Page 14 of Bottle Shock
“Yes, please.” I do a little happy clap as Ariana gets to work on my drink.
While she moves behind the counter, I check my blood sugar on the app and do a quick mental carb count. Thankfully, this one will still keep me in range. I’m not great at most math, but I’m a pro at carb counting.
In no time at all, she’s handing me over the iced goodness, giving it a shake as she passes it.
“One 20-ounce, half-sweet, sugar-free white-chocolate-coconut Americano with extra ice and cream.”
Taking a small sip, I fight the audible moan wanting to escape. It’s been a while since I’ve had a man-given orgasm, but this is pretty close to it. Well, at least as close as I’m going to get. “You’re a miracle worker.”
She giggles, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
The bell on the door chimes, and in walks a large group, likely on a wine tasting tour based on their attire.
“Duty calls,” she says under her breath before greeting the new crowd.
Joining Elyse, I slide into the chair opposite her. She’s resting her chin on her palm, her bright green eyes wide and dancing with amusement.
“What’s that look for?” I ask before taking another large sip.
She raises one of her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Nothing.”
I tilt my head, giving her a flat look. This is what we do. We call each other out on our bullshit. The foundation of every true friendship is brutal honesty.
Rolling her lips, she attempts to clamp down on a smile. “It’s just that it’s noon on a Sunday and you look like you’re going to the club.”
She’s not wrong. Maybe I haven’t unpacked yet. Maybe I justgrabbed the first thing I could find in one of my bags. And maybe it happens to be a skintight vintage Alaïa dress I proudly dug out of a thrift-store bin, paired with an oversized leather jacket I’m pretty sure I stole from an ex. Looks better on me anyway.
“I figured I’d get all the girls riled up early.” My lips turn up in a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Not sure if you’ve heard, but I’ve got a bad reputation to uphold.”
Elyse appears unimpressed with my self-deprecation.
We all have our coping mechanisms. I tend to lean into the dark humor of it all.
“Everyone knows that shit isn’t true.”
Looking around, I stare at everything and nothing, avoiding eye contact.
I can mostly laugh about it now. Mostly. The fact that a stupid high school rumor still haunts me to this day is both pathetic and ridiculous. But people don’t forget. I know I haven’t.
A few tables down, I spot a familiar face: Kathleen Meyers from high school. She elbows the woman next to her, whispering something that earns a shared laugh. Their heads dip closer, voices low but glances not subtle in the slightest. I don’t need to hear what they’re saying to know who they’re talking about.
Fucking small towns.
Ignoring them, I straighten my shoulders and shift my focus to Elyse. The last thing I need is for her to notice the mean girls in the corner and cause a scene. If I’m stuck in Red Mountain for the foreseeable future, I may as well get used to this kind of attention.
“In other news,” I start, releasing a shaky breath, “I cold-called the improv academy I went to because they’re hiring an instructor—and they hung up on me.”
Elyse’s eyes narrow. “Well, fuck ‘em. Their loss. Besides,wouldn’t you rather be on stage than an instructor behind the scenes?”
My immediate reaction is to want to say yes, but lately, so much of what I used to love about acting has lost its luster.I don’t know if I’ll ever love it the way I used to—and that thought terrifies me, because acting has been the biggest part of my life for as long as I can remember.
Without it, I’m not sure who I am. When I’m not made up with stage makeup, being anyone other than myself, all that’s left is a woman I’m not sure I recognize, and worse—one I’m not sure I even like.
“You’re right.” I manage what I hope looks like a smile.
Elyse catches me up on her and Dominic’s house renovations while I pretend to understand half of what she’s saying. I don’t even own furniture, and my best friend is engaged, renovating a house, and probably talking wedding and baby plans. Being thirty is so weird—half my friends are like me, lost and bouncing around, while the other half seem to have it all figured out. I keep waiting for the day I’ll become someone who has it all figured out, but it’s a useless hope. Some things just aren’t meant for me.
My phone rings, cutting Elyse off mid-sentence. I snatch it up, heart jumping with the irrational hope it’s the callback I’ve been waiting for. But one glance at the screen and my heart flatlines. Spam. Of course.
