Page 58 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

“Fine. Something less sexy.” He shivered, and I fought the urge to blow on his ear directly to see how he’d react. “How about, I like my pickles like I like my?—”

“You’re really bad at this,” George laughed. It was way calmer than the charming choking noises he’d made earlier. Another expression to add to my collection.

“I can’t help it if my brain thinks in innuendo.”

“I’m going to caption it with an emoji,” George decided. “A sun. Because it’s summer.”

“Is there a pickle emoji?”

“Yes.” I was not surprised he knew that. I’d never met another person whose favorite food was pickles. It suited him. Considering his sour disposition and penchant for phallic-shaped objects.

“Oh. Add a heart. He’ll hate that,” I tacked on.

“I’m not trying to make him jealous.” George scowled. “I just…want him to leave me alone.”

“I know,” I replied, even though I hadn’t. And now that I did, I felt something almost…pleased settle over me. It was good to know how little interest George had in his ex. Really good to know. “Do it anyway.”

“Fine.” George selected a blue heart, then hit post. He didn’t check that it’d gone up, simply closed out of the app. Immediately, his phone buzzed. A text. From Brendon.

I snatched it away before he could read it.

“Wh—”

“It doesn’t matter what he has to say,” I said, deleting the message. “We don’t care.”

“We don’t?” George looked to me for guidance. God, was that heady.

“No.”

“Oh.” He glared at his phone. “Okay.” And then stronger. “We don’t.”

“Our point has been made. Anything he says from this point onward is going to be bullshit to try and hurt you.” Another text came in, and I deleted it also. “You know what? Why don’t we turn your phone off?”

“But—”

“I know you can’t block him.” They worked together. “But if he can’t reach you, he can’t bug you. Right?”

“Right,” George repeated. I waited to see what he’d say next.

“You have a choice here. Off or on. Your pick. I’ll do it for you so you don’t have to see anything.”

“But what if…” George made a frustrated noise. “What if there really is something work-related?”

“Funny, I thought you were on vacation. You know… To spend a week away from the shit show back home?” I raised a brow, challenging him. George’s eyes widened. The sound he made was incredulous but resigned.

“Okay. You’re right.”

“Off or on?”

“Off.” George sounded firm. Which was good. His earlier indecision, his earlier ice gone. I turned his phone off and handed it to him.

“You can put it in my glove box for safe keeping if you want. That way you don’t need to worry about it getting lost.”

“Oh, but—” George plucked at his hair anxiously. “Missy is watching Mr. Pickles. What if she calls—or needs me, or?—”

Mr. Pickles.

His cat was named Mr. Pickles?

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