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Yuck. “And now we’ve both lost. I’ll have you know, I was having a perfectly pleasant evening before this. Emerson Wright told me he wanted to give me ‘this, and that, and more.’ Not very girlie pop of you to put a pall over that.”

“I apologize. And regret my choices. I hope my services as taxi can make up for it.”

I eye him, nose scrunched, but he seems sincere—in his apology and in his revulsion at the thought of romancing me.

I am appeased.

“I forgive you,” I reply graciously. “And so long as you don’t say anything else that makes me want to crawl out of my skin, you’ll stay forgiven.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “I didn’t like that at all.”

I nod and grab my pink fairy-wing purse from the floorboard. “Can you pick me up after the bar closes? Or should I petition Fox for a ride?”

“If I’m not on a call, I can get you, and if I am on a call, I don’t mind getting you after if Fox doesn’t want to go out. Text me either way so I know you’re home safe whatever way that comes about.”

My heart warms, and I mentally add this moment to my gratitude log, letting it fully overshadow the lingering yuck from his previous gag-inducing suggestion. “I can do that.”

“Good,” he grunts.

I’m fully out of the car when he speaks again, and I have to duck my head back into the open door to see him. “I’m happy for you,” he says softly—sincerely. “And for Emerson. It’s been a long time coming.”

Warmth spreads from my heart to my cheeks, coloring them a pink I pretend Sterne can’t see in the blazing lights of the parking lot. “I don’t think it’s anything like that, really. It’s just…” Emerson. Being around, and being so… Emerson.

Sterne nods, even without the end of my sentence. “It is just that,” he agrees. “But even that is promising from my point of view.”

I smile small, pleased. “You think so?”

“I think so,” he confirms, then he shoos me away with a final farewell, reminds me to text him later, and gestures me toward the door to the bar. His car idles in the lot until I’m safely inside, another line in my gratitude log.

Chapter Eight

▲

And while we’re at it, you can have a free drink, too!

Almond

The bar is predictably slow this close to closing time, so I have a straight shot to the bar—and my true target, the butterscotch blonde behind it.

“Poem!” I squeal, launching my upper half over the bar to throw my arms around my bestie.

She hugs me back, squashing me with her love. “Harry, turn on the Almond playlist,” she orders over my shoulder.

Stray Kids plays from the juke box as we pull apart, and I fall into a barstool.

“You drinking?” Poem asks, reaching for a glass.

“Something pink and virgin,” I request as I plop my purse on the bar between us. “With a little umbrella, maybe.”

She gets to work. “Not that I’m complaining, because I always love seeing you, but it’s a bit past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

“It’s very past my bedtime,” I agree, offering no more information. I am woman. I am mysterious. I am chill. I am all things cool, calm, and collected.

I am not feeling bad about making her wait, because she has never once felt bad about torturing me.

Her lips twitch. “Are you going to make me beg for details?”

My legs bounce as I grin. “No, but I’m not not going to make you beg for details after how many years you’ve tortured me with the threat of him.”