She gives me a guarded smile as she lifts her shoulders. “Because you’re Vegas.” She retreats. Taking one large step backward, she nearly falls off the concrete step. “Thanks for talking to me. I’m going to get some sleep. This week, I’m going to work on some design ideas for your website. I haven’t forgotten my end of the deal. I’m going to do a really good job for you. We’re going to make your business soar.”
“Okay.” I blow out a breath, hoping she hears my reluctance. Don’t go. You’re already here. You wanted to see me…so stay. “So I’ll see you soon?”
She nods overenthusiastically. “Yes. I’ll text you.” She turns and scuttles down the concrete steps. I call out to her when she reaches the sidewalk.
“Avery, wait!”
She halts in place and pivots to face me in the doorway.
“You said I’m ‘Vegas.’ What the hell does that mean?”
She holds her palms up and shrugs like it’s obvious. “What happens in Vegas, Finn…”
Oh. I hide my annoyance as she waves and heads down the sidewalk. I wait on the stoop, watching her until I’m sure she’s made it safely into Dex’s house before I groan in annoyance.
Stays in Vegas. What happens in Vegas, stays here. Fuck. That’s why she’s so willing to be vulnerable and open with me.
One summer. That’s all she wants. One fucking summer to build up her confidence so she can go running right back to the man who doesn’t see her.
19
Avery
“Sorry I didn’t call you back sooner, Aves. I’ve been so busy,” Palmer exaggerates on the phone, drawing out all the syllables in her response. “The network is really interested but hasn’t made a final decision, so the studio is just taking a chance and filming the first four episodes. It’s literally been go-go-go. I haven’t had a minute to myself.”
I exhale into the phone, hoping she can hear my agitation. I’m silent for a moment as I snuggle into Dex’s throw blanket, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. Stalling, I watch Cherry swim her morning laps, back and forth. I’m pissed. That’s the truth. I called Palmer after Finn and I had sex a couple of nights ago. I wanted to talk to my best friend. I wanted her to help me process all the mixed emotions I was having. She didn’t answer. I texted Palmer that I needed her and she left me on read for almost three days.
I’d understand if she was truly that busy, but she hasn’t been too go-go-go to keep her entire social media following updated on her whereabouts and budding career. I already knew Palmer was filming more episodes…because of Instagram. Her thumbs must be too tired from name-dropping minor celebrities to push the call button and get back to her best friend of twenty years.
“How’s filming?”
“I mean…this show is…fine. It’s a good stepping stone. But I’m ready for bigger things, you know?”
“After a week?”
“This industry moves fast,” she chides. “People find fame overnight.”
“I wasn’t…” I release the air in my lungs, forcing my attitude out with it. “I want the best things in the world for you, friend. But I miss you. I’ve been calling…”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I know. I’m such a piece of shit. I’m just never alone. It’s hard to find time to talk. I really miss you too and I’m sorry I missed your call. I’ve been putting everything into this job, trying to network and get in good with the directors and some castmates, you know? Connections. I don’t know what to do if it doesn’t work out. Did I tell you my lease is up and the complex is raising rent again? I can’t afford it anymore. If this show doesn’t work out…I’m homeless.”
I tut my tongue. “Homeless? Isn’t that dramatic?”
“No, it’s accurate.”
“I’m your home, goof. You think I’d let you sleep on the street?”
She laughs into the phone. “You’re about to be homeless too. We all know you’re going to let Mason keep the apartment when summer’s over.”
I take a sip from my mug, annoyed at how well she knows me. It’s not a crime to be noncombative. Plus, why would I want to live in an apartment haunted with memories of my failed relationship? “We can get a place again. It’s been years since we’ve lived together.”
Palmer snorts into the phone. “What a way to ring in our thirties right?” The last time Palmer and I lived together was before I moved in with Mason. We said parting ways was bittersweet. Our official entry into real adulthood. For me, my first live-in boyfriend. For Palmer, it was the first time she lived alone, period. She had to have three jobs and loans from her parents to get by, but still, she managed. We thought it was the end of an era. Turns out it was just a break.
“Are we regressing?” I chuckle softly. Fuck. Are we…regressing?
“Well, if I’m going to regress, it’s going to be with you. I love you, Aves. And I’m so sorry I didn’t call sooner. You said you needed to talk. What’s up?”
My annoyance dissipates. Just like that, I’m hurtled back to high school when I used to confess my secret crushes to Palmer. The conversation would always be the same. I’d tell her who I liked. She’d insist she set me up because of course Palmer had all the boys at school wrapped around her pinky. I’d cry and plead that she leave it alone and let me crush in private…in peace. She’d never listen. Bold, brave Palmer, convinced I was the best thing since sliced bread, would chat me up to a guy, best intentions at heart…but it always ended up the same way. Me, rejected and humiliated, and Palmer getting asked out instead.
Eventually, I quit telling her who I liked.
But I suppose it’s safe now. Finn has probably clued into the fact that I like him. I’m doing my best to keep the degree to which I like him under control so my heart and ovaries don’t get carried away, but overall, our friendship is budding even faster than this fictitious romance I’ve created in my mind.
Finn texts me daily. Always first. Sometimes it’s dirty stuff. My sexting is still awkward, but we’re working on it. And sometimes Finn just texts me to send a funny GIF or to recommend something. I’m quickly learning all the things he likes—oat milk creamer, alkaline water only, and blending strawberries into vanilla yogurt. Not strawberry yogurt…vanilla yogurt mixed with ripe strawberry chunks. Apparently, there’s a major difference. Finn might be more of a foodie than I can handle because my idea of fancy is plating a Hot Pocket instead of eating it from the microwaveable pouch.
“Remember my new neighbor?”
“Hot guy with tats?” Palmer asks in a chirp.
“Sure. ‘Hot guy with tats’ is Finn Harvey. He’s a bit of a unicorn, Palmer. I’ve never met a guy so…everything.” I don’t know how else to describe it. Finn is manly, sexy, and commanding at the perfect moments. Yet, his personality is that of a golden retriever. He’s so sweet and approachable. He’s a character written for a fairy tale. I’m waiting for the twist in the story, his giant flaw that negates his absolute perfection in my mind…like finding out he’s a serial killer. That would literally be the only thing that could offset his charm.