Page 26 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
“So I can make sure you’re safe,” I mimic.
Blanche:Does he have to be so nice about things?
I know.
Taylor’s stupid itinerary crinkles underneath me as I sit up to grab my phone so I can text Darby. I kick off my shoes, groaning at the relief my toes feel when I can finally wiggle them again outside of their high-heeled confinements. I want to take a shower, but I lie back down instead and pull up my text thread with Darby, laughing all over again at her hitman comment.
I always heard the term ‘ride or die’ when it comes to friendship. But I didn’t comprehend what it meant until I met Darby during our senior year in high school. I believe with all my heart that she would, no questions asked, help me bury a dead body in the middle of nowhere if I needed her to.
A knock from my door echoes through the room, filling me with dread. The only people it could be are my brother or Wyatt. I don’t want to talk to either one of them right now.
Wyatt, because I hate him.
My brother because I hate his fiancée’s itinerary. I give the itinerary another dirty look, then text Darby while I see who’s at the door.
ME: I think I’m filled with hate. Does that mean I’m toxic?
A small envelope is on the floor near the door, like someone pushed it under the bottom.
I check the peephole. Nothing.
Then grab the envelope and open the door. The hall is empty.
DARBY: Hmm. It’s possible.
DARBY: I think I’d lean more toward chemically imbalanced over toxic. But, if you start emitting green smoke and cackling maniacally, we may want to seek professional help. Otherwise, look at it like you're in touch with your dark side.
DARBY: It's like being a Sith but without the cool lightsabers.
I laugh out loud.
ME: I love you!
I sit on my bed and open the envelope. Then have to laugh aloud again.
There’s a notecard inside with a twenty-dollar bill paperclipped to it.
You were right. It was the Xanax.
-Wy
DARBY: I take it, it’s not going well?
I snap a photo of the notecard with the money and send it to her. She calls me in response.
“What am I looking at?” she asks when I answer.
I tell her about my evening. Everything from Blake’s vacant smile that I blamed on Xanax, to laughing with Wyatt and getting censured by Taylor, seeing AmyandPete, and finishing up with how I wanted to hump Wyatt’s thigh when he was talking about getting me naked at the mixer.
“How does he look?” she asks about Wyatt. “Did he get fat?”
“No.”
“Bald?”
“No.”
“He still hot?”
