Bridget’s laugh is a low rumble. “Oh. Ohhhh. You definitely feltit,” she teases, sitting back and clasping her hands like a Disney villain. “I’ll take Horned-Up for 500.”
I level her with a look. “You know what?Feelingsaren’t the problem, okay? The problem is I’m still here. Which means I’m not there. In my real apartment. Doing my real job. Living down the street from Ryan, who’s totally different there, by the way, and…” I take a breath. My eyes prick with tears. “And I have a very real breakup to deal with, too, with an ex I’m supposed to meet here. Today. In a little over an hour.” My stomach churns.
Bridget gives me a sympathetic look. “Ruby,” she says. “I have to ask. Did you use tongue?”
I huff out an irritated breath. “Are you serious?”
“It’s just a thought, okay?” She shrugs. “Maybe the kiss wasn’t passionate enough. Or the sleepover-game powers that be didn’t buy your act.”
“It wasn’t an act,” I blurt out, and Bridget’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. Flustered, I trip over the truth. “It wasn’t even just one kiss, okay? It was a full-on make-out situation. With hands involved. And hips.”
“Hips?!”
“Yes. Hips. So, if that wasn’t enough for the MASH gods, then I don’t know what they’re looking for, because as far as I’m concerned, Penn and I nearly rounded second base.”
I regret my detailed rundown immediately. Bridget looks almost as excited as she did when I gave her a signedDawson’s Creekposter I bought on eBay. She had one hell of a crush on Dawson’s dad.
“Maybe second base wasn’t enough,” she says. “Maybe you need to take it all the way home.”
“Bridget, MASH is a game for middle schoolers. That’s not the answer.”
She shrugs. “Might be worth a shot.”
I shoot her a disapproving look, but I can’t pretend I haven’t considered how last night’s activities might have looked if we’d moved them from the beanbag to the bedroom.
No way am I admitting as much aloud.
Bridget’s phone dings, and when she eyes the screen, she beams. “Ohmygod.”
“What is it?” I ask.
She wriggles her eyebrows. “Ethan just asked me on a second date.”
“Wait. You went out with him?” Ethan Jones is the new school librarian. Tall, shy, and British. The latter is what really grabbed her attention.
Bridget laughs. “Oh, is that not a thing where you’re from?” She texts him back wearing a girlish glow so obvious, it’s almost cartoonish. “We got drinks before school started, and I was starting to worry we were a one-and-done thing, but I think he’s just nervous. Cute, right?”
I nod, a little unsteady. I know all about the drinks-before-school date. In reality, I talked her out of it. I told her it seemed risky to date a colleague, and she cackled and pointed fingers, noting that I didn’t just date my colleague—I also lived with him. I insisted it was different. Connor and I had already mapped out our future when I joined his dad’s firm.
Joke’s on me.
Bridget sets down her phone and props her head in her hands. “He asked me to shop with him for Halloween decorations after school today.” She lets out an airy laugh. “That’s our second date: a trip to HomeGoods.”
I’ve listened to Bridget talk about many a man. We’ve rehashed a lot of dates. But never have I ever seen her turn into a human Lite-Brite.
“Our third date will be the pool party,” she adds.
“What pool party?”
“The one we’re hosting this weekend. At your house.”
“Um, no? I’ll take Not Happening for 300.”
She laughs. “But it will be good for you!”
Classic Bridget, offering me pool-party plans instead of get-back-to-reality advice. By all means, let’s drink jungle juice and toss a beach ball while I’m struggling for my life over here.
“This is serious, okay?” I stand and sling my wildly unserious sequin purse over my shoulder. “I need a new exit plan, like, now.”
