any good if you’ve got a stalker with a key. I kick off my ballet shoes and snuggle down beside her on the couch. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Sorry I’m stress eating before lunch. Don’t worry, I’ll still be able to eat.” She waves the bar in front of me. “Want some?”
I shake my head. My stomach is tangled in knots. I’ve got no appetite. “I’ll wait till lunch.”
“Ugh. Look how skinny these celebrity women are.” She breaks off a little rectangle from the bar and points at the tv screen with it. “I so wish I was one of those people that couldn’t eat when they are depressed. Unfortunately, I’m the opposite. The breakup is going to put a solid fifteen pounds on me.”
“Speaking of food, what do you want to eat?” I eye her oversized Sherpa hoodie, messy bun, and red rimmed eyes. We’re not going anywhere. “Want me to order in?”
She nods, looking at me through her big, blue, baleful eyes. “Thai food—Panang curry. And sushi. And summer rolls. Oh, and get some of those little Crab Rangoons you got me the last time I was here.”
I grab my phone. There's a string of text notifications on the screen—all missed messages from Gabriel. I slide my finger up the screen, sending them away. I need to think. I need space. With effort, I ignore his messages and tap into my Grubhub app. “You’ve literally just named foods from at least three different restaurants, but you know what? I can make it happen.”
“Work that big sister magic.” She eats another square of chocolate, looking over my shoulder to be sure I’ve got her order right.
I get the Panang curry with beef and the fresh summer rolls from my favorite little Thai place on the corner. Then, I order Lexi’s favorite Dynamite rolls from the Sushi place on Fifth street.
I hit the button for Chow Funs. “Last but not least, the best Chinese place in Vegas to get the Crab Rangoons and,” I flip through the menu, “let’s order a Sweet and Sour chicken with white rice just to be on the safe side, because it looks like the Montague sisters are skipping spin class and staying in for dinner as well as lunch.”
“You’re the best. The absolute best.” She throws her arms around my neck, giving me a chocolatey kiss on the cheek. “Now, what gory, bloody, opposite of a rom-com movie should we watch?”
I want to relax with her but I’m getting a sick feeling about not replying to Gabriel. Maybe it isn’t right to ignore him. No matter what’s going on, he’s been so good to me and I owe him the decency of a response.
Also, I miss him.
I get up from the couch, phone in hand. “You pick. I’m just going to change into a t-shirt.” Dashing into my room, I change, then I pull up the texts from Gabriel. They began coming in just over an hour ago, about the time Lexi called to tell me she was landing.
I’ll be outside your office in thirty minutes. Where does my baby want to go for lunch? Guilt pings my conscience.
Thirty minutes after that one was sent, the next one says:
Waiting outside your office. Did you get caught up with work? Daddy’s waiting, little girl.
And ten minutes after that:
Daddy doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Where are you?
Five minutes later:
Sam said you’ve left. I really need to talk to you. Text me back.
One minute later:
I’m coming over.
Shit! That was fifteen minutes ago. He could be here any minute. I can’t let him come over.
I need to cancel lunch. And dinner. There’s no way after the breakup Lexi’s had that I can leave her alone in my apartment and go to Gabriel’s tonight.
I type the words as quickly as possible, hoping I catch him before he arrives. Knots twist in my gut and I’m half expecting to hear an angry knock on the door before I can hit send.
OMG! SO sorry! Looks like we both totally forgot Lexi was landing by lunch! Sorry I missed your texts, I’ve been tied up with her. No need to come by. I think we just need girl time.
I hit send. Three little dots immediately pop up in the thread. He’s been waiting, phone in hand.
I was so wrapped up in your beauty this morning, I forgot she was coming. But when I see you next, be prepared for a little reminder of what happens when you don’t text your daddy