Page 47 of In It to Win It

I snort. “You’re kidding.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Taylor lifts her glass of ice water to her lips and meets my eyes.

“Hipster bar. They serve things like hand-pulled bison with homespun rice. Frightened tuna with distressed fennel.”

Everly and Harrison crack up.

Taylor shakes her head, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Sounds interesting.”

“Hopefully he’s not as pretentious as the menu.” I pick up my fried shrimp po’ boy sandwich. It’s messy as hell, dripping with coleslaw and tomatoes. Real food. Except I’m not so hungry anymore.

“He’s not pretentious.” Taylor’s voice has an edge. “He’s a nice guy.”

“Nice. Okay.” I let my disdain color my tone. “Sounds boring.”

Heat washes through me and I feel sweat building under my arms and on my back. I want to throw my sandwich across the room, shove my chair back, and blast out of here.

I risk a glance at Taylor. Our eyes meet with a flash of heat and light and her cheeks turn rosy. Has she had sex with this fuckwacker? Because I know for a fact she wasn’t bored with me in my hotel room.

Her cheeks now are scarlet. Good. She’s remembering too.

Everly shoots me a warning glance, her head tilted, eyes wide.

I know, I’m being an asshole. Whatever.

10

TAYLOR

Okay,maybe Anthony is alittlepretentious. The restaurant menu was ridiculous, and I was inclined to snicker and make fun of it, but he was all into it.

He kissed me when he brought me home. It was okay. He’s probably going to want the sex stuff soon, if we keep seeing each other. I’ve been thinking about sex a lot lately, but dammit, it’s not Anthony in my fantasies.

It’s Sunday and I’m in our sunny kitchen, toasting a bagel and sipping coffee before I take Byron for a nice, long walk on the beach.

Mom walks into the kitchen and stands beside the island. “Morning, sweetie.”

“Morning, Mom.” I look up at her, and instantly read her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips are thin, her eyes strained. “Um, your father and I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay. Let me put cream cheese on this first.” I smear the bagel and, carrying my plate and coffee, I follow Mom into the family room.

They’re probably going to kick me out.

I swallow a sigh. I know it has to happen sometime, and believe me, Iwantto live on my own and be independent. But I’ve looked at the kind of apartments I can afford and they’re crappy. Nowhere near the beach. Some of them are studio apartments that don’t even have a bedroom. Plus I’d have to leave Byron.

Well, hopefully they’ll give me some time. Maybe this is just a heads-up.

We all sit, and I glumly wait for the bad news.

“We need to talk to you,” Mom says again. “Because we have some . . . difficult news.”

I nod and take a bite of bagel and cream cheese.

“Your dad and I are separating.”

I choke. My eyes water. I cough.“What?”

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