“Mad we won and thought you needed to get laid, or mad the story went viral and you’re all over the internet?” Maisie stops smashing her pumpkin, her brows drawn.
“I’m fine.”
Everyone bursts into laughter, and after a moment, so do I—even if it doesn’t stop it from hurting.
I’ve eaten more than my weight in crab rangoon, but there’s nothing more satisfying than pulling the pie I made earlier from the fridge to show off to my friends an hour later.
“You spoil us.” Zoe grabs another beer, then opens up the drawer, snatching a handful of forks. “Chinese and lemon meringue pie? Perfect.”
I hand the pie to Sarah, then put on a record in the living room. I’m tipsy from a few beers, but I feel a little more human. Who knew smashing a gourd would be good for your blood pressure?
“So then he tells me he doesn’t like it when women order white wine at dinner,” Maisie says, dishing about her latest disaster date. “He believes red wine is the superior choice.”
“I hope you told him he can fuck all the way off.” The words come out mumbled around Sarah stuffing a forkful of pie into her mouth.
Maisie plops down onto the floor beside Sarah andgrabs the pie from her. “Better. I finished my glass, then ordered the most expensive bottle of red on the menu.”
We all break into laughter, wrapping ourselves into patchwork quilt cocoons on the kitchen floor, eating pie and drinking cheap beer.
“You alright?” Sloane bumps her shoulder against mine.
“Fine, yeah.”
“She’s lying,” Zoe says, leaning forward. “Never seen her glare so much in my life as she did this week at the roses Jack sent.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I ignore the comment about the roses back at the store. “I’m just tired.”
Sarah and Maisie collapse, smacking their hands against the old pine boards, wheeze-laughing about something Sarah said.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but hearing them makes me happy and breaks my heart all at once. I’ll do anything for my friends or family, but in between giving everyone else what they need, I’m starting to wonder what I want.
Which is probably why my brain keeps latching on to the one person I shouldn’t be thinking about.
So when my phone vibrates with a text, my heart jumps straight into my throat. Funny how the universe knows his stupid perfect grin has been living rent-free in my head for the past week. I try, with all the chalants in the world, to possess none when I grab the phone and read the message.
Jack: Thought you’d throw them out.
Izzy: Almost did.
Jack: So, you liked them?
Izzy: Don’t get cocky.
Jack: Bad news on that front…
Jack: When can I pick you up for our date?
Izzy: Smooth.
Jack: Not the answer I wanted.
Izzy: But the answer you’re getting…
“Tired of wondering what it would be like to go on a date with Jack, you mean?” Zoe asks, giggling. “Wait, who are you texting right now?”
“No one.” I grip my phone tight, turning away.
“You aren’t!” she screams. She stands on her knees, ready to dive for my phone. “Isla Jane Sinclair, are you texting Jack Murphy?”
