Intercepted

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your passion, because trust me, I’m totally living for it right now. I’m just not sure I want to go. I’m doing really well. I have a new job. I have my own place. I’m relearning who I am. I don’t know if I want to throw a wrench in what I’m doing by going to the fashion show.” I reach out and grab her hand because for some reason, her eyes are shimmering with tears while she listens to me. “I know what you have with Dre is real and good. But that’s not what I had with Chris. Chris was every bad athlete stereotype rolled into one, and I sat there, oblivious for years. I’m not ready to see him.”

“Forget Chris. What about me? You cannot just move across town, throw me to the wolves, and disappear. Last week’s meeting was akin to torture. I cannot deal with those bitches without you there calling Courtney ‘Court’ and ordering food I can steal. The least you could do after abandoning me is come to the fashion show.”

I wonder how much she paid for my ticket when she booked this guilt trip.

“How about this? We go shopping tomorrow and if I can find something to wear, I’ll go.” Compromise is the key to life. Plus, she’s so pathetic when she’s sad, only a monster—or Courtney—could flat-out deny her.

“Oooh . . . a shopping challenge.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I’m always on board for that!”

“You’re going to be the best mom because you give a fantastic freaking guilt trip.”

“I know. How do you think I got Dre to give in to redecorating the living room?” she asks. And she’s smiling! What a sneaky—but talented—asshole.

“I really don’t like you right now. But even so, I feel obligated to compliment you on your ability to fake cry.” I throw the pillow back at her, but instead of it hitting her in the face like it did to me, she grabs it out of the air and catches it.

So unsatisfying.

“Thank you. I was the lead in my high school’s plays four years in a row. I also played softball.” She waves the pillow in my face with a triumphant smile on her face.

“Way to keep that card hidden in your back pocket. Well played, Mrs. Harris.”

“Appreciated.” She stands and walks the three feet to my kitchen and grabs a pop out of the fridge. “So after we find your smokin’ outfit, are you gonna ride with us?”

“If we find an outfit, I’ll just Uber it. No need for you guys to drive all the way down here to go right back. But I’m not walking in alone. If you get there before me, keep your tight little asses in your car and wait for me.”

“Fine with me. I don’t want to go in there without you anyways. I’ll tell Dre he’s got two dates. He thinks you’re a hottie, so he’ll be thrilled.”

I won’t lie, finding out Chris was cheating on me with the redheaded human version of Jessica Rabbit was quite the knock to my confidence. And by knock, I mean getting in the ring with Mayweather, Tyson, and Ali. So hearing Naomi say her smokin’ hot superstar hubby thinks I’m a hottie doesn’t go unappreciated.

But I suck at accepting compliments, so I joke it off. “He should. I mean, according to some of the women, I’m your twin. Remember?”

“You’re ridiculous.” She rolls her eyes. “But since we have the fashion show squared away, are you gonna show me these bartender skills of yours or what?”

“If by skills you mean pouring tequila shots and glasses of wine? You got it.” I grab my keys and turn to her before we reach the door. “Oh! I can practice on you! Experiment with my talents.”

“Shit. Then let me call Dre now and warn him that he’ll be driving to the hood later to get me.”

“Excuse me, ma’am. I do not live in the hood. I live in a historical part of Denver, surrounded by original architecture, character, and history.”

“And the homeless man set up on the corner? What’s he?” she asks.

“You mean James? He’s part of the character.”

“You know his name? Please tell me you’re being careful. I know you think your boxing classes have made you invincible, but they haven’t.”

“Yes, I know his name. Some days I’m able to bribe him with a latte to keep me company on my walk to get coffee, and he tells me all about what it was like living here in the eighties.” I imagine we have matching expressions, both eyes wide and mouths dropped open. Except her face is filled with horror and mine with excitement. “Did you know a house only a few blocks west was where the biggest dealer in Denver lived, and before these apartments were here, there was a nightclub he owned solely to deal cocaine out of?”

“Why would I know that, and why are you excited learning it?”

“It’s cool! Knowing these places were here years ago, unsavory characters and all. Can’t you just see them on the street with Kangol hats and a boom box on their shoulder?” Clearly she can’t or she just doesn’t try because her horrified expression never falters. “Whatever. You enjoy the cookie-cutter mansions and the wicked wives. I’d take James, his stories, and my little place any day of the week.”

“Can’t I have my house without the wicked wives?” Her bottom lip pouts, and she looks so adorable, I almost pinch her cheeks.

“You know as well as I do, they go hand in hand.” An unfortunate truth. It seems as though having the big house and fancy cars aren’t enough for some people. The only way they can feel good about themselves is if they squash others around them.

“I hate it when you’re right.” She throws her phone back in her purse and opens my front door. “Now I need to get drunk since you’ve made me jealous of your friend James while I’m stuck with Courtney and Amber.”

I lock my door and follow her down the staircase.

“If drunk is what you want, drunk is what you’ll be. You’re going to love HERS so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if you and Dre are my neighbors soon.”

I was happy to wash my hands of just about everything I had in my life with Chris, but my friendship with Nay wasn’t one of them. Having her next to me, embracing me, encouraging me, means more than she’ll ever know. But I’m going to try and show her how much with the best night ever.

At least, I hope it will be.

Because tomorrow I might see Chris . . . and let’s face it, it’s going to be a complete shit show.

Ten

Naomi is sloshed.

We drank a little bit at my place, but the second Brynn—the owner of HERS—saw us walk in, I was summoned behind the bar with her, and Naomi was placed front and center, serving as our unofficial taste-tester. Naomi ingested copious amounts of alcohol and expelled all my business.

So now, instead of serving her more drinks, we are leaning against each other, preventing the other from tumbling off the barstool and onto the floor.

“Fuck men, you know?” I slur. “Especially athletes.”

“Heeeeyyyy,” Naomi whines from behind me or next to me. I’m not sure. After the last tequila shot, my entire body started to become numb. “Dre plays football, and he’s aaaaamazingg.”

“And I’m so happy for you.” I swivel around on the barstool and send both of us stumbling in different directions. Once we’ve found our footing, we take long, slow, crooked steps back to each other, and I wrap her up in a bear hug. “Because you’re just, like, so amazing and you deserve to be happy.”