Eddie: Heading to a buddy’s place to watch the game. What are you doing?
“Tell him,” Billie hisses. “Tell him or I will.”
“I hate you,” I hiss back.
She presses a loud kiss to my cheek. “Do not.”
Here I go, ending any chance of future flirtations with Eddie. He knows I’m older, but I’m pretty damn sure he doesn’t think I’mthisold.
Me: Just drowning my sorrows with neon pink drinks fed to me by my cousin to “celebrate” the fact that I officially left my thirties today.
I hit send, release a frustrated growl, and toss my phone on the bar.
“Now watch,” I tell Billie, pointing at my phone. “I’ll never hear from him again.”
“Or… he’ll respond right away.”
Not that I want to know what he’s going to say.
Do I look anyway? You know I do.
Eddie: You’re 40?
There it is.
I scrunch my eyes closed, imagining the shock on his face at the realization.
Me: Yep. But I prefer to think of it as 39 and holding on for dear life.
The typing bubble pops up.
Disappears.
Comes back.
Disappears again.
Oh my God, the man doesn’t know what to say.
This is it. This is where it gets so weird that we’ll never speak again. I’m going to kill my cousin.
Until finally…
Eddie: You do not look 40.
I stare at the screen. Are you fucking kidding me? It took him that long to say that? I’m sunk.
Before I can spiral further, another text follows.
Eddie: Where are you guys?
Me: The Lobster Claw. Probably never heard of it. It’s a small, hole-in-the-wall bar near the regional airport. My cousin is with me, and insisted I tell you how fucking old I am. She’s a sadist, by the way. Anyway, have fun watching the game. We’re about to drink something that appears radioactive and is likely illegal in at least thirty states.
Eddie: Be careful. Have fun.
I toss my phone on the bar and shoot daggers at Billie. “Are you happy now?”
“How did he take the news?” she teases.
