“Am I going to like him?”
“You like everybody. Them”—I point to our table, full of his friends—“no.”
All three heads sitting in the booth swivel to look at me.
“What’s that now?” Luke asks, resting an arm on the back of the booth.
“Aspen here was just telling me how much you’re not going to like her date because you all are a bunch of judgmental cunts.”
“Whoa!” Baylor feigns insult.
Luke raises his hand to his chest. “Harsh!”
“I did not say that!”
Henry smirks and slides into the booth after me.
“Yet,” I add, scooting in next to Jesse.
“What did we ever do to you, Aspen?” Jesse pouts.
I click my tongue when I look at him.
“Oh, here we go.” Henry chuckles.
“On my twenty-first birthday, you spilled your drink on my dress, and instead of apologizing, you told me its value went up because the drink cost more than what I’d paid for it.”
Jesse winces. “That wasn’t my finest hour, but to be fair, I wasn’t wrong.”
I move my attention to Baylor and shake my head. “Ugh, I’d need a decade to even skim the surface with you.”
My eyes move on to Luke, but he raises his hands in surrender before I can start on him.
“Oh no. I’ve made peace with who I am, and I don’t apologize for it.”
“That’s right,” Baylor chimes in, fingering the black cord and silver chain necklaces beneath his half-zip. “There’s nothing wrong with having standards.”
“Standards?” I ask mockingly, snapping my eyes away from his chest.
Baylor nods, further egging me on.
“Pff. Standards are good for the self-respecting individual, but yours are so far up your ass that it’s amazing anyone can measure up.”
Henry throws his head back, releasing that familiar, warm laugh I love.
“Yeah, well, it’s amazing you have any at all.” Baylor suppresses a smile as he holds my gaze.
Our drinks get delivered, and his eyes drop to the cranberry liquor being pushed in front of me. The perfectly square ice cubes clank against the crystal glass, and a spear of frosted cranberries and rosemary balances on the rim for garnish.
Rosemary? What the—
“What’s with the rosemary?” Baylor reiterates my thoughts. His eyes are still on my drink, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Ugh.I hate the look of smug satisfaction that he gets when he’s right about something. So he knows my favorite drink. Big whoop. I’m a rather predictable person. I haven’t had much else to drink since I spent the night hovering over a toilet my freshman year of college, after a dizzy night out with some friends and one too many mixed cocktails. I prefer to stick with drinks that I know won’t make me sick, and that brings me comfort. And right now, my tart cranberry bliss in a cup is all the comfort I need to ease my nerves before Shaun arrives.
I glance at the doors as a middle-aged couple walks through, and my shoulders slump. It’s only five minutes past the hour. Shaun could be looking for parking.
I try to distract myself and tune in to whatever Luke is going on about, but I can’t help but look at the doors every time they open.
