“Do they?”
“They do,” I coo, taking in the almost nonexistent upward curve of his mouth.
“And how do you know that? You don’t even drink the stuff?”
“I asked.”
“Sounds very stalkery.”
“Guess you’re a bad influence on me.” I bite back my smile.
11
MILE ELEVEN
LADY BONDING
Message from Miles,my phone’s robotic voice announces. It’s the fifth message since Monday. All of which I’ve not read.
Curiosity battles with indifference inside me. Though, indifference about Miles Calloway resembles an ill-fitting pair of shoes. It doesn’t quite suit, because I’m not indifferent. I won’t pretend otherwise. While I don’t want him, after dinner with Garrett and Anker last night, I laid in my bed, thinking about Miles.
It wasn’t in the typical way I think of him. I didn’t daydream about Miles finding a way into my building to knock on my door to declare his feelings in a big romantic gesture from a cheesy rom-com. In fact, the only man who seems to break into my apartment building is Garrett, and neither time was romantic.
Part of me feels bad that Miles’ feelings are hurt. Part of me wants to soothe that sting away. Even if I know it’s not my doing. I was the one left behind. I was the one with the crush. The woman he thought would always be there.
This is just my curious nature at work. It’s like how I often skip ahead to a book’s last chapter to know there will be a happyending. At least with romances, I don’t have to do that because there is always one.
Kayla says Miles is devastated. I just want to make sure he’s okay, but I worry that opening his messages may detour my course.
“Not going to happen.” I turn my ringer off and slide my phone into my purse to head out for brunch with Catherine and Kayla.
Seal Beach’s downtown hums with life. Chattering shoppers dip in and out of the boutiques, while others sit at metal bistro tables outside Main Street’s many cafes. While my brother and Garrett live in more residential neighborhoods, my building is downtown, offering me walkable access to its businesses, the bus stop, and the beach at the end of the street. It’s also a short five-minute walk to Bread, my favorite café/bakery.
“Hey Jensen!” Catherine greets me at the café’s entrance. “Oh, look at this cozy sexy fall getup.”
With the cool weather and Bread’s seating being primarily outdoors, I’ve layered up. A long, chocolate-brown cardigan, knee-high black boots, a black dress, and a hunter green infinity scarf are paired with gold leaf-shaped dangle earrings that pop against my loose, wavy tendrils. It’s cute, but warm.
“Cozy sexy?” I snort, leaning in to examine my friend. “Wait—” I trace up her arms, feeling the smooth fabric of her jacket “—is this a blazer? And are you…” I lean in and sniff. “…wearing perfume?”
She bats me away. “We’re doing a mock-interview before we eat our weight in crepes, remember?”
I arch one eyebrow. “Since when do we do rehearsals in full dress?” I reach over, taking her wrist to feel for what I suspect she’s wearing. “Oh my gosh, are we wearing Grandma O’Brien’s lucky pearl set?”
In the tenure of our friendship, Catherine only pulls out the fancy pearl choker, bracelet, and earrings she’d inherited from her grandmother on special occasions, or when she needs the extra bit of luck.
“Just the bracelet and earrings. Not the necklace. That’s showtime only,” she tuts playfully.
“Naturally,” I sass with a wiggle of my hips.
“Plus, Kayla O’Leary is going to be here.”
“It’s not a big deal. She’s not on the interview panel, so no pressure.” I bat at the air.
“Says you,” she tuts. “She’s the academic spank bank of accomplishments. Like I may want to be her when I grow up.”
“You’re the same age.”
“Exactly!”
