It’s Sunday morning. I’m in my bedroom, awake for a good hour, but lying here doing nothing but wallowing.
I took a cab home last night, putting it on my company credit card. I texted Ally from the cab.
“I’m going home. I’ll see you Sunday when I come down to pick up my stuff. It’s obvious to me you were part of that and I’m sorry but you’re in the penalty box for real. This guy is fucking with me LARGE and it’s not funny that you would help him. It’s not even a little bit funny. I just disowned a bestie for fucking me over for years and it still stings. Once bitten, twice shy, sister, so this is your one warning. I am not playing where Aiden Carmichael is concerned. Do something like this again, and you and me are done.”
I’m steaming mad. It feels good to let it out, though.
That guy on the dancefloor shouted to me over the music, “You can move, baby girl. My husband over there don’t dance, so can I dance with you?”
I turned to look at the very handsome tall and built black guy who had a great smile and amazing kind eyes. I nodded. “I’d like to dance with someone who won’t try to take me home, so you are on!”
And then Aiden was there, yanking the guy off roughly and carrying me out of there like a Neanderthal.
It was humiliating. It was mortifying. And today, I don’t even want to get up out of bed.
I’m going to do my laundry and stay here and hide out in my room and watch TV. I’m going to pack for NYC for tomorrow night’s flight and I’m maybe going to do some work, make a game plan for exhibits I want to visit, workshops I want to attend.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door. It gives me a jolt.
Oh, he better not be trying to start something else here.
“What?” I shout.
“It’s me.” It’s Ally.
I open the door. I’m dressed in a one-piece green baggy romper, my hair up in a ponytail, my face make-up free.
She’s in another pair of Tigger pajamas, these ones just cotton, and she has a big bag with all my stuff from downstairs in one hand. In the other hand, she’s got a small lasagna-sized plastic tub with a lid on it.
“I’m really sorry. I come in peace. With cupcakes. Can I come in? My cupcakes are legendary.”
I let her in and shut the door.
“Is he out there?” I ask.
She nods. “He let me in. I read him the riot act about last night. But I don’t think it was necessary. He’s looking full of remorse. Can you forgive me? I was trying to play matchmaker. I have this intuition that never fails me about people. I see you two together. I see it … and it’s perfect. And I was trying to meddle. I saw him carry you out last night and gotta say, at first, I was loving watching him go all caveman. It was smokin’ hot. But then I got your text and… I’m sorry for my part in that. He texted me just before pancakes yesterday and told me he was into you and asked what we were doing last night, and he suggested that club and said he’d meet us there. He said he’d bring Austin for Meryl, because, as you know, I’m trying to orchestrate a match there, too.” She bites her lip. “I don’t see that as a forever. I see that as fun for Meryl. She has a lot of responsibility at home and I just want her to have a laugh before she has to go back. But you two? I see it, Carly and I’m … please don’t be mad at me.”
“Did Meryl put you in the penalty box, too?” I grumble and open the container of cupcakes. They look amazing. There are six of them and they’re piled high with pink frosting swirls.
She shakes her head and then her eyes light up.
“She went home with him.”
I gasp. “No.”
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She nods. “I want to gush about it, but you’re mad at me.”
“Go make me a coffee so I don’t have to go out there and see his face and I’ll let you out of the penalty box. But with a warning.”
She raises her right hand and places it over her heart and looks at me with meaning.
“Coffee,” I order.
She claps her hands and dashes out.
I sit down on my bed and pull a cupcake out.