“Huh.” Eitan looks again. “That explains why you never replied. I just thought you were so excited to see Blinklebob you were speechless.” He smiles at me. “Well, lucky you and I were together! Otherwise you might have missed it. Wouldn’t want to blow off a plan you already said yes to, right?”
“I—”
“Right, Ruby?” His brows raise. I can already hear him winding up his dumb coach spiel.
“Right,” I grumble, deciding to pick my battles. Guess my newfound boundaries will be put to the test sooner than I thought.
“Calliope mentioned there’s a milk tea spot next to the theater. We’re meeting for boba beforehand.”
I sit back in my seat. “A dream come true,” I whisper.
chapter
seventeen
I siton a concrete ledge outside the milk tea shop—almond matcha tea with taro boba in hand—in morose silence. This has to amount to cruel and unusual punishment: the third live-action video game movie adaption of a red alien armadillo named Blinklebob (unironically).
And, moreover, being forced to spend more time with Eitan. It’s fine. Everything is fine. I just need to avoid touching him, making eye contact while we listen to music, and—while we’re at it—talking altogether. Plenty of friendships have sustained themselves with less.
Calliope sits next to me, looking similarly glum. Because…I’m not sure. Shoot, I should probably ask.
I sigh. “How are you?”
“Eh.” She subtly wipes at her cheek. A silk scarf is wrapped around her thick hair, paired with red lipstick and dark sunglasses. VeryI just got whisked away by a moped to a cliffside road in Sicily. She takes the shades off and I see why she was wearing them—her eyes are red. “My girlfriend broke up with me.”
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
“Yeah, it was pretty recent.” She glances at me, her eyeliner looking more wobbly than usual today. A gust of downtown wind catches her hair, and it whips me in the face. I bat it away, trying to listen. “Ethically non-monogamous, of course. But today she told me that she just doesn’t think she can have an emotional connection with a woman. Isn’t that fucked up? Why date me in the first place?”
I nod and scrunch my nose. “That is both fucked up and extremely illogical.” I nudge her shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t even get one person to date me.”
Calliope gives me a questioning glare. “Why would that make me feel better? That’s fucked up too!”
I shrug. “I’m a tough sell.”
Calliope cackles pointedly. “You arenota tough sell. You’re extraordinary. I am too. Fuck Imogen. Doesn’t know what she’s giving up. I amfantasticin bed.”
My next boba pearl almost goes down the wrong pipe.
“Not that anyone can be good or bad at sex. But I am agiver. Bet the next Chad Michael Murray shefeels an emotional connection withwon’t go down on her for forty-five minutes!”
I wipe at the milk tea dripping down my chin. “I bet he won’t. Chads are notoriously selfish.”
“You know who seems like a giver?” Calliope waggles her eyebrows. “Eitan.”
I immediately shield myself from any thoughts of Eitan givingthat. I am planted firmly in friend territory. No more distraction, no more misread signals. “No way. He seems like a two pump chump who leaves you in bed to 3D print something.”
“Hilarious,” Calliope says flatly. “But no, in this case, you’re wrong. I have a nose for these things. And I know—” She pauses, and her eyes catch on something. I follow her gaze. Eitan crosses the street toward us, waving, lopsided smile plastered on his face.
He might be walking in slow motion, and there may be birds erupting from his path.
“That man is a giver,” Calliope murmurs under her breath before leaping off the ledge. “Hello, darling!” she says as she gives Eitan a hug.
I stand up, leaving my empty bubble tea on the ledge, adjusting the hem of my denim miniskirt in an effort to remain calm. “Hi,” I say to Eitan, cordial. There’s an awkward pause before I feel compelled to give him a hug too, given the precedent Calliope set. A friendly hug. I reach my arms up to wrap around his neck and his lock around my waist for a moment. A heady wash of fir hits me when my cheek briefly connects with his neck. Morse code mating signals pass between our skin.
I tell them to piss off.
“Hey, Calliope.” Steve’s voice gives me the perfect reason to pull back from the hug.
