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I tuck my hair behind my ear in the warm breeze, trying to avoid answering.
“You didn’t text me,” Marci says. “Come on, spill it before Belle and Han get back.”
“Cash and I kissed,” I say quietly, hoping the music from the speakers will drown out what I’ve just said.
But judging by Marci’s dropped jaw, she heard.
“You’re kidding me.” It comes out as an excited hiss.
“Wait,” I say, “don’t get your hopes up. It wasn’t like that.”
“Like what? It wasn’t hot?”
“No, it was incredibly hot. I just mean it wasn’t anything serious. It was a one-off thing.”
“Right, right,” Marci says, grasping her nearly empty bottle of beer by the neck, one eyebrow raised. “Did this happen before or after he brought you a flower in my diner?”
“Before. The flower was an apology. He felt bad because I’m working for him. Look, you can’t tell anyone about this. It’s not going to happen again.”
“Sure.”
“Marci.”
“Hey,” she says, “I’m not going to tell a soul. Your secret is safe with me. But if you want my opinion—”
“I don’t.”
“Too bad. If you want my opinion,” Marci says, with a sneaky grin, “this is only the start of it, June. There’s no way you two can kiss and move on.”
“We can. No, it’s not even about that. I have to. I’m not going to open myself up to that again, Marce. Not after what happened with—”
“He who shall not be named.” Marci crosses herself. “Just seems a shame.”
“What does?”
“That you’ve waited so long for something to happen between you two, and now that it has, you’re just ready to let it go?”
“Because I’m not a kid anymore,” I say. “I’m not stuck in my fantasy world or whatever. I have to be realistic.”
“Borrrinnnggg.” Marci shakes her head. “You should fuck him.”
“That’s very testosterone-y of you, Marce.”
“Oh, come on, wanting to get laid is not a guy thing. It’s an everybody thing. Or most people thing. How long has it been since you’ve had a good session?” Marci’s eyes glaze over. “Picture it. His hands running over your body, his mouth—”
“Is that the beer talking?” I have to stop her because the trouble is, I have been picturing it.
“No,” she says, then tilts her head to one side, her crimson hair falling past her shoulder. “But it might be the dry spell.”
“Huh.”
“Look, I know that Cash likes you,” Marci says. “I just know it. Men don’t act the way he acts around you when they’re not interested.”
“You’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“He has a daughter with my ex-best friend.” I hesitate. “And he chose her, not me. This might be my ego talking, but I’m not going to be someone’s second choice. Not even Cash Taylor’s. Braydon made me a second choice for the entirety of our relationship.”
