To Hate Adam Connor

So, yup, still cursed.

No love for this gal. Hurray…I guess.

“Hello? Lucy? Ah, there you are. Is there a reason you’re talking to yourself?” Olive asked as she appeared at the end of the hall where I was dumping a trash bag filled with Jameson’s clothes. I straightened up and let out a deep breath as I took in her appearance. The yoga pants and baggy white shirt she was wearing were practically her uniform when she didn’t want to think about what to wear. And baggy or not her boobs still managed to look good. Her strawberry blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head and looked like it had seen much cleaner days. My guess was she had come straight from her writing cave.

“No reason at all. Just entertaining myself,” I answered, clearing the invisible sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “What are you doing here this early? I thought you were coming around later. And is there a reason why you look like you haven’t showered in a week?”

She was in the process of looking through the trash bags I had lined up against the wall that contained the clothes Jameson had chosen to leave behind. At my question, Olive’s head snapped up and her lips spread into a wide grin.

“Not a week, but maybe two days? I only have a few chapters to write then it’s officially The End for the story.” She shrugged and went back to her rummaging, looking for God knew what. “Who has time to shower anyway?”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered her anyway—under my breath of course. “People who like to be clean instead of smelly like you maybe?”

“And to answer your ungrateful question,” she continued. “I came early because I’m the best friend anyone could have. Why do we have to go through his clothes? Why didn’t the bastard take them with him?”

“We aren’t going through his clothes, you are. I’ve already gone through them. I’m just gonna leave them outside. Jameson texted to say his friend was coming over to take care of them. I don’t care either way.”

“Or we could burn them to make a statement.” She kicked one of the bags toward the door and reached out to lift up my small, bright yellow weekend bag.

“And what statement would that be exactly?”

“I don’t know…to show him that we are a united front against him? And it would be therapeutic for you, too.”

“Right. How about we stick to moving me out of here as quickly as possible instead.”

She shrugged and grabbed the bag I was holding out to her. “By the way, I’m pretty sure Jason would’ve said something if I smelled. And look who’s talking—you look like death warmed up. Your beautiful blue eyes are practically dead. Even your dark hair somehow looks…darker.”

I clasped my hands over my heart and batted my lashes. “Aww, thanks, my little green Olive. You look lovely too, with your greasy hair and sleepy eyes. Combined, it all does wonders for your complexion.”

A small smile playing on her lips, she shook her head and carried the bags downstairs to her car. I opened the bathroom door and checked the medicine cabinet to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind. Then just to be safe, I checked the bedroom again. When I was sure everything was packed and ready to go, I carried my last suitcase into the living room where Olive was waiting for me with a full bottle of tequila.

“I brought this,” she said, using her hands to present the bottle to me, as if that baby needed any extra presenting.

Taking a few steps to make it to her side, I snatched the bottle from her hands, ignored her gasp, and plopped my ass down on the shit-colored sofa, as I liked to describe it.

While I was busy trying to screw the top off, Olive sighed and dropped down next to me. I took a quick gulp and screwed up my face when the precious liquid burned my throat then handed the bottle back to her waiting hands.

She’d been my friend for three and a half years, and I doubted anyone else knew me better than her. She was a writer—a crazy successful author who’d made the bestseller lists with her very first novel. My favorite part was that she was the lucky, lucky wife of the hottest actor in Hollywood, who had also been her childhood crush. You’d think that shit would only happen in books, but nope, she did it. She scored the hottest guy. I liked to think I’d given her a small nudge in the right direction, encouraging her to go after what she wanted, but her chemistry with the guy was off the charts, so I knew with or without me, they still would’ve ended up together. And, well, despite being a hotshot celebrity, Jason Thorn was one of the good ones. He was completely in love with Olive—otherwise I would have totally organized a sneak attack on him to get his paws off my best friend.

“So…” Olive started after she took her own gulp of tequila and coughed a few times. “What was the subject of the conversation you were having with yourself when I walked in?”

I took another sip, a big one. That one definitely went down easier. “Actually, I was reminiscing about your pretty boobs and thinking how come you’re so selfish about sharing those puppies.”

She quirked her eyebrow at me and pulled her legs up to get comfortable. “Who said I’m selfish? I share very nicely with my husband.”

I gave her a genuine smile. “Are you ready to share exactly how? As in with details? Like what’s his favorite position? Doggie? Does he take care of your boobs? Is he nice to them?” I knew she wouldn’t share—I had tried before; I didn’t understand why, and it never stopped me from trying to get answers. Plus, it was fun watching her squirm. That’s what friends got for hoarding important details like that.

“Sorry, no bueno.”

Doing my best to give her my version of the evil eye, I offered her some alcohol. She passed, which was good for two reasons. One, more for me—yay—and two, well, she got out of hand when she got drunk.

“Not to sound like an ungrateful friend, but I thought you said you’d come around two PM, not ten AM. And you came bearing gifts too. Are you being nice to me ’cause I’m a victim?”

She looked clueless as she glanced at me. “A victim? A victim of what?”

“A victim of love, of course,” I returned, acting outraged. “I got chewed up and spit out—and not in a sexy way.”

She rolled her eyes and gave her attention to the phone buzzing in her handbag. After checking the screen, she sighed. “Sorry, my poor victim of love, I need to take this. I’m scheduling meetings with potential agents.”

“You go ahead and do that, and I’ll keep doing this tequila.”

As soon as she left the room, I closed my eyes and let my head rest on the back of the sofa.

So Jameson was gone. So I wasn’t in a relationship anymore. Whatever, right? I’d never planned to get into one in the first place. I should’ve been happy. I should’ve felt better knowing I’d been right about the existence of a curse on our family.

Did I feel anything like happiness at that moment?

Not even close. But I knew I would live, so there was no point in acting like my life was over. Thanks to my family, I’d seen worse. Jameson was a saint compared to them.

When Olive came back, I tried to avert my gaze so she wouldn’t focus on my watering eyes.

Oh, shush! I hadn’t been silently crying or anything, I was just allergic to the damn apartment.

“How about we get out of here?” Olive asked softly.