“Oh…” her outward disappointment mirrors my internal one. “You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s an annoyingly long drive back to downtown Highland, Aly’s already drunk as fuck,andour flight has the nerve to leave before the LMC in the airport even opens in the morning.” The woman I know will have my last name one of these days gets gently tugged out of my hold. “Chop, chop, gurl. I am not gonna be holding anybody’s hair back while they puke on a horse statue.”
Our fingers are almost completely done touching when I anxiously plead, “Give me your name?”
Despite her noticeable resistance to bailing, her friend keeps tugging. “You don’t want my number?”
“Your friend’s not really leavin’ time for the latter.”
“It’s Gillian.” Giggles grace me for the final time of the night, reminding me of the sound I look forward to hearing forever. “Gillian Blanc.”
Chapter 2
Gillian
All of my favorite things start with T.
Toffee lattes.
Telenovelas.
And – more relatively –Tuesdays.
IloveTuesdays the same amount that Garfield hated Mondays.
See,Mondaysequal misery.
All the woes and whines of the weekend roll over and carelessly infect the first day of the week.
Basically, they pump it full of ache and decay that you can’t just simply brush away.
But Tuesdays?
Tuesdays equal opportunities.
They allow you to remove the infection and clean it out and seal it for safety.
They’re almost like a second chance to have a better beginning to the week you’re in.
And I adore second chances.
Likely because they always serve as pivotal plot moments on my favorite shows.
It’s the reason why I rarely do anything other than paperwork on Mondays.
Paperwork I can dofrom home.
On the comfort of my own sofa.
While listening to whatever drama – spy or Spanish – I’m currently binging or in some cases…rebinging.
Entering the front office area of Victory Teeth, my dentistry practice, barely proceeds Rhonda Todd, my patientservice lead, dramatically sighing, “Ohthankgod, Doc, I didnotfeel like walking my ass all the way back there to bring you this.” One set of her dark, cacao colored fingertips nudge the toffee latte towards me while the other aids in holding her own cup. “You should know it was that twelve-year-old gerbil squeaking child that can’t count to five who made it rather than that fine ass Alex Cross lookin’ mofo that we both knowcan get itany day that ends in y.”
“They all in end in y, Rhonnie.”
“My point exactly.”
It’s impossible not to snigger at her brazenness and her pride and her lack of care what anyone thinks about what she says or does or wants.
