“Oh my god,” I groaned. “Was that bad? Did I do a bad job?”
“Sure, if you were trying to make extra sure Grayson never ever wanted to kiss you again, let alone impregnate you.”
I slumped over on the bench.
“Then congrats, you did it!” She flashed me a thumbs-up. “But if you wanted to pop your cherry then …” She blew a raspberry and flashed a thumbs-down.
“I don’t want to sleep with my boss, right?” I said weakly, looking up at her from where I was lying on the bench.
“He’s sex on a six-foot-five stick,” McKenna said. “Of course you do. Are you out of your mind? You know who I lost my virginity to? My drunk coworker at a bowling alley. Grayson was calling you to fish to see if you wanted to come back and bang.”
“I thought he wanted me to pretend like it never happened.”
“Then he would have just ignored it and gaslit you. He was totally interested.”
I sat up.
“I need to call him back.”
“No way. Your best bet is to make him so horny he forgets you threatened to have his baby.”
I tangled my fingers in my hair. “I’m twenty-three. Why am I so awkward?”
“Um Lexi, there’s gum in your hair.”
“Crap.”
“Is the bald spot noticeable?”I wondered the next morning in the Richmond Electric women’s bathroom mirror.
“Not at all,” McKenna lied as we inspected the patch of my hair where I’d cut the gum out. I had tried peanut butter, but Gizzy kept trying to eat it, and between that and the fact that Grayson had kissed me, I was too out of sorts to try to find a real solution.
Hence the scissors.
I had regretted it immediately.
Just like running from Grayson.
“Having a sex dream about your boss while sleeping on a cot in a studio apartment is that thing that really lets you know you’ve reached a low point in your life.”
“I’m sure Anthym has sex dreams about Grayson,” McKenna said as she touched up her makeup in the mirror. “You’re in good company.”
“I feel like I’m really fulfilling my destiny.” I crossed my arms. I was feeling horny and hungry.
“Anthym owns her own condo,” McKenna reminded me.
“This is for the best right?” I said desperately. “Wholesome small-town girls don’t make out with their bosses.”
“He wanted to hook up with you, not make out,” McKenna corrected, “and you blew it.”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
I chewed on my lip and fussed with my hair, trying to get it to cover the missing patch that stuck out like a tuft of grass from the side of my head. My hair couldn’t even do me the decency to lie down flat so I could properly camouflage the bald spot.
Someone like me didn’t belong with Grayson. Maybe all this time I thought I was Ariel fromThe Little Mermaidlooking for Prince Eric, when in reality I was the ugly redheaded stepsister from Cinderella.
“I can practically hear your negative self-talk,” McKenna warned.
“Just being realistic,” I said dejectedly.
