Fuck It (Yama Yama)

Of course Bobby Jo swipes a seat right next to him, and for some reason, Kasha shoves me into the seat on his other side.

“I had some time off and decided to come see you guys,” Henley says.

As everyone gets seated, the chitchat focuses heavily on Lydia and Henley. I just listen, content to stay on the sidelines. Did I mention I’m private? Lately I’ve had little sleep, so that means verbal diarrhea. It’s best if I don’t talk.

Emitt keeps shifting closer and closer to me, probably because Bobby Jo keeps shifting closer to him.

I listen in, holding in my questions. Like, who’s Simon? What date? And why does he have Gretchen’s kid? And when did Gretchen have a kid I didn’t know about?

“Is it Anderson’s?” I ask before I can stop myself.

All three girls shut up and look at me like eyes are going to pop out of their heads. “Of course not,” Kasha says, and I visibly relax.

Her eyebrow arches, but Henley and Lydia have already resumed the prior conversation. I drop my gaze to the wine list, wondering if I should just drink a little. Yep.

I order a glass, while Kasha studies me. Finally, she looks away, and I’m a little too giddy when my glass of wine is brought to the table. Right as the food comes, the conversation suddenly swings to me.

“How’s working for Anderson?” Kasha asks, while Emitt says something about needing more space.

“It’s getting easier,” I tell her, biting back a lot of questions I’d rather ask.

My phone chimes in my purse, and I look down to read the message.

Anderson: I’ll pick you up on my way through if you tell me what restaurant you’re at. We can run over what we’re going to say at the meeting.

He’s never offered to pick me up before.

Me: Shabby Shack down the street from my house. We’ll be done in about thirty minutes or less.

* * *

Anderson: Guess you didn’t need longer than an hour after all…

* * *

Me: Guess you couldn’t live without me that long, since YOU texted ME.

I think I just flirted. Yep. Positive that was flirting.

Anderson: You do keep things interesting…

Is that flirting back? I think it is.

“Who’s got you smiling?” Kasha asks, causing me to look up and take in the entire table around me.

Emitt glances at the phone in my hand, and he clears his throat, while I choke on words. “Some guy named Henry,” he lies, saving me.

I cast him a grateful glance. I don’t want to spend the next thirty minutes listening to terrible things about Anderson. And I’m sure that’s all they’d share.

I’m not sure why I’m suddenly pro-Anderson, but at the same time, we’ve all hit our lows. We’ve all fucked up. For some reason, it’s all anyone ever remembers.

And he knows he was terrible. He also gave up the hope of ever being with anyone because he thinks he’ll always be terrible. I’m a sucker for broken people, because those are my people.

“Henry?” Kasha asks, reminding me I’m under scrutiny.

“Work friend,” I say tightly. “Nothing romantic.”

I shovel down my food, eating much faster than necessary, mostly to keep my mouth occupied with things going in, so that nothing stupid comes out.

“Emitt is my dad’s hot intern who is currently studying brain mapping and stuff,” Kasha randomly inserts.

Emitt mutters something under his breath, then says, “I thought there was going to be other guys at this lunch.”

“And he’s great at picking up things when you drop them,” Kasha goes on.

“Sounds like that education is paying off,” I quip, then realize that sounds insulting rather than funny.

Fortunately, Emitt laughs, even as Kasha rolls her eyes like she’s exasperated with me.

“He’s in the prosthetic field and is taking robotic prosthetics to the next level with Dad,” she adds.

I chug another glass of wine, realizing belatedly that it belongs to Henley, who darts a curious glance at me. Fortunately, the wine glasses are refilled immediately like the waiter was just waiting to pounce, and I work on drinking my next one.

Why am I nervous? It can’t possibly be because Anderson is picking me up.

“Neat,” I state when Kasha stares expectantly at me.

She arches an eyebrow. I’m fairly sure she’s suspicious. “So, you aren’t dating Henry?”

“She’s not dating anyone since the last guy who ran out of her house after telling her she was horrible at sex,” Bobby Jo supplies, completely oblivious to how mortifying that is to hear aloud.

I gape at her, but she’s distracted. Emitt curses, scooting farther away.

It’s like the entire table registers what she said all at once.

“How can you be horrible at sex?” Lydia, Kasha, and Henley all three ask in unison, and much too loud.

Pretty sure the entire restaurant is currently staring at our table as they await my fascinating answer. Please kill me. And do something creative with the body.