“When I said they weren’t bad, they just weren’t as good as the books because they obviously missed a lot out—especially Azkaban—he told me he’d never read the books but they were probably garbage, too.”
Holley gasped, clutching her hands to her check. “He did not!”
“He did!”
Saylor shot to her feet and planted her hands on the table. “Give me his number. Nobody talks shit about Harry and gets away with it.”
I held up my hands and shook my head. “It gets worse.”
She slowly sat back down, but she had murder in her eyes.
“After I changed the subject again, our food came and thankfully stopped another painful conversation. There was a crash somewhere in the restaurant, it spooked me, and I dropped spaghetti on my dress.” My cheeks burned at the memory of how shock and disgust had filled his eyes. “I excused myself to the bathroom to try to fix it—”
“Unsuccessfully,” Holley added brightly.
“Unsuccessfully,” I drawled. “But when I got back to the table, he was gone and had paid for his half of dinner. Rihanna said he’d had a phone call about a family emergency and rushed off, but even she rolled her eyes as she said it.”
“What a dick!” Saylor said, sipping her wine. “And Josh thought this guy was worth your time?”
“Well, people aren’t always the same in real life as they are on the internet.”
I pointed at Holley and nodded. “I don’t spill spaghetti on myself on the internet.”
She smiled sadly. “Sorry your date went badly, Kins.”
“It’s fine. It happens. I’m sure there’ll be another one that won’t be so terrible next time.”
“And you won’t be wearing white or ordering the spaghetti,” Saylor said with a grin.
“And I’ll find out how he feels about Harry Potter before I go.”
We all laughed and quickly moved on. It wasn’t that late and the store was technically still open, but it was so quiet that I helped them close up while we finished the bottle of wine.
When we were done, I waved them goodbye and got into my car, where I promptly kicked off my shoes to drive barefoot.
Yes, yes, don’t worry. I’d only had one glass of wine.
And a half.
I didn’t get a chance to drink the one I’d paid for at the restaurant.
My phone rang just as I pulled away, and I hit the button on the built-in screen on my dashboard. “Hello?”
“Oh. I didn’t expect you to answer.”
“Then why did you call me?”
My brother chuckled. “Bet with Josh. He bet you’d still be on the date, but I knew you’d left already.”
“How did you know?”
“I saw your car outside the bookstore.”
“Ah, so you cheated.”
“I omitted some truths,” he admitted. “Was it that bad?”
I relayed the story with a little less detail than I’d shared with the girls.
“Shit. You really know how to pick ‘em, huh?”
“I didn’t pick him. Josh did.”
“You need a new matchmaker.”
“I concur,” I muttered, pulling up to the intersection and flipping on my blinker. “What are you doing right now?”
“Outside Bronco’s, avoiding my girlfriend. We just grabbed dinner.”
“You and Josh or you and Amber?”
“Why would I have had dinner with Amber if I’m avoiding her?”
“I don’t know, you weren’t exactly clear in your last message.”
He huffed, making my speakers crackle. “Me and Josh. Amber is on the other side of Bronco’s with a friend. She doesn’t know I’m here.”
I shook my head. I’d said it a thousand times and I’d probably say it a thousand more: I didn’t know why they didn’t just break up. It wasn’t like they were eighteen anymore. Colton was almost thirty and Amber was twenty-eight.
How much more time were they going to waste on a relationship that was going nowhere?
That was the thing we should have all been betting on.
“Right,” I said slowly. “I’m trying not to judge you for that, but you’re really rather pathetic.”
“Says the woman who can’t have a date without getting spaghetti sauce on her white dress,” my brother shot back. “Hold on.” His voice became slightly muffled. “Yes, I said white… I don’t know, Josh, ask her yourself.”
Great.
“What? Jesus, okay, but it’s your funeral.”
“I’m still here,” I said, pulling onto my street.
There was a rustle and then, “Are you still at the store? Or are you at home? Your matchmaker wants a debrief.”
“I’m about to get home. And tell my matchmaker that if he’s coming over, expect me in pajamas, and I expect wine. I’m traumatized he thought someone who has never read the Harry Potter books has any right to trash my boy.”
“You’re so fucking weird.”
I laughed as Colt hung up. Perfect timing, I thought as I pulled into my driveway. I didn’t have to worry about disconnecting the call and messing around with my phone while I went inside.
I grabbed my things from the passenger side seat, including my shoes, and walked barefoot to my front door. After locking the car, I let myself into the house, dumped the shoes and my purse, and went straight for the stairs.