The Happy Ever After Playlist - Abby Jimenez Page 0,13
looking at it with a new appreciation. I could taste some of the familiar dishes in my memory. Some of these were my family’s favorites. The slow cooker Dr Pepper boar pot roast, the venison Bolognese, rosemary smothered pheasant. It was incredible to think I’d eaten Sloan’s food without ever having met her in person, that she’d already been in my life in this way for years. It was like I already knew her.
Mom was going to flip. Shit, everyone back home was gonna flip. And I’d just weaseled my way into a date with her. I should play the lottery with my luck.
My phone pinged.
Sloan: So did I make the team?
I smiled.
Jason: Oh, yes. You’re definitely on the team. Looking forward to the apocalypse.
Chapter 6
Sloan
♪ Future | Paramore
I must have looked guilty when I hung up with Jason so quickly because Kristen eyed me suspiciously as she let herself into my house.
“Who was that?” She dropped a bag from In-N-Out on my coffee table, flopped onto the sofa beside me, and ruffled Tucker’s fur.
I debated lying to her. I don’t know why. Maybe because Jason was a man and he wasn’t Brandon and that made me feel guilty? But she’d see it on my face if I lied. She always saw through me.
“That was Jason, Tucker’s owner.”
Her eyebrows went up.
I shrugged. “It’s nothing. He’s taking Tucker back.”
Her gaze softened. “He is? I’m sorry, Sloan. I know you really got attached to him.” She dipped her head a bit to look me in the eye. “Now quit fucking with me and tell me what’s really going on.”
My eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why I bother trying to keep things from you.”
“I don’t know why you bother either.”
I let out a breath through my nose. “We’ve kind of been talking.”
“Talking?” She grinned.
“Yes. Texting and on the phone.” Then I scoffed. “And wait until you see this.”
I grabbed my phone and went to the pictures Jason had sent me of him and Tucker. I handed it over to her and waited as she looked at them.
Her eyes flew wide. “This is Jason?”
“That is Jason. And he’s nice. And funny. And really, really flirty.”
“And he has a great dog,” she said.
“Yes, and he has a great dog.”
“Is he single?”
“Yes.”
“Is he asking you things like whether or not you’re single?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She beamed, handing my phone back. “Have you met him?” Then she looked over at Tucker. “Why is his dog still here?”
“He’s in Australia for work for a few more weeks. I’m keeping Tucker for him until he gets back.”
My phone pinged and I glanced at it. It was Jason. My eyes shot up to Kristen, and she arched an eyebrow.
“Is that him?” she asked, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “Is it a dick pic? Is it amazing?”
“No, it is not a dick pic. Ewww.” If he ever sent me one of those, this little back-and-forth would come to an abrupt end. “He wants to know if The Huntsman’s Wife is my blog.”
Her eyes lit up. “Are you posting again?”
“No, it’s a long story, how that came up.” I pursed my lips. “Why do I feel guilty about this?”
“Because you haven’t dated since Brandon. Because you’re like a hermit. You remind me of those veiled Italian widows from the Old World, wearing black and lighting Virgin Mary candles, shuffling around with their rosaries and—”
I hit her with a throw pillow and she laughed.
“Seriously, Sloan. You’re a hot bombshell. You’re beautiful and talented, and you deserve to be happy again. This recluse stuff is bullshit.”
“Wow, tell me how you really feel.”
“No, I mean it, Sloan. Josh and I talked about this a few days ago. We’re staging an intervention. We decided that once the two-year mark hit, we weren’t going to let you continue to make your life a shrine to Brandon. Enough is enough.”
I looked at her tiredly. “I don’t choose to feel like this, Kristen.”
“Like hell you don’t. You used to be one of the most driven people I know. You had galleries fighting over your work.” She looked around the living room, and when her eyes fell on my most recent commissioned artwork, she turned to me accusatorily. “This is the shit I’m talking about. What is that? A fucking astronaut cat?”
I had the sense to look abashed.
“You’re a crazy-talented artist. Look at the crap you’re painting. You choose this.”
I sighed. She was right. She was right about all of it.
“Do shit that makes you happy. Why don’t you paint something