I splash another shot into her glass in case she wants it, then put the bottle back where I found it. I probably shouldn’t even befinishing what I already poured in mine. A few more sips, and I’ll be telling her I have a crush on her.
“Now we bring these,” she says, taking both whiskey glasses into her hands and walking back toward the living room, “back to the couch. Because my feet are freezing.”
I follow her like a pathetic puppy.
There’s a side table on both ends of the couch. She sets my glass down on my side, and the other on hers.
“What page are you on?” she asks.
“Does that count as one of your questions?”
“Sure,” she laughs.
I plop down on the couch and reach for my book to check where I left off. “Ninety.”
“Did anyone get shot or robbed yet?”
“No follow-up questions.”
With a scoff, she cuddles up in her spot, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Fine. Your turn, then.”
“You got a boyfriend?”
Her mouth opens, then closes just as quickly. I might not know all of her tells, but the look on her face is pretty obvious. It’s not a simple answer.
“Never mind. We can skip that ques?—”
“We broke up,” she blurts out. “Yesterday, on my way out here, as a matter of fact.”
You’re fucking kidding me.
“Shit. Was it . . . bad?”
She reaches for her drink and takes a sip with no coughing this time. “Not at all, really. I wasn’t planning on staying with him anyway. I’m happy about it.”
Now would be a great time to drop the no follow-up questions joke. Without pushing her for more, she elaborates on her own.
“It’s silly that we even started up anything remotely serious or exclusive. I mean, we never saw each other, and he didn’t really put in much effort.” She changes her tone for a moment, pulling me out of the story to add context. “I travel pretty much all the time for different photographer gigs, by the way. I don’t know if I told you that. Anyway . . . Other than him hating what I do for a living, I guess the first real hole in the boat was realizing I just didn’t miss him. At all. Time spent away from each other isn’t bad, right? But if I’m not excited to see him again soon, and I’m the one being forced to make sacrifices to save the relationship, he starts looking less like a boyfriend and more like a jumbo red flag flapping in my face.”
I think for a minute, pulling my drink from the side table and holding it in my lap. It’s a little unsettling how much I relate to everything she said. I cross one ankle over my knee and lean back, studying her to see if she’s actually heartbroken but trying to cover it up. She said a lot in just a few sentences, but I’m stuck on the part about him not liking her job.
“He told you he hated what you did for a living?”
Her lips purse and she nods sharply. “Yup.”
I bite down on my molars, looking her right in the eye and shaking my head. “Insecure.”
“Exactly.” She waves a hand in front of her like she’s adding an imaginary exclamation point to my observation. “Thankyou.”
The approval in her smile shouldn’t feel this good. Warm satisfaction mixes with another drink of whiskey, spreading like flames through my chest.
“And let me just say—” She pauses, holding a finger up and taking another drink. “The sex was bad too.”
I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees. As she leans over to set her drink back down, one side of her sweater fallsover her shoulder, giving me a glimpse of a thin white tan line on her skin. I wonder how soft it is.
“Fuck. Sorry, I’m rambling.”
I ignore her apology because I don’t think I’d hate it if she kept rambling at all. “I can’t remember if it’s my turn, but you’re giving me some question ideas that are a whole lot more interesting than small talk.” She whips her head away from the side table and back toward me after hearing that little admission.
