From the Jump(58)

I bite my lip to stop it from curling up, even though they’re both behind me and neither can see my face. Booker is in front of me, and his eyes have widened with interest at the sharpness of Deiss’s tone.

“Ugh,” Zoe sighs. “I’m terrible. Sorry, Liv. Two weeks of vacation drinking has left my brain totally soggy.”

“Well, the rest of you seems to have stayed remarkably firm,” Booker says with a wink. “The name’s Booker, but you can call me anything you want.”

I groan, but Deiss just laughs, reaching around me to flip open the laptop. The label is still up on the screen, and I feel a flush of pride at the sight of it. It looks even better now that I’ve had a little distance from the process of building and erasing and building again.

“That’s amazing.” Deiss leans closer, studying the screen like it’s an exhibit at a museum rather than a label that’s meant to be plastered around a bottle of booze. His hand drapes over my shoulder. “I love how you’ve managed to make it both whimsical and stately at the same time.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, pleased at his assessment. A unique spin on a traditional representation is what I kept trying to accomplish at Infinity Designs, but they never wanted anything new or different. Hopefully, this client will. If they don’t like it, it will be the first project I’ve done this week that’s been rejected. Everyone else has loved what I’ve turned in.

“It really is good,” Zoe says.

Booker laughs at her higher voice, which betrays her surprise. “You thought it would be bad?”

I turn to Zoe. For the first time since she entered, she looks the slightest bit ruffled.

“No,” she says unconvincingly.

Booker laughs again.

“Fine.” Zoe shrugs, an apologetic smile stretching across her face. “You hear that someone is going freelance and you can’t help assuming they’re a novice. You’re not, though,” she says, turning to me. “You’re actually really talented.”

“She’s been doing this professionally for years,” Deiss says. “She’s just switching from doing it for a company to doing it for herself.”

Zoe’s eyes narrow for a split second, and then her smile widens even further.

“That’s great, Liv,” she says, her hand going to my arm. “There’s a ton of work out there to be picked up. In fact, I’m a little overwhelmed myself. I’ve taken on a new beauty line because the pay was too good to pass up, but I could use a partner on it. We should swap numbers, if you’re interested?”

“I’d like that,” I say a tad reluctantly.

I know from our chat at the pool that night that it’s a great offer. Zoe is well past the period I’m currently in, where you present your services in response to posts from average people offering jobs for set pay. She’s worked with big-name companies, many of whom have sought her out, and some of whom she’s even had to turn down due to lack of time.

Still, my chest feels tight when I put my number into her phone. It doesn’t loosen when Booker and I wave Zoe and Deiss off into the night, where the two of them will eat dinner, and reminisce on their night together in South Africa, and likely opt to relive the experience. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve apologized to Deiss, worked through whatever weirdness was happening in my mind, finished a project, and potentially opened a door to future work. I should be elated.

“That’s a fire bunny right there,” Booker says, still staring at the door like the ghost of Zoe’s ass has lingered in her wake.

I close my eyes and shake my head before giving in to curiosity. “A what?”

“Hot,” he says, like he’s speaking to child. “Zoe is hot.”

“Yeah,” I say, abandoning my perfect posture to slump against the counter. “She really is.”

“And lucky for you,” he says.

“Mmm,” I murmur noncommittally.

“I mean, talk about great timing. Deiss happens to hook up with a successful graphic designer right when you’re trying to start a new career in that field.”

I nod, knowing that Booker has no idea how right he is about the timing. If our friendship, and the pact, and Deiss’s general lack of interest in me weren’t enough to keep me in line, surely the risk of alienating a potential work partner will be.

“You’re right,” I sigh. “The timing is perfect.”





THEN


Maybe it was foolish, but I’d somehow convinced myself Chad Russel and I were going to get married. Choosing to spend your entire senior year together meant something, didn’t it? It was a time of looking forward, planning the rest of your life. We’d spent hours talking about our future careers, what city we wanted to live in. I just assumed we were making decisions. Together. Clearly, I’d assumed wrong.

I was upset, not because I truly loved him but because if felt like my fault.

“You don’t have time for me,” Chad said, standing up from the table where I’d spent a considerable amount of said time waiting for him to show up. His button-up hung stiffly on his lanky frame, like he’d taken the time to iron it to honor the seriousness of his pronouncement. “All you ever want to do is hang out with your friends.”