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But right now, I need to focus on one thing: making sure Greer is safe. Because that’s all that matters. Going home to a girl who feels safe with me because I take care of my own.
Walking into Walgreens to buy Plan B is weird. Usually I’m here to pick up my Zoloft prescription and/or condoms. Maybe a pack of gum too.
Tonight I’m on a different mission. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the pharmacy at the back of the store is lit up.
There’s only one person in line. Thank God this won’t take long.
While I wait, I shoot Greer a quick text, letting her know I’m next up. I’m itching to get back to her. To make this right.
I glance over my shoulder. No one is nearby. Good. I don’t need a friend or coworker asking me why I’m at Walgreens at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night buying Plan B. This is between Greer and me. It’s a private matter.
The cashier, a woman with pink glasses that match her hair, smiles at me when it’s my turn.
I walk up to the counter and lean in a little closer than I normally would. In a low voice, I tell her what I need.
“You’re in luck. We just got it back in stock,” she says, turning to grab a box from a nearby shelf.
I feel that heaving sensation again. “You were out of it?”
“Ridiculous, I know,” she scoffs. “After the Supreme Court decision, I think a lot of people were panic-buying it.”
“Wow,” is all I can think to say. I can’t imagine how much more stressful an already intense situation would be if this nice lady were turning me away right now.
Making a note to send money to Planned Parenthood, I slide my AmEx into the card reader.
“Any questions about the medication?” the cashier asks.
The reader beeps. I remove my card and tuck it into my wallet. Then I take the plastic bag from the woman. “Exactly how effective is Plan B? And what side effects should we look out for?”
She patiently answers both questions, and even points me in the direction of a couple websites that are especially helpful.
Thanking her, I turn for the exit.
And run right into none other than George fucking Fieldstone, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BROOKS
“Well, well, well. Look whose man-rocket lifestyle finally caught up with him.”
My stomach takes a sudden, sharp dip. Heat floods my face. “You’re one to talk.”
“Don’t change the subject. I heard you over there.” Porg nods at the pharmacy.
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Who’s the lucky lady?”
Fuck me, I really am going to be sick. All over the Walgreens floor.
“What are you doing here?” I deflect, glancing at the items in his hands. George lives in SouthEnd, which is a couple miles away from Uptown, where we are now. I’ve never run into him around here.
He holds up a box of allergy medicine and a can of shaving cream. “My allergies are fucking killing me right now.”
“Sorry to hear. I should go—”
“If I didn’t know any better”—he lifts an elbow to keep me from passing—“I’d say you were avoiding me. Everything okay? Well, aside from nearly knocking up some poor girl.”
He meets my eyes. My pulse throbs. He’s giving me a hard time, but I know he’s genuinely concerned about me. Which I appreciate. So damn much.
Do I tell him? Greer and I agreed we needed to. Well, sort of. Ideally we’d tell him together, after carefully crafting the message and how we’d deliver it. But I don’t want to lie to him right now.
I also don’t want to upset Greer any more than she already is. If I come home with the news that I ran into her brother and blurted out to him Hey, I’m buying this Plan B for your sister because she and I hooked up and the condom broke . . .
Yeah, that’s not a good look for anyone. It might send Greer over the edge.
Hell, it might send me over the edge.
What if it sends Porg over the edge too? What if he cuts me off, never talks to me again? The thought makes the saliva in my mouth thicken.
Then again, the longer I keep this from him, the worse it’s going to be. I haven’t lied to his face. But I’m not telling him the truth either.
I’m not that kind of friend. If Porg was hooking up with Lizzie behind my back, I’d be livid.
I’d want to know.
Still, I really should wait for Greer to be here before spilling the proverbial beans.
“Dude.” George frowns. “You look like you’re about to puke. Why don’t you sit down for a minute? There’s some chairs over—”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, more sharply than I intended. “See you in the morning.”
I make my way past him. Throat tight. A sting in my eyes.
