AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But if I don’t show up, then that sad, unadopted dog’s fate will also be on my conscience.
Shit, shit, shit.
“I’m already on my way,” Tank tells me, and I feel a softening of my jaw and shoulders, because Tank never says things he doesn’t mean. He’s always been good to me, ever since we were five, which is probably why I’ve never wanted to be anything but his friend.
I only seem to fall in love with men who use me and then throw me away, like a piece of gum that’s lost its flavor.
I breathe in deep, then release the breath.
“Thank you. I owe you, like, a dozen beers.”
“I’ll settle for your first-born child,” he says, and I can tell he’s grinning.
“No can do, I promised Izzy I wouldn’t give her away for a penny less than a billion dollars.”
He laughs. “I’ll be there in ten.”
I stick the phone in my coat pocket. Needing to feel like I’m doing something productive, I try the keys again. Vanny makes a rude noise. I’d look under the hood, but even though Tank has taught me some basics, I’m no expert—I can check the level and color of my oil but not replace it.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I remove it from my coat pocket again. I flinch a little when I see it’s a text from Dustin at Dog is Love. He sent me a photo of a little, big-headed, short-legged mutt with the cutest overbite that ever made a dentist cringe, along with a message:
Flower is ready for her bookmobile debut!
Guilt digs in its nails. Because of me, Flower’s going to miss out on going home with a family of rich tourists who don’t have the sense to say no.
“This can’t be happening,” I mutter to myself.
Just then, because apparently the mounting feeling of—too much, too much, mayday, mayday!—needs a boost, my phone buzzes with another text, this one from “Vain,” the nickname I set for my brother’s best friend, Shane Royce.
Shane’s the kind of guy who can’t walk past a reflective surface without looking in, and can’t take part in a conversation without bending it toward his own purposes. Other than the way he looks, which is, admittedly, quite pleasing, the only thing I like about him is that he loves my brother Danny, but even that he seems to do half-heartedly, like he’d rather not. Like he’s bound to Danny by history but wishes he were instead best friends with someone important.
I’m not particularly interested in anything he has to say, but I am curious about why he felt compelled to say anything at all.
I click through, and my brow furrows.
Hey, Ruthie. Can we meet? I have something important to discuss with you.
My heart starts racing. I can’t think of any good reason why he’d ask to meet. Despite our inescapable presence in each other’s lives, he has as much disdain for me as I do for him. Does Danny have terminal cancer, and he doesn’t know how to tell me? Maybe it says dark things about me that my mind goes there, but I do have an addiction to Lifetime movies. Mostly because I can watch them on my laptop for the price of viewing glitchy ads.
I type out a response.
Just tell me now. What’s wrong?
I’d rather discuss this in person.
Stop being difficult and tell me. This is about Danny, isn’t it? Is he okay? What happened? Or is it Mira?
It’s not about Danny or his girlfriend. I’ll tell you when I see you. Can I swing by your apartment after Izzy goes to bed?
I make a face, because I can think of a dozen other things I’d rather do with my night.
Please? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.
And, I repeat, Danny and his girlfriend are both fine. This doesn’t have anything to do with them.
I’m baffled. It’s probably the only time I’ve ever seen or heard the word “please” from him. What could possibly have motivated the great Shane Royce to use that word, and to me, no less? That and nosiness can be the only explanation for my answer:
Fine. I’ll text you when she’s asleep. Bring me a pastry and something to drink.
