Page 117 of Keeping Score

“This is normal,” she said far too casually to be believable. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” I laughed. “We’ve never been friends, Maggie.”

“Well, we are now,” she said. “And as your friend, I’m allowed to give you advice.”

The word friend felt toxic on my tongue when regarding the two of us, but I figured I’d use it to my advantage.

“So, as my friend,” I leaned into her, “you can come hang out with me and my other friends, then?” I raised my eyebrows in challenge.

“Absolutely not.” She frowned.

“Why?”

“There’s no way in hell I’m having another front-row seat to watch you and your ex-girlfriend snogging all over Boston.”

“We’re not—” I said, but my phone started ringing, cutting me off.

“Answer it,” she gestured toward the phone currently flashing a face of Matt T.’s crappy senior photo.

I sighed and reached for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Dude,” Matt said, “we’re on our way to pick you up because you weren’t answering the phone.”

“Most people would take that as a hint,” I grimaced.

“A hint of what?” His voice transported me back to my teen years, reminding me of the calls we’d had when I was sixteen and had nothing better to do than ride around our neighborhood with him.

“That I’m occupied, Matt.” I said, but couldn’t help but laugh. There was a comfort in the way he hadn’t really changed at all over the years.

A sort of sadness, too.

“Dude,” he blew out a breath, “you sound way more uptight than you used to be. I thought money and fame were supposed to mellow a person out.”

I laughed.

“We’re only kidnapping you for a little bit, then you can get back to your regularly scheduled drama or whatever it is you’re up to lately.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Maggie was already reaching over to grab the phone from my hands.

“He’ll come,” she said, darting around the kitchen island with my phone pressed to her ear.

“Maggie,” I said, maneuvering around to chase her.

Her arm flailed out, phone extended just out of my reach as we did what probably looked like some type of badly choreographed dance around the kitchen.

“Give me the phone, Mags,” I told her, fingers reaching out to grab it. I could vaguely hear Matt’s muffled voice from the phone until Maggie pressed the speakerphone button and the room was filled with the sound of my childhood best friend.

“—must be the hot ex, right?” he said with interest.

“Shut up, Matt,” I called out, trapping Maggie in my arms while we fought over my cellphone.

Maggie laughed.

“Because you’re more than welcome to join us,” he said with insinuation.

“Oh, I don’t think—”