Page 2 of All The Ways to Miss You

“Just play along, please.”

“Fine. It’s an intergalactic injustice.” I punch my fist into the air.

She does a cheerleading jump, her arms and legs spread wide. Her blond hair bounces and swings in the air before she surprisingly nails a solid landing. Then she gracelessly hikes her leggings around her waist.

“Listen, the point I’m trying to make is there’s nothing wrong with sampling the goods. I could say we should explore our sexuality, but what I’m saying is we need to have fun.”

She giggle-snorts, stumbling with a drunken sway to the car’s hood. The car catches her fall, and her hair spills over her jean jacket dotted with artsy enamel pins. With a squeak, she lifts herself, joining me again. The weight of the alcohol makes her slump heavy at my side. She’s winding down. Even the sun needs to sleep.

Her words slowing, she says, “With your job, you meet a ton of hot, eligible men. I’ve seen them parade around the office. They can’t help but flirt with you.”

“They can’t?” I can’t recall any man ever flirting with me.

“Don’t act like you don’t know. And if you don’t, start paying attention.” She pokes my arm as if to drive her point home. “The point is, why not have a little naughty time with them in those empty offices you’re trying to lease?”

I try not to sigh. Even though I helped her land a job as our new office assistant, she’s been quick to make her own rules.

“Because I could lose my broker’s license.”

“But it would be consensual sex.”

“In a client’s property.”

“Making it even hotter,” she says with a slur.

As far as I can recall, I haven’t noticed a guy in . . . well, ever. Not in that way. Not after. Since I arrived in Chicago, I’ve been slammed at work and preparing to land an important client. There’s been no time for a guy in any capacity, not that I would want one.

“How do you get over a guy so fast?” I ask.

“Sometimes I don’t think you know anything. How did you make it this far in life, looking like you do, and have no experience with men?” She gives me a suspicious glare.

I give her my standard answer, the one I always use when I can’t make sense of social dating conventions. Ones I probably understood before. “I don’t know. Late bloomer?”

Aggie’s face scrunches like she’s unconvinced. But since she’s always willing to school me on important issues such as these, she continues with her fast talk. “There are basic rules to the romance universe every woman should know. Brad and I dated for three months. The acceptable equation for getting over a breakup is two days for every month we were together. I should have been over him by day six, and it’s now day eight. So I’m already behind schedule and wasting precious flirting time.”

“Makes sense. I think.” I pause, giving my thoughts time to find their way back to where this conversation started. “Aggs, there’s someone amazing out there for you, but in the meantime, maybe you should enjoy time by yourself?”

This seems like a reasonable game plan. The safe plan. That’s my plan.

“What’s that dating app called again?” She slides her finger across a line of icons on her phone. “You should download it too.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, hoping she’ll drop the subject.

Seconds pass before Aggie’s arms loosen in her lap, her fingers easing off her phone. Her heavy breathing becomes a purring snore. As she snoozes, I rest my head against hers and exhale.

What would it be like to let loose and be different—to be like Aggie? I may not want to be serious with someone, but why not take her suggestion and bypass the crap and have a little fun? I smirk and relax a little at the hazy thought. Under the influence, the word fun sounds nice.

“Hey! Get off my car!” The command pierces the silence.

I whip my head toward the voice and spot an older man charging in our direction. I suck in a sharp breath and jab Aggie with my elbow.

“What?” She jolts awake with a grunt and looks around with an annoyed expression. Rubbing her eyes, she yawns.

She’s moving at sloth speed, so I hook my arm with hers and drag her from the car’s hood. When my feet hit the ground, Aggie stumbles at my side. Every distasteful name she growls fades into the background when the approaching man steps under a streetlight, and its beam reflects off his police badge. Pure fear shoots through my veins as the terrifying thought of breaking the law sobers me.

“Run!” Aggie yells, finally comprehending my urgency.

My heart beats rapidly as I sprint behind her. Mr. Police Officer follows in pursuit, but when I glance back a few minutes into our chase, the poor guy’s doubled over with his hands propped on his knees.