I sighed. “Okay.”
I realized he’d gotten what he wanted in the end.
Chapter Eleven
Veronica
“So you made me clean my apartment last night for nothing?”
Kara glared daggers at me as she parked in front of the strip mall. There were only a few cars in the parking lot, but Kara insisted on taking the spot farthest from the yoga studio.
“Caleb needs a friend right now,” I said lamely as soon as we got out of the car and started walking.
She slurped an extra-large strawberry milk shake through two yellow straws. She was lactose intolerant, but that didn’t seem to deter her.
“Kar, you’re not supposed to eat or drink anything substantial before we go to yoga class. And is that made of soy milk?”
She snarled at me, defensive. “I’m allowed to drink real milk. I’m a lacto-vegetarian. Not vegan. There is a huge difference. Besides, my stomach is made of steel. Steel, baby.” She patted her belly.
“Uh-huh.”
We were on our way to a hot yoga class. Kara had insisted we go together to strengthen her decision on starting her life over without “that asshole Cameron,” as she put it. She said she needed to try new things, meet new people, and move on.
I figured it would be more beneficial if she stopped talking about him, but what are friends for if not to support each other’s idiosyncrasies? Or, in her case, addiction.
When we reached the entrance to the studio, Kara leaned against the glass wall beside the front door, busily drinking her milk shake. I stood next to her, looking around.
It was drizzling a little, and the temperature had dropped to jacket weather. Spring was stubbornly holding on to the tiara and refusing to pass it to summer. A few brave locals had moved on from sweaters and pants to shorts and spaghetti straps.
“So, how much did you actually clean?” I asked.
She looked away. “I changed the sheets on the bed.”
“That it?” I grinned.
“Uh-huh.” She pinched my cheek. “So his parents are divorcing, huh?” she asked.
My smile disappeared. “Yes, but don’t tell anyone.”
“Who am I going to tell? Oprah? Seriously.” She rolled her eyes. “Some kids take it harder than others when their parents divorce, I guess.”
I frowned but didn’t comment.
“Anyway, that’s why you make sure you date a lot before settling, because you know what? I’ve only dated and slept with that asshole.”
“Cameron?”
“No, Brad fucking Pitt, Ver.”
“Yeah? How much did he pay you aft
er?” I deadpanned.
Her laugh was big and boisterous, and I had to join in. Then she turned serious.
“I feel dry,” she said, sighing. “Am I supposed to feel dry? Like the Bahara Desert.”
“You mean the Sahara,” I corrected.