Page 8 of Broken

Sinclair is my best friend from my college days. When I called and said I was moving to Baltimore, she’d been more excited than a cat in a tuna factory. I needed that and will forever love her for it. We have been there for one another through our good times and bad.

Currently, I am enduring a prolonged bad period.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special, Sin.”

“You are special,” she leans down and squishes my face in her hand.

I flinch away but smile with a shake of my head.

“You ever heard of a label maker?”

“I was in a hurry.” I flop backward, landing on the cushion I’d dumped out of a box while looking for cups to make coffee. Fortunately, the coffee maker had not been broken in the mishap outside the elevator with the hot guy. That had been a vase I didn’t even want.

“You have your yoga mat and hand weights handy, but no bed linen,” Sin tuts as she roots through a large box. I am fairly sure it holds everything from my bathroom.

“Hey, at least I made you coffee.”

“Hmm,” Sin pulls out a bunch of fluffy towels.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” I ask, tilting my head sideways so I can make eye contact.

Sin sits down on the arm of the sofa and crosses her legs.

I’ve always loved her sense of style. She isn’t afraid to be who she wants to be, without a care about what other people think. She is wearing purple and black striped tights which tuck into charcoal sneakers that have a platform heel to rival even the most outrageous of seventies glam rock bands. I have no clue how she walks in them.

Her skirt has buckles all over it, and braces that cross at the front rather than in back. She’s wearing a pastel pink scarf wrapped around her breasts beneath it, and approximately fifteen overlapping necklaces of varying lengths.

Her dark hair is shaved on one side, and chin length asymmetrical on the other. It has an electric blue streak running through the front.

She looks cool, compared to my gym leggings, plain white sneakers and cropped yellow hoodie with a star on the front.

I hate to agree with her, but having caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror behind the front door, I can’t argue. I look like shit.

And that makes me flush all over again at the thought of the guy I ran into this morning. He must have thought I looked a fright. He got away fast enough.

Not that I have even one shred of energy to put into impressing anyone, let alone a hot, tattooed six foot something… I shake my head to forget about that guy.

“Not in the last twenty-four hours,” Sin says in answer to my question, her lip twitching. Then her face gets serious, and it makes my stomach tighten. “Are you okay, babe?”

“I’m fine,” I say as breezily as I can. I don’t want her to worry.

She doesn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t believe me. But she doesn’t press, knowing I’ll talk in my own time. I’m not surewhen that will be. It still hurts to think about any of it, let alone talk.

“Sarah and Anya want to meet for brunch.”

I snort. “Brunch? Who do they think they’re kidding?”

She laughs. “They’re excited you’re here. I told them it won’t be today. They can wait. Today you’re mine,” she grins.

Back in college, our foursome had been inseparable. I hadn’t kept in close contact with either of them the last few years, but Sin kept me up to date. I made it here for Sarah’s wedding, but not Anya’s, or the births of both of their kids. I sent gift cards. It isn’t the same as making the effort to come here, but my life was different in San Antonio.

It is going to be a struggle to adjust to this new normal.

I glance around the apartment. It is small, with two bedrooms, the second bedroom is barely big enough for a single bed.

I’ve gone from a huge four-bedroomed, architecturally built home, to this place. Albeit in a great, vibrant neighborhood in the city.

It is vastly different to what I had after graduating from the University of Texas with an architectural degree. A degree I’m not sure I will use again.

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