“October third,” she says excitedly. “The submission and judging are both on October third. It’s going to be broadcast live on The Morning Show on Channel 5 News, too.” She looks at me, nervous excitement all over her face. “You’re still coming, right? I know the LSAT is the next weekend, but you’re not going to be too busy cramming last minute practice tests to come watch me, right?”
“Bailey, I wouldn’t miss this contest for anything. Besides,” I add, “if I don’t know what I need to know for the LSAT by then, there’s no hope for me.”
Bailey looks at me earnestly and smiles. “You’re gonna crush the LSAT, V.”
“Thank you, B.” I smile back. “And you’re gonna crush this cookie contest.” I mean it, too. Bailey is freaking talented. The recipes she comes up with are always creative and delicious.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I say with a grin, “are you going to tell me where you were the other night? You weren’t here when I got home...or when I left for class...”
She pops a brow and smiles coyly. “I checked in and shared my location with you.”
“Ha, yeah, and you were off campus in a townhouse! I Google Earthed it.”
She rolls her eyes at me with a smile. She knows I’m over-protective and a worrier. I’m not ashamed of it. Hence why we always share our locations and send check-in texts.
“Well,” she takes a slow sip of her wine, “I might have met someone…”
I widen my eyes excitedly and can’t help my suggestive smile. “Why didn’t you tell me the second it happened? Name? Credentials?”
“It’s not a big deal.” She takes another sip from her glass and shrugs it off in a very Bailey way. “I met him in the baking aisle at the grocery store, and we had a good time.”
“You gonna see him again?” I ask. Bailey dates, but she doesn’t get invested. Guys are a fun pastime, a stress reliever, and that’s it.
“Dunno yet.” She crinkles her nose, and I watch her eyes flick to where her phone sits on the coffee table. Interesting.
“Oh, I wanted to ask,” she blurts suddenly, “what happened Friday? You were already home when I got home from work, but it didn’t sound like anyone was with you...” Bailey trails off and raises her eyebrows, effectively turning the tables on me.
“Ugh. I came home early. The guy I went home with was terrible.”
Bailey laughs. “Oh no! What do you mean terrible? Like he had a small peen?” She wiggles her pinky finger, causing me to lose it in a fit of giggles.
“No! Gosh, no. He was, um, definitely fine in that department.” I widen my eyes for emphasis. “But he ended up being a bigger jerk than I wanted to deal with.”
“Oh, ew. That’s worse than...” and she wiggles her pinky finger again.
“True. I’ll take an average-sized, uh, tool over a tool bag any day. Big doesn’t always equate to good.”
“Truth. Sometimes big is just some meathead throwing it around in all the wrong ways thinking he’s a baller.” She flails her arm around in front of her in demonstration and I laugh when she splashes wine on her shirt.
“Shit!” She giggles and swipes at the spill with her other hand. “See? No finesse.”
“Right? Like, you can take your extra inches and trade them in for some skill and basic knowledge of the female anatomy. Ya Neanderthal.”
“So anyway,” Bailey says after our giggles have faded. “What did the big dick dumbass do?”
“Well, first, he wouldn’t go down on me, which okay whatever, that’s not all that unusual,” I say with a sigh. “But he tried to act like he didn’t have a condom!”
“What! Like, he lied?”
“Yep. He lied and then fed me the ‘I can’t feel you good with a condom’ line.” I try to say it in my best pea-brain caveman voice, which is now how Brock sounds in my memories.
“Gross. What did you do?”
“I told him no way in heck was I having sex without a condom.”
“Good. We don’t want no STDs or baby dumbasses!”
“That’s not even the end of it. When I told him I was leaving, he called me fat.”