Julianne whistles as she grabs for another piece of chicken. “Does Emmy know about her competition?”
“This isn’t any of Emmy’s business.”
Julianne raises an eyebrow. “So ... who is the mystery woman? Do I know her?”
Finally, I snag the bottle of Wild Turkey, uncap it, and dump some in the empty coffee mug that’s still sitting unwashed from my last fill-up this afternoon. “No.”
“Fine; be difficult. I’m sure I’ll find out one way or another.” She pauses, and the shit-stirrer in her comes to life. “You tell her you’re with another woman right now?”
I give her a hard look. If I’m not careful, Julianne will spread my business all over town. She’s the queen of the gossip grapevine, and I don’t need any part of it.
“There’s nothing to tell. You said it yourself—this was a better alternative than going home by yourself and realizing you just broke up with the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Julianne’s shoulders stiffen. “Granger Ryan wasn’t the best thing that ever happened to me. I was the best thing that ever happened to him. He just couldn’t get his head out of his ass long enough to appreciate what he had, so he lost it.”
My friend Granger, the fire chief in this small town, is still pissed about how she marched into the station and told him it was over—in front of all his volunteer firemen.
Either way, the subject of who is texting me closes.
Now, I just gotta get Banner’s address so I can track her down as soon as this Road Runner is in the hands of its owner.
Chapter 4
Banner
Idrag Sofia into my apartment when she knocks on the door Thursday evening. This is the absolute worst time not to have my best girlfriend around to spill to, but I have to tell someone.
“I apologize in advance, but you have to listen to everything I say and tell me what to do.”Because clearly I can’t be trusted to make rational decisions about this man, I add silently.
“What’s going on?” Sofia’s accent is thicker than normal in her confusion.
“You remember the guy I’ve been texting with?”
“The one you’ve been torturing Mrs. Frances with for weeks?”
“I might dispute the use of the wordtorture, but yes. Him. He’s coming here. Tomorrow.”
“Here? New York, here?”
“Yes. Here. New York. Manhattan. And I don’t know what to do. Help.”
Rarely do I ever have my confidence totally knocked off its axis, but this situation is an anomaly. Logan is supposed to stay inside my little magic box of a phone where I feel like I’m still in control, because the second he becomes real, as in flesh and blood, all bets are off.
“You have to meet him. I mean, you can’t miss this chance.”
“I can’t! I’m going to screw everything up, and then—” I cut myself off before I can admit that it’s going to suck so much major donkey dick if I lose him in my life. Even in this short period of time, I’ve gotten attached to whatever we have.
“And then what? What could you possibly screw up? It’s not like you’re planning to marry the guy or something, right?”
Sofia’s question stops me cold and tosses me years into the past. I mumble a response as I head for the kitchen and my trusty bottle of vodka in the freezer. Sofia’s Russian, I think, so she can hack it.
Someday, I’m going to be able to face the idea of marriage without thinking of Livingston Armstrong’s mother telling him that I’m the kind of girl you bang in a frat house, not the kind of girl you bring to the Hamptons to meet the family.
I should have known with a name like Livingston, he’d be a pretentious douche bag.
The rest of the memory replays in my head like it happened yesterday.
“But she’s from a great family, Mother.”