Page 19 of Every Broken Piece
I point to her full mug with my spatula.
“You’re the bestest friend ever,” she mumbles into the mug.
“You might have said that a few times last night.”
She groans and rests her forehead in the palm of her free hand. “Why’d you let me do this to myself?”
“Me? I tried to stop you, but you called me a party pooper. ‘Tess the Party Pooper’ were your exact words.”
She peeks at me from between her fingers. “Tell me I didn’t.”
“Oh, but you did.” I slide a plate of steaming bacon and eggs in front of her. She eyes the breakfast warily, her lips turned down. “Eat,” I say.
“Did I do anything stupid?” She picks up her fork and narrows her eyes at the eggs as if she’s unsure if she should eat them.
“If you count dancing on top of a table as stupid then yes. If not, then no.”
She tentatively slides a forkful of eggs into her mouth and swallows without chewing, looking off into the distance as if she’s trying to remember the night. Her red-rimmed gaze swings to me. “Your man text you last night.”
I still in the act of fixing my own plate. “I don’t have a man.”
She waves her fork in a circle. “Your client. The one you have in your phone as GS. He texted you. I do remember that.”
Of course she does.
I still don’t know what to make of those texts. Mr. Strong, or rather, Gabe as he told me to call him, has never texted me on the weekend, nor so late at night. Yet, when I asked what he needed, more than willing to help, he told me not to worry about it. Then he was all concerned about me being at a bar with friends.
I wouldn’t say he crossed a line, but he came close to breaking down the walls that he’d erected between us. And that made me feel... I don’t know how that made me feel. Weird. Flustered. Like for a moment he messed with the rules we’d created. Why?
Maybe he felt bad when I told him I was out with friends and didn’t want to bother me.
“Hey!” Amelia pokes me in the side.
“Ow!” I rub my rib and glare at her.
“Tell me about GS. Who is he?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” I settle on a stool at my little kitchen bar.
“Oh, come on. You know I won’t tell a soul.”
She wouldn’t either, but I’m still not telling her. This is my secret. Yes, I have a small crush on Gabriel Strong. What red-blooded female wouldn’t? But it can’t go anywhere. I can admire him from the distance of our texts and emails and I’m mature enough to know that nothing will ever come of this infatuation because he’s so far out of my league that we’re not even in the same ballpark. We’re not even playing the same game. There’s also the fact that I’ve sworn off relationships.
“Still not telling,” I say as I continue to eat my breakfast.
Amelia harrumphs but thankfully doesn’t push it.
“You didn’t talk to Conor last night,” she says instead.
“We talked.”
She tries to poke me again but I arch out of her line of fire. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
I sigh. “Nothing can come of me and Conor, so you need to let it go.” Her matchmaking is tiring and it’s becoming more and more difficult to distract her. For some reason she’s determined to find me a boyfriend.
“He’s a nice guy. Give him a chance. Just one date.”
“No.”
