I lift my shoulders and shift on my feet once more. “He’s…busy.”
“Huh. So…you have no one to share Taco Tuesday with.”
“What if I’m still dating someone?” I ask.
“Are you?”
I open my mouth, fully prepared to lie, but that’s not what comes out. “No.”
Again, he seems shocked by my answer. “You’re not?”
“It’s a recent development,” I mutter, looking away as a new wave of anger washes over me.
“Well, then, tequila is the right choice, but not with that fruity mix. We’re doing shots,” he states, glancing around, like he’s searching for something.
“We?”
“Of course! I never let a girlfriend suffer by herself. We’ll curse him together.”
“I’m not your girlfriend, and I don’t need your help cursing him,” I counter.
“No, of course you don’t need my help.” He snaps his fingers. “We could do one of those boyfriend hexes, like a spell.”
“A what?” I ask, chuckling.
“It’s a thing.”
“If you say so,” I mumble, shifting my basket to my other hand since it’s getting heavy.
“I do. I know these things.”
Fighting a smile, I ask, “You know a lot about breaking up with a boyfriend?”
“Of course I do. I’m a boy and a friend. I’m better than a boyfriend, because I cause less bullshit. Plus, I’m usually better looking than a boyfriend, which helps a gal friend get over the douche faster.” He waggles his eyebrows and grins mischievously.
“How is that?”
“Because when you’re thinking about how good-looking I am, you’re not thinking about the asshole. See?”
I shake my head, not at all surprised by his antics. “Not really.”
He sighs, reaching into my basket and snatching the bottle of tequila. “Because I’m a good boy friend, I’m going to bring the tequila.”
“I don’t?—”
“What do you say, Oaklee? Ready to banish his memory for good?” he asks, swinging the bottle of tequila in front of me.
“I…”
I shouldn’t, that’s for sure. Sharing tequila with Cade is the very last thing on the long list of things I should do this evening. Well, maybe not the very last. That would be reconnecting with Lance. But it’s not near the top. It falls after cleaning my entire apartment with a toothbrush and licking all the dirty dishes clean.
Yet…I’m considering it.
It’s as if Allison is standing beside me, whispering, “Do it, do it.”
“Come on, Oaklee. I pour a mean shot of tequila.”
“I have no doubt about it,” I mutter, wondering about the long line of brokenhearted women he probably has trailing in his wake.
