Page 135 of Curvy Girl Summer

“He stood me up. That’s not the type of unicorn I’m looking for.”

“He didn’t have your number to call,” she reasoned as we stood outside of the IT office suite.

I placed my hand on the door handle. “Yeah, but he had yours.When he was waiting for help, he could’ve called you to get you to call me. So, there was a way.” I lifted my shoulders. “But he didn’t do that. It might not mean much to you, but wasting my time is a deal-breaker.”

She held up her hands in defeat. “Understood.” She flashed me a smile. “I had to try.”

“I get it. If it were my friend, I’d go to bat for them, too. But it is what it is. Everything happens for a reason.”

“That’s true.” She gasped. “You have someone now, don’t you?!”

“No—”

“You are looking extra pretty for a random Thursday…”

“Thank you.” I grinned. “But I’m looking good today for me.”

She pursed her lips. “There’s a guy.”

“Ramona, please,” I scoffed.

“He’s your soulmate, and Derrick would’ve just gotten in the way of that,” she continued. Nodding, she took a step back. “It all makes sense now. You’re in love, and that’s why you don’t want my friend. Got it.”

“Goodbye,” I laughed, pushing the door open.

The guys arguing over Steve’s desk drowned out my amusement.

“You already knew him,” she called after me as the door separated us more and more. “Oh, I know who it is! It’s the bartender.”

I froze mid-step, and I felt the color drain from my face. My heart slammed against my chest repeatedly before I realized I wasn’t moving.

What did she say? What is that supposed to mean? Why would she even say that?

When I spun around, the door to the IT office had already closed. Rushing toward it, I swung it open and hurried down the hallway to Ramona.

She turned around, startled. “Jesus, Aaliyah!” She let out a little laugh. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, I just—uh, why did you say that?” I asked in a panicky tone.

She made a face and her lips pulled downward. “What?”

“The thing about already knowing—what did you mean when you said… that?”

“When I said what?” She jerked her thumb back toward the office. “Oh, about—it was a joke,” she confirmed. Ramona gave me a wary look before she took a few steps back. “What’s going on?”

“Why would you saybartender,though?”

“I… didn’t.” Her words came out slowly.

“You said it was someone I know and that it was the bartender.”

“Um, no… I said it was Bart Fender. My receptionist.”

Bart Fender. Not bartender.I exhaled shakily, clutching my bag.Dammit.

I didn’t need a therapist to work out how I jumped to that conclusion.

Ramona eyed me suspiciously. “I don’t know what’s going on with you today.”

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