Page 51 of Saved By the CEO

“Because I was so wrong, babe.”

“About Josh?”

She shakes her head. “Iron Giant.” Then she grabs my face with both hands and looks me in the eye. Kind of. “You have a big, fat mega-crush on the Curiosity rover.”

I purse my lips.

She continues.

“And it’s not fair to Josh, what you’re doing right now. You need to just—” She releases my face and makes a scissor motion with her fingers.

“I need to scissor him? He’s a boy.” I pause. “Man. He’s a man. Man-boy.”

She shakes her head and nearly loses her balance. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Did you mean cut him? Like with a knife?”

“Just break it off with him, you dumb bitch,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Well, that might happen anyway.” I sigh. “He got mad about the virus thing. And not for the right reasons. He’s just jealous of Andrew.”

Annie gives two thumbs down and boos.

“But I don’t know. I told him I needed time to think. He’s still a nice guy.” I lean against the bar and almost die because of a slight miscalculation involving my elbow. I try again, more successfully this time. “And he likes me. I like him. We like each other.”

She makes a face.

“No.” I point at her. “Don’t make that face.”

Annie puts her hand on my shoulder. She presses down hard, and it takes me a second to realize she’s using me for balance. “I’m not saying you don’t like him. But, like, you don’t like him enough, you know?”

The words hit harder than they should.

Maybe because I’m drunk.

Maybe because she’s right.

“I’m trying,” I say.

“See, that’s the problem, Car.” She raises her hands dramatically, making herself sway backward. “You shouldn’t have to try to want someone. It’s fucked up.”

She has a point.

“I need air,” I say.

Annie nods and grabs my hand again. We push our way through the crowd and out onto the sidewalk. The cold night air hits my sweaty skin, and I suck in a breath. My ears ring from the sudden drop in volume.

We stand there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, watching people stumble in and out of cars. I pull my phone out of my tiny purse, mostly because I need something to do with my hands.

There are no messages from Josh, which is to be expected. There is one from Mom, a picture of a mug she found at the thrift store with a cat on it. There are three emails from work that I absolutely refuse to open on principle.

And then there is Andrew.

Not a new message. Just his name in my recent texts.

The last message is from earlier today:

Mr. Bennett