Page 52 of The Ex Effect
Tag? Really? That guy was such a tool.
Frankie was not wrong. Tag was a star hockey player back in high school, and definitely the guy who liked to brag how many “chicks he banged.” Gross. A rumor floated around senior year of some seriously creepy shit he pulled on our classmate Jenny Smith but was never confirmed. Tool or not, he was our very last option. Besides,hopefullyhe’d matured a bit since high school.
Frankie:
Didn’t he ask you out once?
Morgan:
Hmmm. Don’t remember. I thought I had *lesbian* stamped across my forehead.
Frankie:
Haha. That you did.
Morgan:
Anyway, you interested?
Frankie:
Definitely. I can pick you up at eight.
Not a date, not a date.I replayed that mantra all day, but by the time eight rolled around, I’d loofahed my skin until it shone, brushed my teeth twice, and changed my outfit no less than fivetimes. I settled on a cute pale green skirt with a light cream knitted sweater, and wedge sandals, and I had to admit it, my legs and ass were killing it in this outfit.
Since working in the barn all summer, I had nearly forgone my typical hair and makeup routine that was my signature. But tonight, I took extra care in applying eyeliner, gloss, and flat ironing my hair that had finally grown out to a respectable length.
Three knocks landed on my door, and my heart skipped a beat. “Come in!”
When Frankie entered the room, I stopped and stared. Frankie’s gaze traveled leisurely from my toes to my head, a thirsty smile tugging at her lips, and damn if that wasn’t the look I was hoping to get. “Wow. You look incredible.”
I felt my cheeks blush. “So do you.”
Frankie grinned. “I’m literally wearing the same thing I do every day.”
I know. The jeans, the snug white shirt, the boots. But after a few months of hard work in the barn, Frankie’s forearms bronzed in the sun, and her rounded shoulders and deeply defined biceps were even more pronounced than when we first met. If that was even possible.
“Hey, yesterday…” I started when Frankie held up her hand.
“I’m still really sorry.” Frankie tapped her thumbs against her upper thigh. “But I’m also not sorry. If that makes sense.”
It made so much sense that I felt a small crack in my heart. I didn’t want to have this conversation now, but I needed the weirdness between us to stop. “I don’t know what will happen. But I want you to know I’m really happy I could spend this summer with you.”
There. I said as much as I could say right now. The rest we’d figureout later.
Frankie’s dimples appeared. “Same. It’s been more than what I could’ve ever asked for.” She held the door open and waved me through. “Ready, my little lady?”
“Ewww.” I locked the door and scrunched my nose. “You didn’t just call me that.”
“Oh, I did.” Frankie hopped down the porch steps and held out her hand to me. “Figured if we were going to be hanging with Tag for the evening, I better get my creeper lingo down.”
I slid into Frankie’s truck and slammed the door. “Come on, maybe he’s not that bad.”
Tag may or may not be bad, but the bar was the divest of the dives.My God. It smelled like stale beer and old fryer grease, and my wedges stuck to the floor. The night was still pretty early. The crowd comprised of day drinkers finishing up, a woman behind blotchy plexiglass selling pull tabs, and a bartender yawning and scrolling through his phone.
“This is one of the saddest places I’ve ever seen.” I kept my arms crossed to prevent myself from touching anything. The room was too dark, the neon bar lights too bright, the hops smell too overwhelming.
“It’s not that bad. Kind of the type of place that makes you want to throw down and hustle some dude for pool money, right?” Frankie jutted her head towards the pool tables in the back next to the dart boards. “I think we could take them.”
