Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Please let us be busy tonight so I can keep my mind off things,” I mutter, grabbing my house keys off the hook and jamming them in my cross-body bag. Give the door a yank when I’m in the hall to make sure it’s good and locked.
Bzzt, bzzt.
My cell buzzes in my back pocket.
Diego:
Hey, whatcha up to?
Heading to work! You?
Just got done with practice. Jake is taking us for pizza.
Jake is his roommate and not a member of the team, but it seems like they spend a ton of time together.
Pizza? Yum, my favorite. What will you have on it?
Dunno. Meat lovers probs.
I rack my brain for something new to say. I’ve noticed Diego isn’t great about reciprocating questions, so the conversation usually dies unless I keep it going.
Another text comes through before I can send one off.
Gonna have to take a rain check for tomorrow.
He’s canceling?
Disappointment dips in my stomach. Tomorrow is Friday and the only night this week he had available to get together. I made reservations at a nice place, a moody steakhouse where we could talk and have a drink and possibly get romantic for like, the first time ever.
Guess not.
Oh. Okay, sure. I understand.
I understand? He hasn’t even told me the reason he can’t make it. Doesn’t offer an excuse.
Cool
Cool.
I stare at my phone before pushing through the door of my apartment complex. Stare some more. Finally step outside, eyes still glued to my phone.
I’m so tempted to ask what he’d rather be doing than taking me on a date, but I resist the temptation, not wanting to sound thirsty or desperate or too eager.
Okay well, gotta bounce, guys are here.
Have fun! Eat a slice for me.
*thumbs up*
I stare at that emoji, recounting every argument I’ve ever had with my friends and parents regarding its use, the general consensus that it means fuck you or is used by someone too lazy to type out an actual sentence.
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I burrow deeper into my jacket, the wind whipping as soon as I step outside, the frigid cold a shock but not a surprise. Certainly has me hustling down the street toward the diner downtown, has me wondering what I’m going to do when there’s snow on the ground and it’s too cold to walk.
I don’t have a car.
Don’t have a bike.
Those little electric scooter things aren’t really my style, not even when I’m drunk.
Especially when I’m drunk—which isn’t that often, but still. Nobody wants me on one of those things, driving on the sidewalk after I’ve had alcohol, except perhaps my girlfriends so they can have a laugh.
Speaking of friends, mine is already at work when I walk through the back door of ROSCOE + MIMI, a divey diner that hasn’t changed since the late sixties, though it’s changed owners at least a dozen times—once since I’ve been working here.
Open late, we serve your typical dinner crowd, a cute brunch, and drunk college students on their way home from the clubs and the bars after closing time. Fortunately, I don’t have many of those shifts because I’ve been working here for three years, earning me the right to work primarily day shifts.
Lucky me.
And lucky me, I get to work with one of my best friends, Winnie.
She’s already in her apron when I take mine off the hook, snacking on a plate of French fries, our pre-shift ritual.
I steal one before tying the white smock around my waist. Wrap the cord around once, tie it in a bow. Order tablet in one pocket, straws in the other, French fry on my tongue.
“Damn, that’s hot.”
“Pfft,” Winnie scoffs. “That’s because I’m in the room.”
She tells that joke all the time, but I laugh anyway. Its predictability feels good most days.
“Diego canceled our date tomorrow.”
Her brows go up as she dips a fry in mayo, then ketchup. “No shit? Why?”
I shrug. “He didn’t say.”
“He didn’t say?” Her mouth is twisted into a displeased frown. “That’s annoying.”
“It doesn’t mean anything. He just can’t go out.”
Winnie chews. “Yeah, but you were looking forward to it.”
I was. “Seriously, though, Win…am I wasting my time with this guy, or am I wasting his?”
“Why are we having this conversation again?” Winnie pops another fry in her mouth, unbothered by my disappointment.
“Because…I keep waiting for something to happen and it doesn’t. And now he’s canceling on me.”
She stands, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist. “And I keep asking you—why are you waiting for something to happen when you could be making it happen yourself? This isn’t 1950. We are not our grandmothers. You want to bang the dude, bang the dude.”
Easy for her to say.
Winnie is outgoing and loud and gets attention everywhere we go without putting in any effort. And when she does put in the effort, that attention increases tenfold.