“Oh, gotcha. Sure. Bitches, am I right?” The manager sized up the situation without missing a beat. “Come back to the office and we’ll get the paperwork finished. Then the place is yours for as long as you need it.”
Jake started to follow him out when his phone buzzed. His heartbeat kicked up, but he played it cool. “Actually, can I meet you down there? I need to check my messages.”
The manager vacated the apartment, leaving Jake to turn into a thirteen-year-old, scrambling to pull his phone out of his pocket to see if it was her.
It wasn’t, and disappointment lodged in his chest at the notification that he’d missed a call from Milo, the only man under the age of thirty to still leave voicemails. Today’s asked, “Why aren’t you back in Chicago yet? I need somebody to share this new bottle of Glenfiddich with.”
That sounded like the perfect end to this shitty day; too bad he was three hours south. He grabbed a seat on the couch, the thumb on his noninjured hand moving slowly across the screen as he texted back:Sorry. My exile continues.After he hit Send, he let the phone fall to the cushion next to him and dropped his head into his hands. He was supposed to be having dinner with Mabel tonight. Instead, he’d be sucking down a protein shake alone in his hotel. For the first time in ages, it really did feel like exile.
Swallowing his disappointment, he opened a browser on his phone, into which he’d started searching good local restaurants to take a date, and googled a different number. After a quick phone call, he headed down the five flights of stairs with a hand swaddled in white cotton and a heart swaddled in misery to sign a lease on an apartment he didn’t want in a town that was suddenly much less inviting than it had been twelve hours ago.
Fifteen
Mabel slowed to a walk at the end of the running trail, her chest heaving. She’d stormed home from the station and immediately changed into stretchy clothes, then set off on a punishing run to empty her mind through copious amounts of sweat.
It had worked for a time, particularly since September was reluctant to let go of its summertime temperatures. But now she was on the cooldown jog back to her house, and the fury, fear, and betrayal started edging back in. Before the emotional tide threatened to engulf her again though, she spotted Dave’s car parked in her driveway. She bumped her pace up to a lope as she approached his driver-side window. It was down, and he had his seat reclined and his eyes closed.
“Been waiting long?” She grabbed the doorframe and startled him upright.
“Long enough that I was worried I’d become one of those dogs that has to be rescued from a car in the mall parking lot when their owners forget them on a summer day.”
He adjusted his eternally askew glasses, and Mabel rolled her eyes.
“You have a spare key, weirdo. You could’ve waited inside.”
He got out of the car and followed her onto the porch. “My God, what have you been up to? You’re disgusting.”
Mabel unlocked her door and ushered him in. “I went for a run.”
“Inhell?”
“I’m not that sweaty!” Then she spied her reflection in the entryway mirror and winced at her blotchy red face and the tank top glued to her chest with dark patches of sweat. “Okay, maybe I am that sweaty. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge while I take a quick shower.”
In ten minutes, Mabel was clean and clothed in cutoff sweatpants and an oversized Rayman College T-shirt, her wet hair turbaned to keep it from dripping everywhere. Dave was stretched out full-length on her couch, resting a bottle of beer on his stomach.
“I made you a mojito.” He pointed in the vicinity of the table next to her overstuffed chair, and she settled herself in cross-legged and reached for the sweating glass, moaning when the sharp aroma tickled her nose.
“You brought your own fresh mint! You, sir, are my bestest friend.”
They held up their glasses for an air clink since they weren’t sitting close enough to actually touch beverage containers, and Dave waited until Mabel had swallowed her first gulp to ask, “You doing okay?”
“Not even a little.” She rattled the ice in her glass. “You?”
“Been better,” Dave said. “I filled Ana in. She’s outraged on our behalf and is already writing an angry letter to the Lowell CEO. My telling her that the CEO is That Arrogant Asshole’s father didn’t stop her. Oh, and that’s his official name now, by the way. All capitalized.”
“Suits him,” Mabel said darkly.
They both drank in silence for a moment, then she sighed. “What are we going to do? I’m no good without you.”
Dave twisted his neck to peer up at her from his reclined position.
“Bullshit. You carry me, Mae. You always have. What partner could I have who’s smarter or funnier or quicker on her feet?”
His praise both warmed her and reminded her of their new reality. “Sounds like you’ll have your choice of Babes. Whoever she is, she’ll be dumber but more stacked. Both crucial qualities for radio.” She took another sip, letting the sharp alcohol roll across her tongue as she reflected on what she’d just said.Bad feminism, Mabel. Very bad.“Okay, that’s not fair. The women who apply might be great. They could all very well be smart and funny and… Nope, I can’t do it. I’ll try not to be a total bitch about them, but it feels wretched to be told I’m getting replaced by somebody hotter.”
Tears filled her eyes at the admission, and Dave rolled over to face her.
“Don’t do that,” he chided. “They’re just propping up the morning side with cheap filler so I have somebody to riff off. That Arrogant Asshole obviously values you or he wouldn’t be putting you solo during drive time. It’s a compliment, even if it came off as an insult. Trust me. Everybody in that room today knows you’re sexier than any of the bimbos they’ll trot out for their public appearances.”
