“Okay, I just told you I like the wings at Hooters, so what are you saying?”
I just gave him a look, because I didn’t want to say it.
“No, I want to know.” He was pissed now and done with pretending otherwise. “Do you think I’m pathetic?”
I looked at him, and it was clear that he thought I was going to say no. And since I’d already had one guy tell me to blow myself with pepper spray that week, I wasn’t going to poke the tiger by being honest. So I reached for my purse under the table and said, “Y’know, I should probably get going. Thank you so much for brun—”
“You’re not going to answer the question?”
I pushed back my chair and stood, ready to run. “It’s probably not a good idea.”
“Are you kidding me?” He shook his head and screwed up his face. “I don’t think you’re a very good feminist if you can’t even—”
“Oh, my God. Yes, okay?” I pushed my chair under the table and yanked my purse against my body. “I absolutely think you’re pathetic. Thank you for breakfast and goodbye.”
I walked out of the restaurant as quickly as I possibly could and didn’t slow until I had a solid three blocks behind me. I texted Mr. Wrong Number as I walked home: Date ended with me calling him pathetic and him calling me a bad feminist. #winning.
Colin
“Hey.”
I glanced up from my laptop as Olivia stepped out onto the balcony, squinting into the sun and wearing a weird little print dress that looked like a series of bandannas tied together. The red, white, and blue print made her dark hair shine and her skin glow. I had the luxury of wearing sunglasses, so it was a rare moment where I could size her up without getting caught.
“Hey yourself. How was the brunch date?”
I’d laughed my ass off when I’d read her last text. It was so on-brand for Olivia that it was almost cliché. And, for the record, it was the last text we would ever share because I was ghosting her now. I didn’t know why the hell I’d interrupted her date that morning, other than the fact that turnabout was fair play and she’d interrupted mine the night before, but we were phone buddies no more—starting now.
“It was good.” The sun brought out a few golden streaks in her hair as she stared at the city. “I ate too much.”
She was lying. Well, intentionally leaving out details at the very least. “And the guy?”
She shrugged and crossed her arms. “Nice but not really my type.”
I set the computer down on the table next to my patio chair. “What is your type?”
That made her grin a tiny little grin and shake her head. “Nope. Not sharing. If anyone were capable of ruining my Prince Charming dreams, it’d be Colin Beck.”
“Oh, come on, Liv.” Why in the hell did I want to hear it in her words so badly? “I promise not to comment.”
“Fine.” She let loose with an eye roll and said, “Tall, handsome, and not a sexist pig; how about that?”
She took a step to go inside, but then she jerked to a stop and her mouth fell wide open as she stared off into the distance. I followed her gaze, or tried to, but there was an entire city in front of her so it was impossible to pinpoint.
“Oh, my God!” She squealed, and I swear she had tears in her eyes as she smiled the biggest, happiest smile and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Oh, my God—it’s just so beautiful.”
“What?”
“See that billboard?” She held out her phone and started taking pictures, but the only billboard I could see was for the Times and had a cartoon on it.
“Where?”
“Over there.” She pointed toward that billboard, but then her face changed. She blinked and said, “Um, it’s a new promo for the Times. Cool, huh?”
“I guess . . . ?” I looked over at it and it just looked like an ad. “I mean, what am I missing here?”
Her mouth turned up into a proud smile and she said, “It’s our new parenting columnist. She’s totally anonymous, but her columns are funny and sarcastic, not the usual boring parental stuff. The first one runs tomorrow and I can’t wait to read it.”
“Holy shit.” I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms, looking back and forth between her and the billboard. Of course. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“What?” Her eyes got really wide and she was quiet for a second before she said, “No. Of course it’s not—I don’t have kids. I’m just excited—”