Page 4 of Her Possessive Daddies

"Yeah?"

"Found one. What would you say if I told you I'm about to become a bartender?"

Her excited squeal echoes through our apartment. "I'd say it's about damn time you got a job where you can psychoanalyze drunk people instead of entitled kids!"

"That's exactly what I was thinking." I scan my answers on the screen, a smile tugging at my lips. "And the best part? No more rearranging my schedule for anyone but me."

I sit back against my pillows, scanning through the application requirements. Watching Chandler mix watered-down vodka sodas at frat parties might actually come in handy.

"Previous experience with alcohol service?" Tessa reads over my shoulder, making me jump. "Put yes. You've been making those killer margaritas since sophomore year."

"That's different. This is an actual speakeasy." My cursor hovers over the checkbox. "But you know what? Screw it. Yes."

"That's my girl!" Tessa perches on my desk, knocking over a stack of flash cards. "Oh sorry. But seriously, you're going to rock this. Remember when you organized that charity mixer for your psych club?"

"The one Chandler said was boring because we didn't have a keg?"

"Exactly. And it raised like, what, two grand?"

"Three." I type in my availability, energy buzzing through my fingertips. "And everyone loved those signature cocktails I came up with."

"The Freudian Slip!" Tessa claps her hands. "God, that was genius. Put that in your application."

My fingers fly across the keyboard, confidence building with each section I complete. "You know what? I'm actually excited about this. Like, really excited."

"Because it's perfect for you. Late nights, interesting people, putting those psychology skills to work..." She nudges my shoulder. "Plus, no more listening to Chand-blah complain about how your class schedule ruins his party plans."

"Or having to pretend I care about his golf handicap." I click through to the final page. "Maybe him dumping me was exactly what I needed."

"Sometimes the trash takes itself out." Tessa hops off the desk. "And when you get this job, I'm coming in every night to support you."

"You mean to flirt with customers and drink on my discount?"

"Can't it be both?" She winks. "Hit submit already! I have a good feeling about this!"

I hold my breath and click the button. The confirmation page pops up, and for the first time today, I feel lighter. Maybe change isn't such a bad thing after all.

"Hell yes!" Tessa bounces on my bed, making my laptop jump. "My best friend, the future mixologist extraordinaire!"

"It's just an application," I say, but can't help grinning at her enthusiasm. The mattress springs creak under her excited movements.

"Oh please, they'd be idiots not to hire you. You're like, the most responsible person I know." She wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight. The scent of her coconut shampoo mingles with the lavender oil she's always dabbing behind her ears. "I’m proud of you, you know that?”

“Thanks, Tess.”

"You're doing this for you. Not for some preppy boy who thinks a trust fund is a personality trait."

I laugh, returning her hug. "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm the wisest one you know, honey. I just save it for special occasions." She hops off the bed, her pixie cut catching the fairy lights. "This calls for celebration tomorrow. Brunch? My treat."

"You hate brunch."

"But you love it, and this is your moment." She backs toward the door, pointing finger guns at me. "Plus, mimosas. Gotta start practicing those drink combinations, right?"

"Get out of here," I throw a pillow at her, which she dodges with a giggle.

"Love you too!" She blows me a kiss. "Team Abbie, all the way!"

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