Page 26 of The F*ck-It List

“August,” Eli hisses at me.

Yes, I know, I’m a douche canoe.

“Myespresso machine broke, and my neighbour hates me,” Bea wails, still hunched over the bar with her head on the wood. “My books are ruined, and my mum doesn’t even want to visit me.”

I look at Eli and he looks back at me, both of us clueless as to what to do or say. If he’s struggling, I have absolutely no chance.

“I’m so far away from my best friend, they don’t even bother telling me they’re dating the girl they’ve been crushing on for a year. Oh, and my favourite jeans are too tight!”

“Um,” Eli says awkwardly, clearly trying to come up with some reassurance, although, if he’s anything like me, he has no idea what she’s really saying.

Bea’s head snaps up, cheeks wet and flushed, and looks at Eli with sad eyes. “These were my faithful jeans, you know? They’ve always done up, through period bloating and Christmas weight. But today they decided to give up on me, just like everyone else.”

Eli tilts his head with sympathy. “I’m sure that’s not—”

“And my ex-boyfriend, the dullest man on planet Earth, is sending dick pics to his new girlfriend!” Bea throws her arms up, the movement making her sway on her stool.

“Oh, okay,” Eli says, blinking rapidly.

“Look,” Bea takes her phone from a pocket in her leggings, struggling a bit.”

“Oh, that’s okay—”

“This is the guy who didn’t want to take a week off for a trip to Spain with me,” she continues, scrolling on her phone as she holds it a little too close to her face before turning the screen to Eli. He flinches, like he might be assaulted with an unwanted phallus. But when he sees the screen, his brows shoot up and his eyes go wide.

“Holy hell, that’s your ex?”

Involuntarily, I crane my neck to get a better look, but I can’t see. Eli takes the phone from Bea to look more closely and then twists it to show me, like I’m part of the conversation even though Bea is definitely pouring her soul out to Eli. The screen shows a handsome guy in swim trunks with model levels of abs, one arm slung around a surfboard.

“Despite my better judgement,” Bea says, slightly slurred, apparently not caring Eli was showing me her phone. “I stalked him on Instagram and apparently, he and his ‘girlfriend’”—she does air quotes around the word— “went to Australia for three weeks before Christmas.” Eli passes her phone back and winces at her in apology. “So, even Dull Dick is doing better than me right now.”

“You’re doing great, Bea,” Eli tries to assure her. “It’s brave what you’ve done, moving away, starting a business, living alone. You’re doing great things, and you should be proud of yourself. Maybe you’ve had some hiccups, but I think the stress of moving and the wine is making them seem worse than they are right now.”

She nods, her lip wobbling. “I think I might be drunk,” she whimpers.

Eli nods. “Yeah, I think so too. Let’s maybe take this away.” He picks up the now empty bottle and drops it into the glass bin behind the bar.

“You’re so nice,” Bea says, looking up at him like he’s the chosen one to take away all of her problems and my gut lurches in my belly because I want to take away her problems…even though, I’m probably the biggest problem of all. “You’d come to Spain for a week of mediocre sex and paella with me, wouldn’t you?”

Eli, because he’s a gentleman, does an absolutely stellar job, of holding his amusement at bay while he smiles at her and lays a big hand on her shoulder. “Sure, but you should probably know I’msupergay, so the sex would probably be worse than mediocre.”

Bea does not look the least bit disappointed by this revelation, making me think she isn’t actually hoping to fuck my best friend, and I don’t want to examine the relief filling me too closely. Instead, she gives a half smile. “That figures, the nice ones usually are.”

Eli chuckles a little and visibly squeezes her shoulder before letting her go. Bea sighs and lowers her head to the bar again, this time laying her cheek atop it and closing her eyes. Then Eli is in front of me, looking far less friendly.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously what?” I feign innocence.

“You told her you hate her?” Eli being mad at me is worse than my parents being mad at me. His disappointment always stings because he’s usually the one who ignores my surliness and bad moods, making jokes about it rather than telling me to try harder. So, having him look at me with those narrowed green eyes like I’ve just kicked a puppy gives me an uncomfortable squirmy feeling in my belly.

“Not in so many words.” It’s the wrong thing to say because he huffs and sucks on his teeth like he does when he’s really mad.

“You need to get over it, August. Seriously, because you’re actually a pretty decent guy and I like calling you my friend. But if you don’t make this right, you’re not doing yourself justice and you’re making it hard to stick by you.”

“I know,” I groan, swiping a calloused hand over my overgrown stubble. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologise to.” We both look over to Bea, who may have fallen asleep.