“Apparently, it’s ‘too hard with my schedule,’” she continues, making sarcastic air quotes with her fingers. “Because I’m ‘always working’ and ‘never around.’ Which is completely unfair. He knew what my hours were like when we started dating. But now, all of a sudden, being unavailable for happy hour trivia with his work friends is a dealbreaker.” She accepts the bottle and fills her mug to the brim before taking a long gulp.
“I love my job. Becoming a chef is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. And yes, the hours are brutal. But does that mean I should have to choose between my career and having a relationship? Are these my only options?”
I reach an arm around her, pulling her into a side hug. As much as I hate to admit it, I can understand where Dev is coming from. Chef hours are merciless. It’s impossible to maintain a relationship when you work so many nights and weekends.
“I know I’ve given you a lot of shit about not dating, but I think you’ve actually been doing it right all along. At the end of the day, even the nice guys turn out to be assholes,” Ali declares with a small hiccup. Then she looks up at me, glassy-eyed. “There’s only one good man left in this world, Lex. And I need him tonight.”
A few minutes later, we’re curled beneath my fuzzy white throw blanket, watching reruns ofThe Price is Righton YouTube. For reasons I will never quite understand, Ali has nursed a lifelong crush on Bob Barker. Every time she’s down, she binges his show.
“Just look at him in his pinstriped suit,” she sighs, taking another swig from her mug. “I mean, the way he commands that stage with such loving compassion.”
A model comes out to showcase the latest item up for bid: an eighteen-carat white gold necklace interspersed with pearls. The first contestant, a breathless blonde named Kristina, starts the bidding at $900.
“Nine hundred? Honey, this necklace isn’t from Costco!” Ali yells at the TV. A petite woman named Pamela gets the closest bid, and she races to the stage, throwing her arms around Bob and planting a kiss on his cheek.
“God, she’s the luckiest girl in the world,” Ali sighs. “What I wouldn’t do right now for a Bob Barker hug and a round of Plinko.”
I lift her empty mug. “Want some more hot chocolate to go with your liquor?”
She nods, and I head back into the kitchen. It takes me a few minutes to prepare a fresh cup, but by the time I bring it over to Ali, she’s fast asleep, drooling lightly on one of my throw pillows.
I pick up the blanket, draping it lightly over her shoulders and switching off the light. Exhausted, I do the fastest, laziestwashup of my life. It’s well after 1A.M., and I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.
I’m just crawling into bed when my phone buzzes with a text. It’s Ethan.
Looking forward to our movie date tomorrow:-)
I smile, plug my phone into the charger, and finally, finally crawl into bed. The comforter is soft and warm, wrapped tightly around my chest. I click off the light, falling asleep almost instantly.
IWAKE TO Aringing sound.Is that Plinko? Dice Game? Am I the next contestant onThe Price is Right?With a groan, I roll over to check my alarm clock: 2:43A.M. Who on earth could be here at this hour? Then I realize: Dev. He’s come for Ali.
Without turning on the light, I grab my robe and step into the hallway. My eyes dart to the sofa. It takes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, but after a moment, I realize it’s empty. The white blanket has become an abandoned heap on the floor. Ali must have woken up and gone to sleep in the guest bedroom.
The buzzer rings again, and I groan under my breath as I lumber through the living room, wiping sleep from my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“Hang on, I’m coming!” Anger simmers inside me. It’s been a long day, and the last thing I want to do right now is listen to his pathetic excuses for hurting my friend. I should be passed out in bed, exchanging witty banter with my dream version of Bob Barker.
I push the “call” button, and groan sleepily into the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Miss Berman?” The deep baritone of James, the weekend doorman, drifts through the intercom. “There’s a young man here to see you.”
“Let him up,” I mumble. I glance toward the closed door of the guest room, wondering if I should wake Ali and ultimately deciding against it. Dealing with her wrath after waking her mid-slumber is a fitting punishment for this clown.
When I hear footsteps approaching, I yank open the door, my lips already parted to give Dev the lecture of the century. But the words catch in my throat when a set of chocolate-brown eyes melts into mine.
10
MY HEART IS POUNDINGwith adrenaline, but my body is frozen, as if it’s been turned to stone. It’s been fifteen months since I last saw him, yet somehow, it seems like no time has passed at all. I’ve imagined this moment so many times, rehearsing what I’d say if I ever came face-to-face with him again. But now that he’s here, standing right in front of me, I’m too shocked to get a single word past my lips.
“Lexi.” My head spins as a flood of emotions crashes over me.
His mouth sets in a hard line as his eyes run cautiously over my face. Even in the dark, I can see the swollen bags beneath them.
“Jake,” I finally muster. His lips hitch upward at the sound of his name, and something like relief flickers in his eyes. He exhales, and I catch a whiff of bourbon.
He rakes a hand through his messy hair. It’s longer than it was the last time I saw him, falling in soft waves that brush the nape of his neck. “Can I come in?” His words are ever so slightly slurred, his bloodshot eyes pleading.
Despite my better judgment, I open the door a bit wider and motion for him to come inside. It’s not until he’s through the doorway that I notice he’s not only carrying his guitar but also a small duffel bag. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise when he places themby my hallway closet, as though it never occurred to him that I wouldn’t invite him to stay.
