Page 43 of Outspoken

“What happened to Alexandros?”

“He cheated with some bitch and ran off. Just ditched us with no child support.”

“What a fucking asshole.”

“I know. Then five months later, his bitch cheated on him and he tried to get me back. I blocked his ass.”

“The prick,” I say. “He was so full of himself.” I roll my eyes with a head shake, enjoying this bitching a little too much. It reminds me of when we’d sit around with our old group of friends and gossip while getting wasted—just dumb, circular conversations as drugs took us out of our problems. “Wasn’t he the one who made you monogamous in the first place?”

Her eyebrows lift. “Exactly.Thenhe knocked me up and got all weird about it. He wasn’t serious about forever, just a fucking liar. I hate him so much. I wish he’d help out with his daughter and at least be a dad, you know? But I’m also glad he's gone because he was so difficult. I do miss the sex. That man was—”

“An Adonis?”

She flicks her choppy black hair with a devilish smile. “That man lived up to his Greek blood for sure.”

The line finally moves, so we advance a few spots. She faces me and puts a hand on her hip, her expression hardened. One thing I forgot about ‘good old times’ was how quickly Ashley could flip moods. I guess I used to be the same.

I might still be that way.

“Hey,” she says forcefully. “That text you sent like a year ago was so strange. It kind of felt gross, you know? It's just always bugged me.”

I fix my gaze on the chick in front of me. Her head is completely shaved, revealing an enormous tattooed butterfly spread across her scalp.Bet that was painful.

“Sorry,” I tell Ashley. “It was part of rehab. I had to sit down in a group and send messages to people, either apologizing or cutting ties.”

“I didn’t get an apology. So I’m the toxic friend?”

I give her a side glance. “Yeah. Kind of.”

She sighs but doesn’t look pissed, only amused. “You make your own choices, Amber. It’s not like I shoved shit down your throat. I gave it to you, then you decided what to do next.”

My gaze falls to the grass.She’s right.I make bad choices.

Silence hangs heavy between us as we slowly inch forward.

When we reach the front of the line, Ashley puts her palms on the makeshift bar under the white pop-up canopy. “One margarita on the rocks and—” She swivels her head to me. “Do you want something? I’ll pay.”

I glance at the menu. All alcohol. I cross my arms with a scowl. “No. I’m sober.”

She rolls her eyes at the man behind the bar and says, “Just the margarita, please.”

Once she has her drink, we walk into an open grassy area and I stop.

My arms are still crossed and very tense. “I’m pissed you would even ask me that.”

Sipping her drink through a straw, she watches people passing by. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Using air quotes, she adds, “You’ve been ‘sober’ like three or four times now. What’s the point of torturing yourself? Drinking is fun, and I know you.” She glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Girl, Iknowyou. It’s only a matter of time before you’re back to your old self, which is totally fine. I love partying with you.”

She holds out her drink, daring me to take it—or giving me an easy escape.

When I turn my head away, she sighs. “You telling me you’recompletelychanged and ready to move to the suburbs and start making potato salad with Miracle Whip? You don’t look like you have mom jeans on.”

I bite out, “I get suicidal when I’m not sober.”

She laughs and shakes her head like the solution is simple. “Then don’t do it so much you get suicidal. Duh.”

“I don’t remember you beingthisbitchy.”

We have a stare-off, then she laughs again.

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