Page 88 of If Love Had A Manual

“You absolutely are,” Kate declares. “It’s one night. Go drink some overpriced beer, pretend you have a social life, and remember what fresh air feels like.”

I don’t have the energy for this today. “You realize I’m not under house arrest, right? I get fresh air.”

“Standing on your porch, yelling at Milo to stop eating your sprinkler, doesn’t count.”

My lips press into a thin line. “You’re all the fucking worst.”

Ryan grins. “Love you too, boss.”

Kate squeezes my shoulder. “I’m finished early today anyway. I’ll pick up Rosie after work. When you’re done here this evening, go home, get cleaned up, and meet the guys at the bar at eight.”

“Eight?” I stare in horror. “That’s practically midnight.”

She rolls her eyes with a puff of her cheeks. “Oh my god, you’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly boring,” Ryan mutters, ducking back under the lift.

Kate winks, then pats my arm. “Take tonight off. No worries, no guilt.”

Easier said than done. But the ache in my shoulders and the exhaustion that feels like it’s lingering in every cell of my body, tells me she’s right. I’m wound too tight. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself a single night of not thinking about…well, everything.

“Just text Lena and tell her she’s finishing early.”

I ignore the knowing sparkle in her eyes and tug my phone from my pocket, grumbling curses under my breath as I type out a quick message to Lena.

Me:Kate is taking Rosie overnight. You can finish early.

I hesitate, then add:

Me:Enjoy it.

Her response comes a minute later.

Lena:Does that mean you’re doing something fun for once?

For fuck’s sake. Not her too.

Me:Apparently. Going out with the guys.

Lena:Wait… You know how to do that?

I fight the grin pulling at my mouth and type back.

Me:Yes. Shocking, I know.

Lena:Have fun. You deserve it.

Something about that simple message loosens the knot of guilt in my chest, just enough that I let out a breath.

Thirty-Three

It’s been a good night. No drama, just a few beers and some mindless conversation. But now I’m three beers in and feeling done. I’m ready to go home and turn in for the night. I’m already exhausted.

I’m about to tell Connor and Ryan as much when Ryan screeches to a halt.

Connor, walking behind him, nearly plows into his back. “What the hell?”

“Look,” Ryan says with far too much excitement, nodding across the street to a dimly lit entrance where a small crowd of women are slipping inside.

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