“Please come. The girls want to meet you, and I’ve been dying to find out what you thought about the clothes Cormac got you.”
The bell rang, saving me from further embarrassment.
“I have to go, Naomi. But yes. Yes, I’ll be there!”
I calledIda Jane that afternoon, after school ended, once I got her number from Maxim. He’d grumbled his concern about her reaction.
“Hi, Ida Jane, this is Keelie,” I began.
“Keelie! How are you?”
“Good. So, I was wondering… Would you like to meet up?”
“Yeah, I would.” She blew out a noisy breath.
“Great. Where are you?”
She explained, and it was not too far from me—a minor miracle. Houston was a massive city, covering hundreds of miles.
“You wanna grab a bite?” Ida Jane asked.
“Sure. What do you prefer?”
“Oh, hon, I just like to eat.”
I considered. Cormac didn’t like Tex-Mex, so I needed to get my fix when he was out of town. “Ninfa’s?”
Ida Jane hummed. “My favorite.”
I smiled. “See you there.”
I strolled into the restaurant with a belly full of nerves. What if Ida Jane judged me like Marian had? What if…
“Keelie!”
A small blonde waved from the other side of the crowd, her smile wide and infectious. An enormous bruise swelled around her eye and left cheek. I rushed over, landing on the balls of my feet.
“Hi,” I said, breathless.
Ida Jane had a thick sprinkle of freckles on her nose and her non-swollen eye—the only one I could see—was blue. She reminded me of that quintessential cheerleader from all the ’90s TV shows. Her accent thickened the more nervous she became, an endearing quality. She was also tiny—maybe five feet tall, and she was the one person I knew who seemed she would fit into an extra small.
“Oh, man, those social media posts didn’t do you justice,” Ida Jane said. She laughed, a tinkling sound of happiness. “You’re much more of a knockout in person.”
I tipped my chin toward her bruised cheek and black eye. “Looks like someone tried to knock you out.”
She scowled. “My ex.” She ran her fingers around the edge. “I shoulda stayed with Maxim.” She pursed her lips. “Instead, it’s a hotel for me tonight.”
“No way! You can stay with me.”
Before she could answer, a server led us to our table. She settled into the booth and leaned her arms on the top, leaning forward.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. She spoke louder than normal, thanks to the increase in chatter. Houstonians liked to eat out, and they loved their Tex-Mex.
My excitement about us getting along fizzled. She must have seen the hurt radiating from me.
“Not because I don’t like you,” she clarified. “I do. But you don’t have security.” Her breath stuttered from her lips. “And I need it.” Dark, ugly memories filled her eyes.
The waiter came over. Much as I wanted a margarita, I still had work to complete tonight, so I settled for a Corona and lime. Ida Jane ordered the same, along with the beef fajitas.
