In a New York Minute(39)

“Whad did you thay?” Lola said through a mouthful of Pirate’s Booty.

“Hayes walked me to the subway the other night, after we went all Spy Kids on your date.”

“And?!” Cleo gestured at me to keep going, splashing beer on her shirt as she did. “Damn it,” she muttered to herself, dabbing it with the edge of the towel she was sitting on. “I can’t believe you haven’t told us about this yet!”

“Didn’t we just all agree that my life has gone off the rails? I forgot!” I held up my hands defensively.

“Ahh, go on, please,” Lola said in a ridiculous fake British accent.

“I don’t know. It was fine,” I said honestly. “He grew up kinda near me. We talked about our families. Oh, and get this—he apologized for how weird he was during the interview.”

“And what did you say?” Lola urged me on.

“I let him off the hook. He seemed very sincere. It was sweet. He doesn’t seem as horrible as I originally thought.”

“So it was basically a date,” Cleo said excitedly.

“It was like a ten-minute walk!” I protested.

“I’ve been on dates that haven’t even lasted that long,” Lola snarked.

“Did he remind you that you’re not his type?” Cleo asked, scooting forward to sit closer.

“Yeah, how did Mr. Smooth Moneybags charm you this time?” Lola chimed in as she dug around the bottom of the Pirate’s Booty bag for crumbs.

“Look, I know this sounds crazy, but he’s kind of nice.”

I expected some sort of salty joke back from at least one of them, but they both just stared at me.

“What?” I said, staring back at them.

“You have the hots for Hot Suit.” Cleo said the words as if she were discovering the answer to a riddle, and she tacked on a little gasp at the end, for effect. “You had that motorcycle dream too, remember?”

“I just said he was nice! Because he’s nice! What’s wrong with me thinking he’s nice?” My voice got the teensiest bit higher.

“You just said ‘nice’ three times in a row.” Lola was also using the riddle-solving voice, slow and studious.

“So?” I waved them off defensively. “I can think he’s nice if I want.”

“Mm-hmm, sure.” Cleo raised a skeptical brow at me. “Nice. That’s all. Just nice.”

“I totally support you being hot for Hot Suit,” said Lola. “Then we can double-date.”

“Oh my god, will you stop? We’re not going on a double date, because I’m not dating him,” I insisted, taking a swig of water.

“But I bet you would, if he asked you out,” Cleo went on, giggling. “And you’d have a nice kiss at the end of the night.”

“Yeah, I wonder.” Lola tilted her head in thought. “Do you think he’s nice at the sex?”

“Ooooh yeah, Hot Suit would give it to you nicely, Fran,” Cleo said, and now I was laughing along with her and Lola. And even though the attention was still on me, it felt good for the conversation to be light and easy. I kept laughing, hoping that neither of them would detect the truth: that underneath it all, I was scared shitless about just about everything happening in my life.





Chapter Ten

Hayes



“Hayes!”

A few days later, Serena greeted me on the sidewalk outside a downtown bar that I’d never heard of until she texted me the name and address. She seemed to tower over me, even though I was taller than her by a few inches. Sure, she was in heels, but it was her electric confidence that seemed to rocket her to the sky. Oh, and the skintight jeans didn’t hurt either.

“Hey.” I leaned in for a hug and landed my lips on her cheek. “It’s nice to see you again.”

She laughed at this, even though I hadn’t intended it to be funny.

“It’s kind of a scene inside. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” I said, unsure of what a “scene” would entail. It was only a Wednesday night. “This is your sorority sister’s party?”

Serena nodded. She’d invited me last weekend during our run, and I’d expected a quiet gathering, a few friends.

“Hayley has the whole place rented out for her birthday,” she said, reaching for the door. “I’ve never seen anyone go this hard for their twenty-ninth birthday, but I’m into it.”

We walked up the steps and through the giant arched doorway, where overhead floated giant gold balloons that spelled out HAYLEY. Just inside the front door was a wall with Hayley’s name printed on it in pink and black, with brand logos all over it. People posed for photos in front of it, hugging and waving peace signs as a bored-looking bearded guy with a camera snapped away.

“Let’s go take a photo in front of the step-and-repeat!” She gestured toward the name wall.

Serena pulled me forward and waved the photographer over to us. She angled herself next to me, chin tilted to the right, hips jutting toward the camera, elbow crooked just so. I made the same face I always do. I had decided in middle school that smiling made me look ridiculous in photos, and so I avoided it at all costs the second a camera rolled around. After a few shots together, she slid away from me and twisted her body in the opposite direction. “Derek, I need one for Insta,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.