She pretends to hesitate.
I swig from the wine bottle.
“Baby girl, you know you gonna.
“Just take the damn coffee.”
Her: “Fine. One cup.”
I cackle,
shaking my head.
“Slut.”
If Andrew was watching this,
he’d smirk and go, “Sound familiar?”
I reach for my phone to text him?—
Brooke wakes up from her digital nap.
AI Brooke:“I detected a change in your tone, Miss Allison. Would you like me to lower the lights?”
I abandon my phone and glare at the ceiling.
“No, Brooke. I don’t need mood lighting forNetflix and bleeding.”
It’s quiet again.
Which means it’s montage o’clock.
They’re sitting in the corner of the bookstore, laughing over coffee cups they’re both holding but don’t actually drink. Rain taps the window. Day fades into night. Which obviously means they’re soulmates now.
“Next up? One of ‘em’s just visiting.” I nod.
“Funeral or wedding. Always one of those.
“Clock’s tickin’.
“They’ve got, what?
“Three days max to fall in love before they’re back on a plane?” I smirk, then shrug. “She’s 100% scribblin’ her number on a napkin. And he already slipped the book in her purse. No fuckin’ doubt.”
I shovel the last bite into my mouth,
eyes on the TV.
Onscreen—
He’s all:“Please—I would like to see you again. Give me your number.”
She stammers: “I—I’m sorry. I can’t.”
I cock a brow. “Huh?”
Him: “Wait… I thought we had a good time?”
