Page 88 of Lost Love on 6th Street

“Oh, she’s all the way in the burbs, I don’t think she’ll want to—”

“We have to give her the fourth degree!” Jen says.

“Third. The third degree,” Whit corrects.

I scoff. “There will be zero degrees tonight, but thank you both for making it such a welcoming environment for any potential ladies in my life.”

Jen and Whit are both silent, before exchanging a look. The look that means they’re communicating telepathically. Dammit.

“You’re protective,” Jen says.

“And?”

“You’re never protective,” Whit says. “In fact, you never have girlfriends, you only have—”

“Girls.”

“You two are killing me,” I say and run a hand through my hair, hoping it resettles the damage Jen has done. “I’ve gotta work.”

They giggle with each other. I ignore the whispering and head over to the door crew to make sure everything is handled since Jen and Whit’s venue, The Maverick, can get a little rowdy with a weak door crew.

If I keep busy, I won’t be distracted. I won’t get thrown off course. I won’t get lost in “la-la land” as Jen puts it.

Except for the second I’m done with the door crew, a text comes through from Eleanor and I’m down so bad that I can’t ignore it.

And fuck, it’s a photo. I’m dead, done for, toast.

It’s Eleanor sitting out in a field, the afternoon sun shining down on her, with a dog a little too big for her lap trying his best to make a spot for himself. His tongue is blurry, midlick.

The text that follows is:

I think I’m in love.

Same, Nor. Same.

I text back as quickly as I can, so as not to be caught.

So, what you’re saying is that he’s replacing me tonight?

Eleanor texts back fast.

If all goes to plan!

I grab my heart as if I’ve been stabbed. It’s a joke, but I’m a bit jealous of a dog edging me out in Eleanor’s heart.

Another text follows.

I’ll ask him if we can make room. Bring treats.

I smile to myself and I’m about to text back, “Can do,” when hands wrap around both of my biceps. I am framed by Whit and Jen.

“Who are you texting?”

I try to click off the screen. Too little too late. Whit wrestles the phone from my hand and announces, “Eleanor!”

Jen bats at my arm. “See! I knew you were in la-la land.”

“I was just texting her to let her know—”

---