It’s a nice touch. I haven’t had a lot of those.
Chapter Seven
June
It’s been a week.A WEEK!
For a guy who seemed to want to go out with me again, he’s made no effort to contact me.
“Will you hand me the remote?” Ally asks as we eat takeout on the sofa.
I don’t remember the last time I saw her eat without her laptop next to her along with several open books. She’s in her last year of law school, and I commend her dedication.
“Hey!” She gasps when the remote lands in her lo mein.
I cringe, pausing my chopsticks at my mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”
“What’s up with you?” She fishes the remote out of the white carton and wipes it with a napkin. “You’ve been mopey and distracted. Constantly staring at your phone.”
“Flynn hasn’t called or texted.”
“I’m sure he will. How long has it been?” she asks, but I know she’s only half engaged in our conversation as she turns on the news.
Every night. The world news.
People our age don’t get their news from television, except Ally. She listens, eats, studies, and still manages to ask me about my moping.
“It’s been a week since he took my bike tour.”
“What’s he do? Maybe his job has been hectic.”
“He’s a muse.”
She stops everything and slowly glances up at me while turning down the TV volume. “A what?”
“A muse.”
“Is that your way of telling me he poses for nude paintings?”
I laugh. “No. Well, at least not that I know of. The husband hired him to inspire his wife to live.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Huh?” She mirrors my expression.
I shrug. “I know. It’s a little odd.”
“A little? Is this person suicidal?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed fine on the bike tour, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“So your guy’s job is to keep her alive?”
“I’m not sure. I’d ask him more about it if he’d call me.”
“After your ice cream date, you said you weren’t too sure about him. And now you’re itching for him to text you?” She shoves lo mein into her mouth.
I tap my chopsticks against my lips. “He’s …”
“Hot?” she asks.
