“I’m considering moving back to Buffalo,” she says.
“Why now?”
The charms in her bracelet clink when she twists her glass on the counter. “I’m interested in covering the Steel permanently. Some of my best memories are in Buffalo. It makes sense.”
“Here you go.” The bartender sets down our plates, cutting through the silence.
“No one died,” Kenya laughs. “We have a good time together. Maybe we can see where it goes now that we’ll see each other more.”
I sigh. “Don’t move for anyone but yourself.”
“Are you still single?”
In one ear and out the other. “Technically, yes. I’m not trying to be mean, but I would’ve pursued something with you years ago if I felt it. Don’t let me be a factor in your decision.”
Kenya blinks at her plate. She’s got an iron grip on her fork, like she might use it to draw blood. “Let me worry about me,” she says through a whisper.
“I’ll pay back what you spent at Marcela’s fundraiser.”
Marcela!
I knock over my fork and knife to get to my phone.
“Are you okay?”
“Yup. Shit.” My phone scolds me for entering the wrong password twice. “Just checking something—aha!”
If Miriam isn’t answering her phone, maybe she’s with her sister. That would rule out the potential of a house fire.
My fingers run a mile a minute to pull up Marcela’s social media. What pops up on her personal page has me swearing under my breath.
The video is dark, but strobe lights capture Miriam in the club clear as day, She’s in a black dress that hugs her ass and heels that require a special license to operate. She fidgets with her hands and gets a slap on the ass from her sister when she tries to sit down.
Two other women surround her, making a half circle. Cheers ensue, and the smooth hips I’ve kissed flare to life with Mariah Carey’s “It’s Like That.” I grin at Miriam’s dimples tipped to the ceiling, along with her hands threading through the air.
Her joy is contagious, a high that requires a daily hit and protection at all costs.
“Get it, sis!” Marcela screams from the other side of the camera. “You might bag another engineer.”
I beg your fucking pardon.
“Are you okay?” Kenya’s brows knit. “You have a vein the size of a hose poking out your forehead.”
My throat tightens, and my lungs constrict. “I’m fine,” I growl.
There’s no way Miriam found love in the two weeks we haven’t seen each other. She’s not dating. That’s need-to-know information for your best friend, along with hand signals when you’re over a party or what music to play at your funeral.
She wouldn’t. Not with Dickhead or anyone else.
Hopefully she’s still on the market.
I’ll be damned. Bread was right.
“Ready to go?” I pull out my wallet.
“You barely ate.” Kenya frowns at my plate.
“Right.”
