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“Yeah,” I said, pouring fresh water into the coffeemaker before setting it to brew. “I got fired because I inadvertently gave myself a golden shower with some football player’s pee.”
Abby grinned. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Damn, girl, you really know how to make a first impression.”
“Tell me about it,” I muttered and grabbed two cups from the cabinet. “Probably one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.”
“What was his name?”
“Whose name?”
“The guy who peed on you.”
“Oh my God. He didn’t pee on me,” I corrected through an incredulous laugh. “His pee just managed to spill out of his cup and onto me.”
“Sounds kinky.”
“Shut up.”
“Have you showered since then?”
“Oh my God, Abby!” I exclaimed on a disturbed laugh. “Of course I showered since then.”
She just grinned, completely unfazed, and continued her original line of questioning. “But seriously, what was his name?”
I sighed. “Leo.”
Gorgeous Leo. You’d have to be blind to forget a face or name like that.
Not to mention, you tended to remember the name of the guy whose urine you got to know on an up close and far too personal basis.
“Last name?”
“Landry.”
“Leo Landry.” She tested his name on her lips. “Sounds like a hot guy’s name.”
“Well, he wasn’t ugly,” I admitted. Because, yeah, he wasn’t ugly.
Far from it, actually.
“Did you get his number?”
An unexpected and incredulous laugh left my lips. “Um, no. I know it’s a shock, but that didn’t come up while I was taking an impromptu bath in his urine.”
“I should probably be far more grossed out by that than I am,” she said, and her voice turned way too wistful and dreamy for a conversation revolving around pee. “You know,” she added, “it’s a bit romantic in a weird sort of way.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I’m nuts?” she asked, stepping forward to pour herself some coffee without preamble. “I’m not the one running around pouring pee on myself.”
“And you’re annoying. Remind me again, why do you have a key to my place?”
“Because you love me.”
She was right, though I was having a really hard time remembering the whys or hows of my affection at the moment. Abby just grinned at me over her shoulder and headed back into my living room, plopped her ass down onto my couch, and turned on the TV.
“What are your plans for today?” I asked as I poured creamer into my coffee and stirred it in with a spoon. Maybe, if nothing else, I could use her as a distraction.
“Probably go into work for a bit. Not sure yet, though.” She shrugged. “What about you?”
“Well, I was supposed to go to work, but that’s obviously not an option.”
“You know what we should do?”
“What?”
“Go see that new Bradley Cooper movie.”
I scrunched up my nose. “But I thought you had to work?”
“Meh. I’ll go in tomorrow.” She shrugged again and took a sip from her mug.
“How do you still have a job there?” I asked and sat down beside her.
“Because my espresso brings all the boys to the yard.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re literally the most random person I know.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, girlfriend,” she said with a grin. “Only one year away from finishing an engineering degree and making six figures a year, and you said fuck it.”
“Yeah, well, that was solely out of self-preservation,” I explained.
Which was one hundred percent the truth. It was either I dropped out of college or prepared for an early death born out of boredom less than five years into the job.
Call me crazy, but I wanted to live past thirty, thank you very much.
A little grin crested the corners of Abby’s mouth as she looked at me over her cup of coffee. “And because you’re supposed to be a musician, not some stuffy old engineer in an office.”
“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ve only played open mic nights. That doesn’t make me some kind of music superstar.”
Sure, I loved music, but just because you loved something didn’t make it a surefire career. The music business was really hard. Demanding and exclusive and nearly impossible to break in to. I couldn’t imagine what my parents would think if I told them music was the big reason I’d thrown away everything they’d ever dreamed of.
I was pretty sure their heads would explode.
For now, I was more than happy to keep my passion for singing and song-writing a really enjoyable hobby.
“Yeah, but you’re crazy good, Gem,” Abby insisted, changing the channel to Blue Planet and shifting her body like she was swimming with the damn whales.
“I’m okay,” I said honestly, thinking she was distracted enough by nature’s bounty to ignore me.
Apparently, she was better than me at multitasking. “Your self-deprecation is starting to annoy me,” she remarked with narrowed eyes.
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have to subject yourself to it if you didn’t magically show up in my apartment like David fucking Blaine.”
