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“Yeah, and what do you know?”
“She’s sweet. And cute as hell. And fun to text with. And…”
Freddy stares at me, shaking his head. “You’re such an idiot. You’re going to fuck this all up, you know?”
“Fuck what up?”
“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” He leans forward as if explaining something to a toddler. “You plus Faye equals happily ever after and babies and golden retrievers.”
“Stop it,” I mumble. “She’ll hear you.”
“She can’t hear me,” he says, looking over his shoulder and waving at Megan. She smiles broadly and waves back. But Pasha distracts her and keeps chatting her up.
“Why is she here and Faye is home? This is Faye’s kind of thing.”
“Because I asked Megan to come. Because I’m dating her.”
“Why aren’t you dating Faye?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Of course I’m not.”
“We’re just friends.”
“Okay, now you’re the one who’s kidding.”
“Freddy, stop it. We’re just friends. Everything between us—” I pinch the bridge over my nose and shake my head. “Come on, man, you know her.”
“Yeah, I do. She’s amazing. And so are you. You should be amazing together.”
“Yeah, she’s amazing. But she’s so far out of my league it’s embarrassing.”
“What are youtalkingabout? She looks at you like—”
“Hey guys,” Megan says with a sweet grin. She’s clearly missed Freddy’s ‘pep talk.’ “We just met the guys who run this and they’re doing it again next month. Think we should come back?” Megan is cute as fuck and thinks this is so much fun she wants to come back again next month to repeat this. This could be something. Something I can maintain. Something real.
“Sounds great, baby.” I lean over and press a kiss to her cheek. Her pale skin flushes and her grin widens. I stretch my arm across the back of her chair and sit back. “What do you guys think?”
Pasha shrugs and holds up his marker. “I’ve got my trusty poker.”
Megan giggles.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Freddy says with a tired smile.
21
faye
It’sincredible how unqualified I am to do anything except attend med school.
I’ve had almost three weeks to get used to the idea that I’m no longer a med student. Almost three weeks in which I burned through my meager checking account, avoid passive-aggressive texts from a wannabe maid-of-honor, and question what the hell is going on with Zeke.
But the truth is, I need a job. Because as I’m unmarried and no longer ‘in active pursuit of the pinnacle of academic achievement in the beneficiary’s pre-determined field,’ I’ve been cut off from my trust fund. Reality hit hard last week when I nearly cleaned out my checking account to pay rent.
Aly was sympathetic and offered to ask around her office to see if they were hiring. Caroline told me the universe would provide. Then she passed me a matchbook from Pinky’s.
Zeke insisted that I wouldn’t have to work at New Seasons. He was right. Because they wouldn’t hire me. Apparently, I’m unqualified to scan organic produce and hemp milk.
