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Because a pissed-off Betty equals a pissed-off Carly, and I’d prefer not to repeat cleaning up toilet paper off someone’s lawn at four in the morning again.
Just before I grab the large trash can by the handle, I send Carly a quick text.
Me: Taking Stella’s trash out for you.
I’d bet money when she reads it, her first thought will be, It’s trash day?
Her track record with remembering that day, along with the set-in-stone time and Betty Matthews’s strict rules, is nonexistent.
The simple thought of it all makes me grin.
Pretty sure you mean the thought of her makes you grin…
I can’t deny she has become someone who’s…important to me.
Carly is just so fun and full of life, and she shakes up my world in a way that makes me want to see her all the fucking time.
I like her.
Okay, I really like her.
Actually, you’re falling for her, man.
That contemplation should shock me to my core, but it doesn’t.
It’s simply the truth—I’m falling for Carly Page.
Normally, I’d be diving brain-first into a deep analysis of the circumstances of our reality, but for once in my life, I’m not going to overanalyze every finite detail.
I refuse to weigh out the pros and cons of our impending departure from Florida or the fact that I live in New York and she lives in Colorado. Or that I’m a very career-focused VP in the corporate environment, and she’s an adorable ski bunny who has to rely on her shop manager Brody to keep shit in order.
In a lot of respects, we’re very much opposites. But if I’m being honest with myself, even if I did let my mind go there, no matter what my analytical findings and overall risk assessment would be, I still couldn’t resist her.
She makes me feel too good.
Too happy.
Too real.
Still standing in Stella’s garage, I shake myself out of my inner monologue, grab the trash can, and start dragging it to the curb.
By the time I have it settled at just the right spot at just the right angle at just the right distance from the street, I walk back to Stella’s garage, shut it with the keycode, and head in the direction of my dad’s house.
Before I reach the porch, my phone chimes in the pocket of my suit jacket.
Carly: My hero! You probably just prevented a fistfight between me and BM.
I laugh. BM. One of her many nicknames for Betty. It’s truly unfortunate that anyone ends up with those initials. Surely in elementary school it was a teasing land mine.
Me: I take it you forgot it was trash day.
Carly: Are you kidding me? Of course I did.
I laugh. Knew it.
Me: How’s shopping going?
Carly: Well, Stella spent two hours in Michael Kors thinking about a purse that she didn’t end up buying and made three dance vids in the middle of the freaking mall for her stupid TikTok, so…
Me: The time of your life, then?
Carly: Oh yeah. If the time of my life feels like being trapped beneath Satan’s fiery asshole, then yes. Most definitely. We’re a walking, talking Cyndi Lauper music video over here… Pretty sure the new, Stella-focused remix would go something like… “Girls just wanna have fun at Bath & Body Works and buy eleventy-billion hand soaps because it’s completely normal, Carly. People love when their hands smell nice!”
I shake my head on another laugh and step back inside my dad’s house, shutting the door behind me. When I find him exactly where I left him—still taking a nap on the couch, I head into the dining room to try to wrap up the workday.
But instead of actually focusing, I mull over the truth that it’s been over forty-eight hours since Carly and I have managed actual alone time. And before I know it, my cell is in my hands again and I’m sending her another text.
Me: Do you want to know what I want to do?
Carly: Call in a fake bomb threat to the mall so Stell and I have to evacuate Bath & Body Works before she buys out all the antibacterial hand soap?
Always the little troublemaker.
Me: HA. That’s not even remotely close. And don’t even try asking me to do that. IT’S NOT HAPPENING.
Carly: Booo. Lame.
Carly: But tell me, what DO you want to do?
Me: I want to steal you away. Just the two of us.
Carly: Like a secret rendezvous? Just you and me?
Me: Precisely.
Carly: I’m VERY intrigued. But how are we going to manage that without the geriatric cockblockers finding out?
I smirk. It’s not easy keeping whatever it is we’re doing under wraps from our parents. Frankly, it’s becoming quite the challenge, but that’s why I’m currently seeking out new ways to get her alone and all to myself.
Me: Tomorrow night. It’s happening. I’ve decided.
Carly: Are you suggesting we sneak out when they’re both asleep?
