Hot Stuff

Though, I will admit, that hasn’t stopped me from checking my phone a half-dozen times to see if Garrett’s been able to add to our ever-growing text thread.

This time, when I see that he hasn’t, I fall into a black hole of picture surfing.

Considering I go psycho fish mom on the nights Garrett isn’t around and take dozens of new pictures of Fat Frank, there’s a lot to see. His best angle is quartering to the left, that’s for sure, but the truth is, he looks cute in every picture.

I smile at the little white spots behind his fins and sigh.

I’m painfully aware of how weird my obsession with my fish makes me sound, but so far, I’ve been unable to stop. I’m not sure if it’s because of Frank or if it’s because Garrett bought him for me, but one more roll of film on this thing, and my phone carrier is going to put me on some kind of watchlist. Or, at the very least, the NSA guy who watches my shit is writing me off as some chick with a strange fish obsession, possibly even checking to see if I’m frequenting fish porn sites on the dark web. Which, truthfully, I don’t even know how fish porn could be a thing, but there’re people on Only Fans who get paid by their subscribers to rub lotion on their skin, so, yeah, pretty much anything is possible these days.

If you don’t know what Only Fans is, don’t worry about it. It’s probably best to stay naïve.

I click the side button to lock the phone and put it down on the desk, picking up the script pad so I can finish filling out the forms a few patients will be coming by later today to pick up. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it, and no fish, cute Fat Frank or not, can stop me.

Piddling through the pens in the “I Hate NY” mug on my desk—a funny present my dad got me when I graduated medical school—I pick up the most boring black ballpoint and start down the rabbit hole of work.

When my phone buzzes on my desk halfway through the second script, I’m almost ashamed to say how quickly I jump toward it.

Dear God, I’m pathetic today.

Unknown: Hey, Lauren! It’s Holley. Of Holley and Jake. Brent. It’s Holley Brent. And yes, I’m painfully aware of how bad at this I am. I just wanted to let you know that we’re having a little backyard gathering next Saturday, the eighth, and we’d love it if you could come! I could use some more girlfriends…not that that’s why I’m asking you, you know. It’s not just for my personal benefit.

By the time I get to the end of her message, another one pops up.

Unknown: Gah. I just reread that text, and I swear, I’m much better at friendship than texting.

I grin at her second text.

Heck yes, talk about a fun surprise! Since I moved back to San Diego, I feel like I’m so used to not knowing anyone that I didn’t even consider the possibility that the message could be from anyone other than Garrett or the credit card company texting me about suspicious activity. Which, Good Lord, I wish my bank would understand that sometimes I go on an Etsy kick.

Anyway, my online purchases activity aside, I type out my answer speedily—re: the excitement—and hit send.

Me: Hey, Holley! I’d love that! I could always use more girlfriends too…or you know, one. I haven’t exactly been good about making friends since I moved back here from New York. So yes, I’d love to come to the BBQ. And yes, I hope to be better at friendship than texting too. LOL.

I click her number at the top of the message and go through the process of adding her to my contacts list. I’ve just finished up when another message comes in that makes me smile.

Holley: Yay, us! Just a couple renegade women, taking charge of their lives! We’re gonna rule the world. Or maybe something sounding a little less Dr. Evil. And definitely something without spiders. Do you like spiders? It’s okay if you do. Might be helpful, actually. It’s always good to have someone who can handle stuff you hate at your side.

Holley: I really am sorry I’m coming across so weird right now.

Me: You’re not. I swear. I’m excited for our budding friendship. ;) I envision it will be filled with rambling, but that sounds perfect.

Holley: I’m so glad you get me. But maybe we can avoid escape rooms from now on.

I laugh and then wince.

Me: I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t even say goodbye to you all! You must think I’m so rude.

Holley: Eh, rude, schmude. I went home and had hot, hot sex with my husband. I didn’t mind.