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Something dangerously, unreasonably, pathetically close to cheating.
Like she can read my thoughts, or maybe because she’s thinking the same thing, Pen’s expression crumples into something sympathetic—somethingempathetic, because Pen gets it. Not only is she the closest thing I have to family in San Francisco, but she might be the only one who gets what I’m going through. She’s got the career of her dreams too, and the complicated fame to go along with it. Once upon a time, when her now-marriage was still a fledgling crush, havoc was definitely wreaked.
But the difference is, she figured it out. She didn’t have to give up a thing. She got it all in the end while I… well, honestly, it feels like I have a whole lot of nothing.
I might be playing but this isn’t my career, not my old one. I’m not having fun. I’m not thriving. I’m just as alone as I used to be but I’m nowhere near as okay with it.
“C’mon, Cassie.” Pen shakes her head, tipping her head back to shot the end of her drink. “This is getting hard to watch—no.” With another shake of long, blonde hair, she corrects herself. “This was hard to watch, like, two months ago. It’s borderline torture now.”
“You’re the one who invited me out.”
“Because that hotel room is like a sad cesspit of depression. It’s not healthy for you to be holed up in there all the time.”
“I’m not.”
“Right.” She rolls her eyes. “When you’re not in your hovel, you’re killing yourself playing a sport you should’ve retired from years ago with a bunch of men you don’t even like for a team you’ve hated since college. That’s so much better.”
“You always did have a flair for the dramatic.” Just like her sister.
“Oh, sweet hypocrisy.” Pen sighs, forlorn and so worthy of her thespian title, before sobering. Resting a hand on my forearm, she squeezes gently. “I think you should go home, Cass.”
My forehead creases in a frown as I stare at the pink nails tapping against my skin, the truth behind the words about to leave my mouth settling in my gut like a fucking rock. “Don’t think I can.”
I think it’s too late. I think too much time has passed; I think too much time passed the very seconds after I left. I think Pen disagrees, and she’s ready to go to the mat on the matter, but luckily, I’m literally saved by the bell.
Or at least I think I am; I start to reassess when I answer my ringing phone and instead of a jovial greeting, I’m greeted by my sister’s voice shrieking down the line. “You’re an asshole.”
Huffing an exasperated voice, I throw my free hand up in confused defeat—I can’t fucking win tonight. “Hello to you too, Tiny.”
“Don’tTinyme.” A veritable growl echoes in my ear. “Adate, Cass? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Excuse me?”
Ignoring my confusion, Amelia continues her hissing. “You are unbelievable, you know that? Here I am, sticking up for you because I thought you were all lonely and miserable too but—”
“Too?” My ears perk up like a goddamn dog. “What do you meantoo?”
“No,” she snaps. “I’m not telling you anything. I’m Team Sunday. You’re a dick. A dating dick.”
“Amelia, I’m not on a date.”
Her huff is less than convinced. “Don’t tell me—it’s a fake date. I hear youlovethose.”
“How—”
“Kate told me.”
“How—”
“Well, obviously Sunday told her.”
“What?”
“Don’t,” she chastises, every mama-bear instinct she possesses lacing her tone. “She was frustrated. And sad. And probably a little jealous because I don’t give a shit what either of you say, none of that was fake. I can’tbelieveyou didn’t tell me. I can’t believe you’re out right now flaunting your new hook-up in Sunday’s face. Her very pregnant face, in case you forgot.”
“Will you just—”
“No. I’m so freaking pissed at you right now, you have no idea.”
