“You hungry? Thirsty?” Tayler asks from the kitchen.
“I’d take some water. I need to take one of these pain pills.”
“Sure.”
She brings me water and a package of crackers. “You need to eat something with those things.”
“Thanks, Tay.”
“No problem.”
I take the pills, then pull a cracker from the sleeve and nibble while Tayler stands beside the sofa. I hear her sniffle and jerk my head up to look at her. “What’s wrong?”
“You could’ve been killed.” Her sniffles are becoming more frequent.
“I wasn’t.”
“Fucking scooters,” she snaps.
“It wasn’t Bluebelle’s fault. It was the idiot driver of the SUV.”
Wiping her eyes, she scowls at me. “You know what I mean.”
I do.
She sniffles once more. “You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’m right here. I’m fine.”
“I know.” Her voice is so soft that I barely heard those two words. “You should call your boyfriend and tell him you’re okay.”
What boyfriend? “He’s… not. This morning….” I can’t seem to finish what I’m trying to say.
“Jesus, you did have a bad day, didn’t you?”
“Told you.”
Running her hand over my head, she whispers, “Poor Q.” Sitting on the coffee table in front of me, she smiles. “We should totally live together.”
Bam.There it is. “You think?” I try to seem surprised at her suggestion.
“Absolutely. We’d have a blast.”
I smile, then wince because my cheek hurts like a mofo.” We would.” I hold my good hand out to her for a shake. “Roomies.”
She takes my hand and beams. “Roomies.”
* * *
The second Taylerleaves to go to bed, I pick up my phone. I’d turned it on at the hospital so I could call Tayler. When I did, it dinged a bunch of times. I was afraid to read anything then, but now that I’m alone, I want to see if any of them are from Cooke. Hitting the message app, I see a couple from Luke sent not long after I stormed out of Cy’s. But there are none from Cooke. Damn.
Luke:I’m sorry. I was an ass. I deserved that. Don’t quit. You’re a good bartender.
Then another one from Luke.
Luke:Having a Kardashian ass isn’t an insult, by the way. People pay thousands of dollars for that ass. You got it for free. (I assume.)
God, what an idiot. I quickly shoot him a text.
