Page 40 of What I'm Looking For

I shove her seat back. “We are not dating. Dating is a distraction. As experience has proven.”

“You’re afraid,” Pam says before laying into the horn. “Move it, asshole!”

I throw my hands in the air. “Yeah, I am afraid. I’m afraid of screwing up the career I’ve worked so hard for. Of feeling like I have to be there for somebody else or make enough money to support somebody else or even find the time to see somebody on a regular basis. It didn’t work out so well with Callie, remember?”

“Just because it didn’t work out with Callie—who had her own issues, by the way—doesn’t mean you can’t dateanybody.” Deb turns around to stare me down. “Besides, you’ll never be a great actor if you don’t risk your heart.”

Her you-know-I’m-right tone is annoying as hell, but I know she means well. And is probably right. “Yeah, yeah. Can we just drop it?”

“Fine. We’ll drop it.” She narrows her eyes at me. “For now.”

I slump down in the seat. “Thank you.”

Pam grunts. “She’s not gonna give up you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sometimes I pay a steep price for my cheap little room.

* * *

That evening,a deep sigh from Deb interrupts my dinner prep. Standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, she casts a disapproving eye at the piles of books, backpacks, mail and dirty pots and pans that litter every surface. “Aren’t you going to set the dining room table? You’re not going to feed her in here, are you?”

“Deb. She’s just coming over for dinner. It’s not your gourmet club.”

“But you’re going to clean”—she gestures at the mess—“this. And set the dining room table. With linens. This is a date. You have to make nice.”

“If it’s so important to you, then you do it,” I growl. “And by the way, you are not invited.”

Taking a deep cleansing breath, I take stock. Chicken’s in the oven. I’ll check its temperature in another few minutes. Potatoes are roasting. Broccoli’s ready to steam.

“Should I do lemon butter or garlic butter on the broccoli?” I call to Deb.

“Lemon butter, duh!” she yells from the dining room. “You don’t want garlic breath when you’re making out later!”

“Thank you for announcing that to the entire neighborhood.”

What the heck was I thinking inviting Kate over here? Deb and Pam are sure to muck things up one way or another. Speak of the devil, Pam slumps in from the back hall and throws her bag onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Has the date started yet?”

“And it’s Laverne,” I mutter.

“Huh?” Pam blinks at me.

Deb stomps into the kitchen, arms full. “How come she gets to be Laverne? I don’t want to be Shirley.”

Pam opens the fridge and stares at its contents. “Oh my god, I am so ready for a beer. Teaching this Intro to Design class is killing me. I’m so glad the semester’s almost over.”

She uncaps a beer, takes a big swig and collapses into the only free kitchen chair. “Ahhh, that’s better.” She looks around. “Where’s the girl? What’s for dinner?”

Deb grabs the bottle. “We’re helping Will clean up. No beer till that’s done.” She tucks it back into the fridge and whirls back around to pull Pam out of the chair. “I mean it! Get your butt moving and help me move stuff out of the dining room.” She shoves Pam’s bag into her arms, punctuating the move with a kiss. “Sweetie.”

Pam makes a major boo-boo face. “Why do I have to help? I just worked all afternoon.”

Likely knowing that any resistance is futile, she schleps after Deb, dragging her bag and the mail along with her. They bicker as they move the mess to the extra bedroom they use as an office. Something about needing to do a spring cleaning. Listening to them while whisking together my favorite salad dressing, I have to admit that I envy their relationship. I just can’t see fitting one into my life right now.

So, why had I asked Kate over, again?

She’s adorable. Sexy. Wicked smart.

The timer dings, startling me back to the present moment, and I set down the mixing bowl before I splash dressing all over the counter. I blow out a breath and release it before calmly pulling the chicken out of the oven. It’s done, so I turn the oven up to finish off the potatoes. Unfortunately, these simple tasks aren’t enough to keep my mind fully occupied.

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