No. What do you need? That would be the intelligent response, the way to avoid getting sucked back into the Becca vortex, but I wasn’t intelligent.
No, when it came to Bec, I was the world’s biggest dumbass.
I hit the call button and waited for her to answer, wondering what she wanted to talk about. We’d broken up a few months ago, but she still randomly texted me when I was “on her mind” or something reminded her of me. So even though we weren’t anything anymore, and last I’d heard she was talking to Kyle Hart, I found myself having hours-long random text exchanges with her every couple weeks.
“Hey, you,” she answered, her voice quiet. She wasn’t allowed to do anything on Sundays because her parents called it a family day, so I imagined she was still in bed. “I was dying to talk to you. I’m so glad you called.”
I looked through the windshield and watched a group of Red Dwarfs walking into the building together. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat and said, “I don’t want this to sound weird because it’s obviously no big deal at all, but you haven’t told anyone that we still talk sometimes, right?”
Fuck. I dragged a hand through my hair and said, “Right.”
“Good,” she said, relief in her voice. “Kyle said something last night that made me realize that people might get the wrong idea. You know, if they knew we still text.”
“Ah,” I said, unable to come up with anything else.
“No one understands that a guy and a girl can be friends and that’s it—just friends,” she said, sounding entirely happy as she rambled in that way I’d always found adorable. “Why can’t we normalize guys and girls having platonic friendships with each other?”
Because they don’t exist.
“Listen, Bec, my shift starts in a minute so I have to go,” I said, taking the keys out of my ignition and feeling like a fool. I knew—I fucking knew—that relationships and love were sinking ships of bullshit, but for some reason, that knowledge went out the goddamn window every time I engaged with Becca.
“Oh, okay,” she said. “Well, have fun at work.”
“Sure,” I said, opening my door.
“And please don’t tell anyone about—”
“Bec.” I said it through gritted teeth, less upset than just… done. Just fucking done and exhausted with motherfucking emotions. “Got it.”
I shook my head as I disconnected the call, because it sucked being right all the time. Bailey thought I was a cynical asshole, but the truth was that she was just further behind me in line. Eventually she’d get to the front and see it all, and I kind of envied that she wasn’t there yet.
I kind of wished she could stay back there forever, blinking fast and clinging to her blissful notions.
I popped a TUM as I headed for the building, counting on the sheer idiocy of my new job to make me forget about life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Bailey
“Well, if you’re not going to kill him, you could make the guy’s life so miserable that he never wants to return to your apartment.”
“How so?” I looked at Charlie, then at Nekesa and Theo. We were on our first break, sitting at a cafeteria table in Planet Funnn’s Supermassive Fun Hole, and since Nekesa had no filter, the boys were now totally up to speed on the embarrassing thing I’d done at my first booze party, how much I was hated by the popular girls at our school, and the crushing reality that my nemesis could potentially move in with me in the not-so-distant future.
“The possibilities are endless.” Charlie’s voice was quiet and kind of gruff, like he was bored. Or surly. He took a long drink of his Rockstar and said, “You can sit between him and your mom on the couch every single time he comes over. You can find out what he hates and do that like all the time. Conversely, you can find out what he loves and ruin it.”
“Example, please,” I said, intrigued by this notion of subterfuge.
Nekesa grinned and said, “Oh my God—he’s right! If you know he loves football, and he’s coming over on a Monday night, you make sure you’re already watching a documentary on, like, Hurricane Katrina when he gets there. Bonus points if you get your mom super into it so when he shows up, there’s nothing else for him to do but watch the depressing documentary.”
“Ooh,” I said, thinking that didn’t sound too difficult.
Charlie added, “Or if you find out he’s allergic to dogs, borrow mine for an hour and we’ll let him run all over your house. The Undertaker sheds like a son of a bitch, so we’ll roll him all over the sofa so that the next time the boyfriend lies down to watch TV, he’ll have a massive asthma attack.”
“I’m not sure what’s more unbelievable here. The underlying darkness of you guys’ childish Parent Trap ideas,” I said around a smile, “or the fact that his dog is named the Undertaker.”
Charlie’s mouth turned up. “What? My little sister loves wrestling.”
I wondered what Charlie was like with his sister. Was he sweet and protective, or kind of an asshole? Honestly, I could see both.
“My uncle got the Undertaker’s autograph last summer,” Theo added proudly.
That made Nekesa giggle and flick a straw wrapper at him. “Aw, does widdle Theo wike westling?”
“That’s it.” Theo tugged on her hair and said, “One too many widdles today.”
They were all smiles and breathless laughter, which made me glance at Charlie.
Who gave me a knowing smirk and a slow nod.
I narrowed my eyes into a squint and shook my head as if to say No way, even though Nekesa and Theo really were flirting all over each other, but the squint was rendered meaningless when Theo tickled Nekesa. He tickled her, she squealed, and Charlie ditched subtlety as he stood and mouthed the words TOLD YOU while wearing a cocky, all-knowing grin.
Gahhhh. It was infuriating, the way he always thought he was right.
The four of us spent the entire day learning how to work the front desk. The majority of our responsibilities would be checking the guests in and out, and answering the switchboard. It didn’t seem difficult, but it didn’t necessarily seem exciting, either.
Toward the end of the day, we had to take turns role-playing. I was killing it, totally slaying as a desk clerk and impressing my trainer with my skills. I knew it didn’t matter, but I liked doing a good job.
Only, every time Charlie played a guest and I was the desk clerk, he used ridiculous accents and terrible voices to try to make me laugh. I was able to hold it together and be professional, but when he attempted to channel a Frenchwoman with a very high-pitched voice, a tiny laugh escaped.
“Miss Mitchell,” the trainer said, not looking amused in the slightest by Charlie’s shenanigans, “the reality is that there will be guests at our establishment who are unusual. Are you going to crack up every time they ask you for a room?”
I glanced at Charlie; was I actually the one getting in trouble? I couldn’t believe it; it was day two, and he’d already gotten me on the naughty list. I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath before recovering with, “Of course not. I’ll, um, I’ll get it together.”