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“Yes!” I rub a little harder. “They do go together.”
“Like your hand on my cock,” he says, then lets out a long groan.
But before I can finally unzip his jeans, my phone rings. Amanda’s calling.
8
SPECIAL EDITION
Elodie
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Navarro,” Amanda says in the doorway of the pink duplex with artfully arranged plants lining the railing on the little porch of her friend’s home.
Amanda’s purple backpack is slung on her shoulder, a new friendship bracelet on her wrist with gold beads forming the words make art.
Ally’s mom—Stella—shoots Amanda a sympathetic look from behind her trendy electric-blue glasses that frame wise brown eyes. “You don’t have to apologize. Just be sure to drink plenty of water.”
“And walk around if you need to,” Ally chimes in from next to her mom, a little mini-me with matching glasses and equally good advice. “Don’t forget what we read—it’s totally normal the first time a vegetarian eats meat. So don’t worry about it.”
“You’ll feel better soon. It’s just that your body uses different digestive enzymes for meat, and you’re not used to that,” Stella offers, and dear god, she’s a mom nurse now. “Take a digestive aid if you need to.”
“Thank you for all this,” I say, overwhelmed but grateful. My head pings with information. Stella’s already researched the problem and is offering advice. Meanwhile, I’ve barely said a word since I arrived and I’d spent the ride over hoping my panties dried while I freaked out that Amanda would have to go to the ER to get her stomach pumped after accidentally eating meat for the first time in her life.
Amanda offers the superhero mom a weak smile. “I’m sure your veggie burgers are really, really good.”
“Next time. You have an open invitation,” Stella says.
“Thanks,” Amanda says, then waves goodbye to her friend.
Ally offers a goodbye wave in return, her make art bracelet slipping down the tanned skin of her wrist.
“Thanks again for having her over,” I say to Stella. “I’m really sorry it didn’t work out. Ally’s welcome at our house anytime.” I think that’s what you’re supposed to say when a sleepover snafu happens.
“Text me? Let me know how she’s feeling tomorrow,” Stella adds.
Right, right. That’s what you say. “Of course. Absolutely. Thanks again.”
“Don’t forget—a digestive aid if she needs one,” the superhero calls out.
“On it!”
With a wince, Amanda sets her hand on her stomach. I walk her down the steps, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as we head to the waiting Lyft, the same one that brought me here in a flash, weaving expertly through Friday night traffic. From Lyft drivers to ultra moms, I’m surrounded by rock stars at their jobs.
“I only barfed once,” Amanda says, trying hard to be strong.
“That’s good,” I say, then worry digs into me. “Do you need to throw up again?”
She shakes her head. “I feel okay now.”
But okay isn’t how you want to feel when you stay at a friend’s house. “You’ll be better soon.”
“I just can’t believe I took the wrong burger,” she says, embarrassment thick in her voice as we reach the car while she explains again that it was a mix-up. The burgers on the plate all looked the same so she snagged a meat one rather than the special veggie one for the vegetarian, like our parents were after they had Amanda.
“Don’t beat yourself up. Mistakes happen,” I say.
I open the door for her and she slides into the car. Gage is long gone. The second I got the call that Amanda wasn’t feeling well we scrambled and said hasty goodbyes. But I can’t think about him right now.
As the driver pulls away from the pretty home in Lower Pacific Heights, I buckle in too. “So I guess you’re not going to ask me to cook you a steak tomorrow?”
