I hug my pillow. “Wanna bet?”
“It’s past noon.”
“Oh, I’ll get up eventually,” I groan, checking the time and wincing when I see she’s right. “I promised my parental units I’d head over since I didn’t make it yesterday.”
“Let’s grab lunch, then I’ll drop you off at their place before I head for the studio.”
I love Paige, but sometimes she’s clueless.
“I can’t do lunch. Remember that whole pink slip thing?” I leave the I’m broke part unspoken.
“I’ll pay for it, girl. You need a pick-me-up and I need to revisit that cute Italian place we like. I’ve got your back and I don’t want to eat alone.”
My stomach rumbles, shoving aside the guilt over Paige covering me with thoughts of chicken parm and fettuccine, which beats instant ramen by miles.
“I’m not a bum,” I tell her. “As soon as I’ve landed something else, I’ll—”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll pay back every dime.” Paige picks up a pillow and hits me playfully with it. “I’ve heard it all before. Now quit being humble and let’s get some food before I chew my arm off.”
Fine, she’s convinced me.
It’s a beautiful fall day with the warm sun peeking out behind the clouds, not too much wind, and trees lit up in their autumn best like candles with dancing flames of color for leaves. We sit on the front patio facing the sidewalk at the corner bistro, Mattarello’s Italiano.
Paige takes a slurp off her San Pellegrino. “So how’d it go with that dude you met at the coffee shop yesterday?”
I groan. “Oh, Brad the Unfriendly Ghost? I waited for nearly an hour and the loser never showed.”
I snap my breadstick in half.
“Sorry, Brina. Tough day. But you survived and now it’s the fourteenth! Better day, better times, better men.”
I shrug, popping the garlic bread into my mouth. “Screw dating. I’m more worried about finding another job than anything else, honestly. I wish there was like, a Tinder of jobs. You know that’d be awesome...or horrifying.”
We share a laugh.
Enough rambling. I pick at my fettuccine once the steaming dish slides in front of me. This bowl is huge. I’m definitely taking at least half of it home. It’s another meal I don’t have to pay for, or maybe two if I skimp.
“Oh, but you know what happened after I got blown off?” I ask.
“What?”
“I decided to have my coffee in the park to unwind. There was this big-shot film crew there shooting a fashion ad or something. They said I was in their way.”
“Too bad, so sad.” Paige takes a bite of her fried ravioli. “Just when you think you’ve met the biggest prick in this city driving in rush hour traffic...”
“That’s what I said until this hot jerk—”
Oops. I stop mid-sentence, realizing I’ve slipped.
A slow catlike grin grows across Paige’s face. “A hot jerk? Go on.”
“I mean, his looks don’t really matter. Hot bod, nasty personality. He was a raging grumpasaurus in a suit. Anyway, he tells me if I don’t move, he’s going to move me.” I watch Paige’s eyes go huge. “Uhh—yeah, right. Then he stops just short of mocking me to my face for working at a pet furniture company...which I guess is pretty sad. But not as pathetic as being fired.”
“God. The idiots you meet downtown could run their own circus.” She shakes her head, her gold locks tumbling around her shoulders. “But if you just met him at the park, how’d he know where you worked? That’s weird.”
“Well, I took my prints before Purry Furniture kicked me out, hoping to boost my portfolio. I dropped my folder while he was busy pissing me off, and the cards spilled out.”
“Eek,” she winces. “So, he saw your stuff?”
“Yeah. Let’s just say he wasn’t a fan.”
“What an asswaffle. Tell me you didn’t just sit there and take his tantrum?” She takes another bite.
“Oh, no. I, uh...I kinda spit up the last of my cinnamon latte all over his shoes. Intentionally. He kept barking at me to move, and I said I would when I finished my coffee, so...I finished.”
“No freaking way. You didn’t!” Paige tumbles back in her seat, hiding her face behind her hands as she laughs. “Oh my God, that’s awesome.”
I flash her an awkward smile. Not my proudest moment, to be sure, but there’s no denying how good it felt to give Lucifer an ego check.
“You look worried,” Paige says, as soon as she can breathe again. “Don’t be. You don’t have to see him again. He got what was coming. It’s not like he’s going to track you down and press charges.”
“Yeah, let’s hope not. How are things going for you?” I ask, desperate to shift the conversation.
“Pretty well! I made enough off a website build last week for the interior design firm that I have next month’s rent banked. That’s a good thing because clients come and go. Oh, and you know my cousin, Liv? She commissioned me for this.”