Ford: When I drive, Skylar. I don’t watch TV when I drive.
Skylar: But you do watch it?
She wants to tease me. I take the bait. It’s making the hot tub even moreenjoyable, after all.
Ford: What do you think?
She paces her kitchen, then turns to the window. I tense—but only for a second. Turns out she’s staring at the sky—not next door, just the sky—before returning to her phone.
Skylar: I bet you watch how-to-make-a-kale-smoothie videos. I bet you look up ‘how to train your dog to shake.’ I bet you watch tutorials on how to fix a dishwasher if it breaks.
I stare at the phone, then across the yard, then back at my screen. Fuck. She’s scarily good.
Ford: I like The Office too.
And I should say goodnight, but I don’t. Curiosity has me in a chokehold. Also, I need to know if I’m right.
Ford: And you? Do you watch decorating shows? Comedy specials from women comics? Zombie shows?
Skylar: Why women?
Ford: They’re usually funnier than men.
Skylar: True, true.
Ford: And the answer?
I glance to the right, just to check. She’s sitting on a kitchen stool now, I think, and…damn. Is that a smile on her face as she replies?
My chest feels a little warm.
No shit. You’re in a hot tub.
Skylar: Tonight, I’m bingeing how to impress your client with the best kale smoothie ever.
I know that’s not what she’s doing. I could call bullshit, but instead, I grin and call her bluff.
Ford: Can’t wait.
7
SEXY RENO GUY
SKYLAR
The next morning, I walk in early to the podcast studio in the Mission District—because no one ever slays by being late. My matchmaker friend Isla uses this studio for her wildly successful dating advice show, and I snagged some recording time here for my design podcast. Pretty sure she struck asure, we’ll let your friend use the space as long as we can have you tookind of deal, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.
In the break room, I’m pouring another cup of iced coffee when Trevyn walks in with Mabel. Her caramel-colored hair falls in perfect waves since she has perfect hair, blonde streaks and all. I’d be jealous if I didn’t love her so much. She dictates into her phone as she enters: “I’m not going to tell him how to boil an egg because boiled eggs are gross.” Then she hits send, looks up, and says with zero apology, “My brother. I’m trying to stop him from making an egg salad.”
“You’re doing the Lord’s work,” I say solemnly.
“She always is,” Trevyn says, “and so is Simon.” He waggles his phone at me then clears his throat and reads, “Waiting for Mom to finally take dance lessons. If she improves, maybe she can make some cash shaking it—gotta fund my posh lifestyle somehow.”
He’s reading straight from my dog’s social feed.
“Simon’s shameless. What can I say? He’s practically begging for a sponsorship,” I reply.
“He deserves one,” Mabel says.
