I needed to get my eyebrows microbladed, a shoulder tattoo would be cool, and I needed to call my parents and find out if diabetes ran in our family.
“Just a little planning to get the most out of our friendship milking.”
“That OJ looks good.”
I lifted my glass. “Itisgood.”
Max sat up in his bed and yes—hedefinitelyhad shoulders.
Good Lord.
“I’m going to need some coffee before we start scheming, since I don’t have any OJ.”
“If you want to meet me at Starbucks, I’ll buy.” That would be perfect, because I really wanted a latte, and it was better if I explained my ideas in person. Karen climbed onto my lap and was instantly purring, the sweet baby, which meant that Joanne would be there any minute.
He made a dismissive noise—the man really did speak in grunts in the morning—and said, “I have to run first. Want to meet at—”
“I actually need to run, too. Want to run to Starbucks together?” I ran four times a week, usually taking Sundays off, but if I could get in an extra couple miles with a jogging buddy, that would be a bonus.
“No offense,” he said, dragging a hand over the top of his head, “but I don’t really run with other people and you’re far too chipper in the morning.”
“You’re afraid you’re too slow. That you can’t keep up with me.” I stretched my arms over my head and said, “I get it.”
His eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Ah, but I am.”
“My legs are so much longer than yours.”
“Weird thing to brag about.”
