“It was great, but there were lots of fucking chickens and roosters.” I can’t help but chuckle at the memory of the shock I felt when I saw so many. They’re nearly as rampant as pigeons here in the city.
“Did you go with anyone?”
My heart stutters. Do I tell her?
Fuck it. Why not?
Eyes locked with hers, I lean forward. “Actually, yes. Ezra.”
She chokes on her iced latte. Setting it down quickly, she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Really? Are you two together now?”
I nod.
“I did not see that coming,” she mumbles.
“Why’s that?” My question is laced with a bit of snark.Okay, a lot of snark.
Sam runs her fingers through her hair, the move revealing a new tattoo on the inside of her toned bicep. It’s a bird, similar in style to the three I have on the back of my tricep. “I’m just surprised. He was always talking about wanting a wife and kids, and you were always…”
“Always what?”
“Always…not.”
Blood rushes in my ears as I fight to keep my tone even. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“C’mon, Mills.”
I shudder at the sound of my nickname on her lips.
“I’m surprised you’re with a guy.” She shrugs. “It’s not bad. It’s just, when you and I were together, you told me probably a dozen times that you’d never marry a man.”
“Who said anything about getting married?”Legally, at least.
Her eyes metaphorically stab mine. “Millie. This is Ezra we’re talking about. That man oozes marriage material. He probably has paternity leave paperwork on standby.”
Normally I’d laugh at that joke, but it hits a little too painfully. She’s not wrong.
I clear my throat. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”
With a deep inhale, she fiddles with her plastic cup. “I wanted to apologize.”
Elbows on the table, I study her, picking up on the way her eyes dart to my cleavage. My breasts have been upgraded a bitsince she last saw me, and I don’t feel the least bit bad about flaunting what she’ll never get to have.
“For what?”
“For the way things went down between the three of us. I was really confused, but that’s no excuse. I should never have been dishonest with you.”
“Thank you for the apology.” I take a sip of my drink, and when the taste registers, I’m tempted to spit it back out. This isnotmy order. How people can consume black coffee is beyond me.
“Are you in a show? I haven’t seen you at FrenchSHEs.”
I shake my head and swallow back the pain that hits every time I think about the theater. “I’m taking some time off.”
“Is everything okay?”
No,Samantha, everything is not okay. I may or may not have a disease that could prevent me from having kids, and the guy I was fake married to, who I’m currently fucking, is the legal guardian of a fifteen-year-old and wants nothing more than to be married with babies.
“Yup. Everything’s good.” While I once would have spilled my guts to the girl in front of me, she no longer has that privilege. “It was nice running into you”—it was not—“but I’ve got to run.”
