When Stars Collide (Second Chance Romance #2) - Sara Furlong-Burr Page 0,70

that night even happened, maybe even earlier. He just didn’t want to tell me beforehand, because he wanted me to enjoy myself and not sulk the entire night.”

A knock on my office door startled the both of us. Seconds later, Penelope poked her head inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Mr. Drake, you have a call from Nicole Casey, the author of that historical romance you reviewed.”

“Ah, yes, please tell Ms. Casey I’ll be right with her.”

“Sure thing.”

Phineas stood up. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“What about that tequila cooler I asked you to have installed in the break room months ago?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.” He paused in the doorway, uncertainty in his eyes. He looked like he was going to say something, but he changed his mind at the last second. Instead, he tapped his hand on the doorframe and walked back to his office.

*****

Two months. I had to wait two months for surgery. Two months of uncertainty. Two months of wondering whether my cancer had spread to other parts of my body. Whether I would be a stage two cancer patient with an eighty percent chance of survival, or a stage four cancer patient with a twenty-five percent chance of survival. To say I was going stir crazy would be an understatement; to say I was driving Jo crazy some days with my incessant pacing and stress cleaning was also an understatement.

“How many times this week are you going to clean out the fridge?” Jo asked, leaning against the counter.

“Until I’m no longer pulling out things with green fuzz growing on them.”

“Good luck with that.”

“What the hell?” I pulled out a ball of something green, orange, and nauseatingly squishy.

“Oh, my peach. I wondered where that went.”

I contemplated throwing the fruit at Jo, but then decided against it, knowing she would retaliate.

“So, when’s your surgery?”

“In two weeks—January 30th.”

“Nervous?”

“Honestly, no. I’m looking forward to finally getting it out of the way and moving on with my life.” I hadn’t told too many people about my diagnosis, and the way Jo was looking at me from across the kitchen perfectly illustrated the reason why. I despised being pitied. It made me feel vulnerable, which was the last thing I wanted to be. “Oh, I’m going to be gone next weekend. Elle’s having the first of a few bridal showers.”

“That means the wedding must be getting close.”

“In less than four months.”

“So, that means I’m going to have the apartment all to myself.” Jo smiled, rubbing her hands together. “Guess I should start deciding what the flavor of the week is going to be this week.”

Usually I could turn a blind eye to Jo’s sexual exploits, but for some reason—maybe it was the fact that my ass was numb from sitting on the cold tile floor in a thin pair of cotton shorts, or because I was elbow deep in a produce drawer filled with more penicillin than fruit—I felt myself compelled to address the thoughts I normally kept to myself.

“Aren’t you getting tired of pointless hookups? Maybe it was cute in your twenties, but twenty you are not.”

Jo furrowed her brow. “You sound like my parents.”

“Then maybe you should take that as a sign that you should make some major life changes.”

“Why do you care what I do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jo. Because even though we only met when you responded to an online ad because I needed a roommate to afford rent, I actually do care about you, and I know destructive behavior when I see it.”

“Don’t sit there and act like you have your life together,” Jo countered. She rarely got mad at me, but this topic of conversation had really struck a nerve with her.

I reached back into the refrigerator drawer and pulled out a slimy … apple? A lemon? Jimmy Hoffa?

“I just don’t understand you, Jo. You had a great girl in that Madison broad and you let her get away.”

Confused, Jo stared at me, while her brain searched for the dusty file with Madison’s name written on it.

“Hoodie girl.”

“Oh! Yeah, okay.”

“She really liked you, and you treated her like a piece of trash, discarding her when you were done with her. All I’m saying is, maybe you may want to start caring about the trail of broken hearts and hurt feelings you’re leaving behind.”

“As you said, we found each other through an ad. We’re a business transaction, nothing more. You know nothing about me or my life, so please stay out of