“He knows I’m into someone.”
“Someone?”
“Mr. Powers.”
“Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery?”
“You know it?”
“Everyone knows it.” She stares into my eyes. “And he thinks this guy is…”
“All he knows is that Mr. Powers isn’t interested in me.”
“Wow. That’s…” She taps her toe against the hardwood floor. “You’re technically not lying to him.”
“Thanks.”
“You know how that worked out for me?”
“You’re now happy with Walker.”
“Uh-huh.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re skipping over something important.”
“You ended up with him. Who cares about a few bumps in the road?”
She shoots me some serious side-eye. “Remember that night you took me out because I was miserable?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar.”
She tilts her head to one side, assessing my bullshit level. “How many eighties nights have we gone to?”
“We go every month.”
“We’ve gone to two.”
“Is it only two?”
“You’re full of it.” She laughs. “You said the only thing worse than being his best friend and not his everything is being his nothing.”
“It was profoundly less poetic, but, yes. That was the general sentiment.”
“Has that changed?”
“No.”
She takes another step toward me. “So what happens if this ends your friendship?”
“I won’t let it.”
She folds her arms. Stares at me, daring me to justify my claim.
My eyes go to my shiny patent heels. They’re three inches. So I’m eye to eye with Ryan.
“I have all day,” she says.
“Don’t you want to hang with Walker?”