Push(31)

“Aren’t you worried they’ll try to win my heart with a song?”
“The kind of music they make isn’t going to win any hearts, so, no, I am not worried about that. You’ll like them, though—as people, I mean. They are a hell of a lot of fun.”
“Good, ’cause I could use some fun,” I say with a coy smile. “Now, get out, so I can finish getting ready for work.” I grab the curtain and pull it closed briskly.
“You mean you don’t want me to come in there with you?” he asks.
“Not unless you want a face full of fist. I’m already late. Trust me, if you try and make a move on me this morning, the outcome is not going to be nearly as fantastic as it was yesterday.”
“And fantastic it was,” he says under his breath as he leaves the bathroom. I don’t know if he intended for me to hear it or not.
I finish my shower, towel off, put on my underwear and makeup, and dry my hair. When I step out of the bathroom, I can smell that he has made coffee. I dress and put on some jewelry and shoes and head out to the kitchen. David is sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and his keys dangling from his index finger.
“Let’s go,” he says. “I’ll drive you.”
“That’s sweet, really, but I’m okay with taking the bus. You don’t have to drive me.”
“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “I was kind of hoping maybe you could tell me more things on the shitty-ass boyfriend list during our ride.”
“Item number two—shitty-ass boyfriends always want to talk while they’re driving, and I prefer to ride in silence.”
“I won’t say a word,” he says with a grin. “Scout’s honor.”
“Good. Let’s go. And thanks.”
* * *

Matt is the same as yesterday. I thought that his encounter with David might make him a little more standoffish with me, but that is clearly not the case. I am thankful, though, that he isn’t asking me a lot of questions about David. In fact, he doesn’t bring him up at all. Instead, he is rattling off assorted things about himself; it’s as if he is filling in an old friend he hasn’t seen for years. I just let him go and escape into my own thoughts whenever I need a break from his f*cking drivel. At one point in the morning, I suggest we separate for a few hours after lunch so we can each work on our own designs. I want to bow down and thank him when he agrees to it. We make plans to connect again at three-thirty.
When lunchtime arrives, I slip away to the cafeteria. I check my cell, and sure enough, there is a message from David. It came in around eleven.


Hi.


Hi back.


They r playing Friday night at The Trash Bin.


I’m in.


Sweet.


I’m guessing that’s a bar?


It’s a club.


What kind of club?


You’ll see.


I’m Googling it.


Go ahead. You won’t find it, though.


Intriguing. Do I have to wear a cat suit or something?


Yes.


Ooookkkkkaaaayyyyyy....


U good to take the bus this afternoon?


What’s with the complete change of subject?


Yes. I was expecting to take it.


Ok. Friday at 7:00? Wanna grab some eats first?


Sure.


Out with friends tonight. Just in case u care.


Ok.


C u Friday.


Bye.


Bye back.


About five minutes pass, and my phone pings again. I am in line for a deli sandwich.


Fantastic was the right word, by the way.


Huh?


Your description of last night. At my place.


Glad we agree.


I’ve never had it so fantastic.


Fuck u.


I’m being serious.


Really?


Yes. U r one exceptional f*ck buddy, Emma.


Years of experience.


Don’t go there.


Feeling covetous?


U have no idea.


Atta boy.


My phone is silent again for several minutes while I pick out and pay for my sandwich. I am walking to a table in the back of the cafeteria to sit with Matt and a few other guys when it pings yet again. I put my tray down on the table, pull my phone from my pocket, and slide it open.


Tell me u aren’t having lunch with the douche bag u were talking to last night.


I could. But it would b a lie.


I hate him.


U don’t even know him.


I don’t have to.


Well, if it makes u feel better, I hate him too.


Then why r u having lunch with him?


Item number 3: Shitty-ass boyfriends are always too quick to point out the obvious.


Just sayin’.


I know I am wearing a stupid f*cking smile, and when I slide my phone closed and look up, Matt says, “I want some of whatever Emma’s smoking.” They all chuckle and look at me in expectation. As if they want me to tell them why the hell I am smiling. As if they want to know what is so goddamned funny.
“You couldn’t handle what I’m smoking, Matt,” I say with a knowing smirk.



chapter Sixteen