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9
“Oh honey.” Celeste greets me with a hug. Andy, always the more practical of our group, skips the hug in favor of ordering me a double margarita, “heavy on the ta-kill-ya,” he adds, our little in-joke with the bartender at our favorite corner dive.
I huddle into the booth between them. We sit in this corner booth every time we come here, which is probably a lot more often than any of us would care to admit.
I take a long gulp of the margarita before I feel ready to even meet their eyes.
“Tell us everything,” Andy prompts, so I do. I let it all out. Everything from the moment Zayne fought off that creepy stalker I’d been on a date with last week, down to the moment just half an hour ago when I passed him in the lobby and kept right on walking.
“Good for you,” Andy tells me on that last bit, patting my arm as I take another swig of my drink. Spilling my guts is thirsty-making work.
“It doesn’t feel good,” I sigh. “It feels like I got duped again. Zayne is just another playboy, just like that stalker he fought off, only with a slightly better game.”
“At least you got a few good lays out of him?” Celeste, ever the optimist, offers that nugget of wisdom before she finishes off what I’m guessing is not her first margarita.
I groan. “Yeah, but at what cost? That photo is ruining me.”
“It’ll blow over.” Andy shakes his head. “No way Stacy is going to lose such a great employee over something stupid like this. She just had to ask you to stay out of the office for a while to appease the higher-ups, you’ll see. In no time at all she’ll be begging you to come back and this all will be a stupid mistake we can laugh about a few months down the line.”
I glare at him.
“Okay, a few years maybe,” he amends. “But honestly, Clove, it’ll be fine. The internet has a short attention span. Those creepy guys will quit calling soon.”
In response, I shove my phone at him. 32 more missed texts while we’ve been sitting here alone. I watch Andy scroll through some of them and cringe. Then his eyes light up, and before I know it, he’s tapping away on my screen.
“What are you doing?” I ask, nervous, and lean toward him. He pulls the phone away, just long enough to tap a few more times.
“Taking care of at least some of your problems,” he replies. Then he turns the phone around to show me, and I have to bite back a laugh.
He just sent dick pics back to all of the creepy dudes sexting me. Not just any dick pics either, but what appear to be the largest dick he could find online, complete with rainbow-dyed pubes.
I sigh and accept the phone with a nod of thanks.
Celeste leans over to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “Andy’s right. As long as you make sure no more photos leak out…”
I snort. “Yeah, no chance of that ever again. I’ve learned my lesson.” I groan.
“Then, this will blow over eventually. People will get bored and forget about it. And who knows, maybe Zayne will do the right thing and tell you the truth eventually.”
“No chance of that either,” I mutter.
“I don’t know.” Celeste purses her lips. “He sounds like he’s a decent guy, before all this shit anyway.”
“But if he doesn’t tell you what the hell is going on, do not give him the time of day ever again,” Andy butts in. “He owes you an explanation, and if he can’t man up and deliver, then you need to move the hell on to greener pastures.”
“Yeah, but this pasture lives upstairs and works right in my path to work,” I mutter.
“So? That sounds like his problem, not yours.” Andy shakes his head. “Just rise above it. He doesn’t have to bother you unless you let him.”
I nod. It’s good advice. Wise. So why doesn’t it sit right in my stomach? Why do I still feel so worried about all of this?
The topic shifts to work problems, with Celeste and Andy filling me in on all the other boring day-to-day dilemmas that I missed since being sent home this morning like a naughty student headed to the principal’s office. For a while, it’s nice. A good distraction. Normal problems that normal people have, which I’d be dealing with if I didn’t have such a colossal issue weighing me down instead.
But there’s only so much distraction I can take before I have to face reality again. That moment arrives a hell of a lot sooner than I’d like it to when we all lean around to the bar to pay our tabs, down our last margaritas, and head our separate ways.
“I’ll see you guys…” I pause, then bite my lip. I don’t even know when I’ll see them next. I don’t know when I’ll be allowed back into the office again, or how long it’ll be before I can get back to my career and the things that truly matter in my life.
Andy pats my shoulder. “Friday,” he promises. “Happy Hour still stands, no matter what else is going on.”
