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CHAPTER 1
Cassie
I’m going to be homeless.”
I hear Wanda clucking her tongue all the way from her kitchen (which, incidentally, isn’t that far away in a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment), and when I raise my face from the aged velvet of her couch, I can see her shaking a spatula at me. “No pity parties,” she tells me. “You aren’t gonna be homeless. You can take the couch if need be.”
I make a face at the aforementioned velvet couch, glancing from it to the pile of newspapers at the end of it to the television that defies time by refusing to die inside its wooden shell. “I couldn’t... impose,” I say tentatively, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “I’ll figure something out.”
In my third year of grad school for occupational therapy—losing my job as a therapy assistant at the children’s hospital was not part of the plan. I’ve barely been making rentwiththe salarythey were giving me, and now that they’ve had to downsize, my even tinier apartment across the hall from Wanda’s place is looking more and more like it will be a thing of the past very soon.
“Nonsense,” Wanda argues. “You know you’re welcome here.”
I blow one auburn curl away from my face, pushing up from the couch cushions to a sitting position. I’ve known Wanda Simmons for about six years now; I met her when she invited me in for tea after I locked myself out of the apartment my first week here. A seventy-two-year-old woman as my best friend wasn’t exactly on my list of things to accomplish here, but she might be more interesting than I am, so I guess there’s that.
“Wanda,” I sigh. “I love you. You know that, but... you have one bathroom and no Wi-Fi. It would never work out between us.”
“It’s the age difference, isn’t it,” she pouts.
“Absolutely not. You will always be the only woman for me.”
“I’m just saying. The option is there.”
“And what are you going to do when you bring home your bingo men, and I’m sitting here on your couch?”
“Oh, we won’t bother you. We’ll go to the bedroom.”
I grimace. “I am all for you getting yours, but I absolutely don’t want to be on the other side of these very thin walls for it.”
Wanda chuckles as she stirs the sauce for her meatballs. “You could always go back to doing those booby cams.”
I groan. “Please don’t call them booby cams.”
“What? It’s a camera. You show your boobies. You get paid.”
I let my face fall back against her couch. I sort of regret telling Wanda about my...historywith OnlyFans, but I hadn’t quite anticipated that she would be able to handle her tequila better than I did the night I bared it all. Not that I’m ashamed of it, by any means. It was good money. Taking cash from people looking to get their rocks off was an easy decision when faced with a looming tuition bill that I couldn’t begin to pay for otherwise. Imean, good tits should really earn their keep. I think Margaret Thatcher said that once.
“You know I can’t,” I sigh. “I deleted my whole account. All my subs are gone. It would take me another two years to build them back up.”
Besides, I learned my lesson the first time around. At least I keptthatpart to myself.
“Then what are you going to do? Have you been looking for another job?”
“Trying to,” I grumble, scrolling through the same help wanted ads on my phone that have mostly not panned out. “Why put out help wanted ads if they aren’t going to get back with you?”
“Too many people in this city,” Wanda tuts. “You know, when I moved here, you could actually walk down the street and recognize folks. Now it’s like a beehive out there. Always buzzing. Did you know they have a damned grocery store you don’t even use your card in? Just walk in and walk out. Thought I was stealing the whole time. ’Bout gave me heart palpitations.”
“Yes, we talked about the new Fresh store, remember? I helped you set up your account.”
“Oh, yeah. Next thing you know, they’ll be flying groceries right to your door.”
“Wanda, I hate to break it to you, but they already are.”
“No kidding? Hmm. You should set that up too. Save me a damned walk.”
“I guess you’re not so opposed to the future after all.”
“Yeah, yeah. What about the diner on Fifth?”
