Friction(8)

That last thought makes me pause.

I was never the brightest in our class, but Lucy’s comment and smug little grin at graduation had given me the kick in the arse I needed.

Maybe I should return the favor.

At the very least I can call her references.

And if I do hire her, she won’t last a day, and my problem will solve itself.





Three





Lucy





I wish I could say I'm surprised, but when the week creeps to a close, the only job-related calls I've gotten are from Tom, who continues to chide me about leaving San Francisco. It royally sucks to scratch yet another opportunity off my list, but like Jamie always says, it is what it is. I'm disappointed—my mother was so hopeful after I came home Monday night and let her know EXtreme Effects wasn't some crazy Craigslist sex scheme and that I knew the owner from school—but I feign nonchalance whenever she asks if Jace has called.

"You'll hear from him today," she's assured me several times, her voice still brimming with confidence whenever I say he hasn't gotten in touch with me.

And every time, I smile and hunch my shoulders, feeling a little more like a failure. A little closer to becoming a Bingo-playing cat lady. "Maybe. If not, it's probably for the best."

I don't tell her how I'd started off the interview wrong when he told me I looked well. I mean, how the hell does one respond to that?

You were a dick in school, but I like your beard—love it, in fact.

Your flannel shirt and muscles and tattoos make my mouth go dry. Do you happen to have water to help with that?

Jesus H. Christ, you grew up beautifully. Epically.

I also don’t let Mom know that I’d said things that are too personal, too painful, to mention to many of my friends, much less to the man dangling a job over my head. And I certainly don't admit that, when I say Jace's silence is for the best, I'm being honest. Multiple times I've found my fingers wandering over the hand he held in his, skimming the path his calloused, Roman numeral-tattooed fingers made as he pulled away. It's not the same effect—not even close—but it leaves me lightheaded nonetheless.

By the time I meet Jamie in Boston for drinks on Friday night, I'm agitated. Not with Jace but with myself for thinking of him too many times and checking my phone every five minutes. For wiggling into this shitstorm.

"You've been nursing that thing for at least half an hour, woman." My best friend's melodic voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I look up from swirling my cocktail straw around my mojito and checking my phone for the eleventy-billionth time. Jamie’s brown eyes are pinched into a scowl. "Are you all right?"

"Job woes." I hit the home button on my phone again, just in case, but I have zero new notifications—nothing from Snapchat or Facebook, and certainly not any missed calls or texts. Christ, I’ve fallen so far that I don’t even have new Candy Crush updates. "This week has been total shit."

"Don't even get me started," she mutters. "One of my patients took a dump on me this afternoon."

I’m floored at the stars in her eyes and the silly grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "You know, most people don't smile when they talk about literally getting shit on."

“He was cute.” She shrugs. “It didn't take much to forgive him."

"The baby fever is strong with you," I say wryly. She toasts to my sarcasm and tosses back her shot of tequila, her curly bun flopping backwards then forwards. She'd apologized for what she called her "messy-just-left-the-hospital-and-got-dressed-in-a-car" appearance the moment she swept into the bar, but with her flawless golden brown complexion, long-lashed dark eyes, and pouty lips, Jamie makes disheveled look effortlessly beautiful.

"You know, I keep telling myself I'll meet Mr. Right soon." She eye humps a man in a business suit in the wide mirror behind the bar as he passes by. When she’s no longer able to ogle his reflection, she twists in her seat to stare, her brows curving in appreciation. "And as soon as that ring is on my finger, we'll get down to the baby making. Lots of it."

"Then we'll be here, and you'll cry about how two or three babies whizzed on you." And knowing my luck, I'll probably still be jobless. Because Tom's an ass that refuses to let me move along for some reason that blows my mind. He doesn’t even want me, so why keep going out of his way to make things so difficult?

"Did you know you're more likely to have multiples after thirty?" Jamie grabs an olive from the tiny cup the bartender had brought for her and pops it in her mouth. I make a face, wondering how she can eat the damn things like they’re candy. “Hormone levels increase and all that good stuff.”

“Scouring medical journals again, Nurse Armstrong?” She nods, and I resume stirring my drink. "You know you’re not thirty yet, right?"

"But I'm getting there. Quickly. Two more years to go and if I'm lucky, I'll have twins." She signals the bartender by lifting her empty glass and one finger. He nods and winks, and it’s apparent she’ll get the next shot and a cup of olives on the house. "Two birds with one stone, you know?"

"Sounds like something I've heard your mom say about you and Bella."