But Sofia’s not here now. I’m on my own.
You get further in life with good manners and good posture.
“I—” I straighten my spine and hope for the best. “I just meant that Miles doesn’t usually need my notes until the next morning, so that’s when you’ll get them.”
I don’t wait for a reply. Nope, I turn tail and bolt from the boardroom like the coward I am.
So much for showing no fear.
Twenty minutes later I’m camped out on my couch sans bra (virtual classes FTW!) with my laptop and a prickly pear margarita. Professor Donnelly is giving a lecture on applied research and consulting projects, but I’m not feeling it. His normally infectious passion for industrial and organizational psychology is lost on me thanks to my meet-hate with Nick Hart.
Yeah, well, you were no peach, either, mkay?
Mama would die of shame if she knew how I’d behaved today.
I take a giant gulp of my margarita. The alcohol slides down my throat in all its fruity pink goodness, and my taste buds give a standing ovation.
Perfection.
Whoever said margs and online learning weren’t a thing is a damn liar.
The apartment door flies open and Sofia bursts into the living room. She has a pair of gold sunnies perched on her head, and her arms are weighed down with reusable bags bearing her employer’s logo. She works for a small tech startup, and they’re forever sending her home with swag and product samples. It’s pretty freaking great, except for the fact that our tiny two-bedroom apartment has zero storage.
But that’s a problem for another day.
“Hola, chica!” She uses her foot to push the door shut, and when she spots myzero fox giventumbler, her face lights up. “If that’s a bevvy, there better be one for me, too.”
I roll my eyes. “Have you ever known me to make a single cocktail?”
“Nope.” She drops her bags and kicks off her sandals, dark hair cascading over her shoulder like a waterfall. “It’s why we’re besties.”
“Preach.” I raise my glass in salute. “Grab a drink and get your butt in here. We need to talk.”
Sofia arches a brow. “You’re stuck with me, so you can save whatever breakup speech you’ve prepared.”
We’ve been friends since that day in ninth grade when she told Laurel Ann exactly where she could shove her missing pom-poms. Sofia probably knows me better than my own parents, which means she knows how much I suck at confrontation. And public speaking. And really anything where I can’t prepare in advance.
So, basically, real life.
I double check to ensure my microphone is muted. Though I’m sure the entire class would find my work drama fascinating, I’ve had enough public humiliation for one day. No need to present them with a real-life case study of whatnotto do in the workplace.
“If anyone’s getting the ax,” I say gravely, alcohol churning in my belly, “it’ll be me.”
“Mierda.” Sofia frowns and makes a beeline for the fridge. When she returns with her own cocktail—in a proper margarita glass with a cactus stem—she curls up at the other end of the couch, off camera.
What Professor Donnelly doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“Cuéntame.” She takes a sip of her drink, and her eyes go wide. “Damn, girl.”
Probably should have warned her I doubled the tequila.
“So, I had a run-in with Nick Hart—”
“Mr. Perfect?” she asks, cutting me off with far too much enthusiasm, which fair, because I drank an entire bottle of wine on New Year’s and waxed poetic about his sinful smirk.
“That’s the one. I may have—” I pause, replaying the scene in my head. It’s even worse the second time around. “No, there’s nomayhaveabout it. I definitely blew him off. And disobeyed a direct order. And I’m probably going to get fired in the morning, and it’ll be back to the coffee cart, and then I’ll never be able to pay off my student loans, and what if he blacklists me, and I never get another job in Austin?” A fresh wave of panic bears down on me like a brood of cicadas. “I’ll have to move to Houston.” I shudder. “Or Brady.”
Don’t get me wrong. My hometown is nice, but it’s tiny. Like population five thousand tiny. When I packed my bags for college, I never looked back. It didn’t matter that I had to work my ass off to pay for school. Or that my academic scholarships barely covered half of my tuition.
