Page 113 of Things We Hide from the Light
“Hi.”
“Thanks, wewillcome in,” Sloane announced, giving the door a shove.
“If you’ve come to do battle, I’m all out of energy,” I warned.
I’d spent half the night defrosting frozen vegetables on my chest while listening to guided meditations and trying to will the stress from my body.
“We’re here to tell you that we picked a side,” Naomi said. She was wearing tight-fitting jeans and a silk blouse the color of emeralds. Her hair was curled in loose waves that framed her pretty face.
“A side of what?”
“We’ve given it a lot of thought and we’re Team Lina,” Sloane said. She too was nicely dressed for a casual Sunday afternoon. She was wearing distressed jeans, heels, and a damn good smoky eye. “I wanted to make T-shirts, but Naomi thought it would be better if we just showed up and took you out.”
“Took me out?” I repeated. “Like to murder me?”
“No homicides, I promise,” Naomi said, heading toward my bedroom. “Why is there a packed suitcase in here?”
“Because I can’t carry all my clothes in my hands.”
“You were right not to wait on the T-shirts,” Sloane said, following Naomi into my room.
Naomi started pawing through my suitcase. “This is cute. Oh, and definitely these jeans.”
“Are you robbing me?” I knew Knockemout was a little rough around the edges but this seemed excessive.
“You’re getting dressed and we’re going out for a girls’ plus Stef afternoon, possibly night, depending on how much alcohol and fried food is consumed,” Sloane said, handing me a pair of jeans and a red sweater with a plunging neckline.
“We’re still working on the name,” Naomi added.
“But I wasn’t honest with you. I kept things from you,” I pointed out, wondering if perhaps they’d forgotten my treason.
“Friends give friends the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you had a good reason for not being honest. Or maybe you’ve never had awesome friends like Sloane and me,” Naomi said, tossing me my gigantic cosmetic bag. “Either way, what kind of friends would we be if we left you when you needed us most?”
“So you’re not mad at me?” I asked slowly.
“We’re concerned,” Naomi corrected.
“And we really want more details on you sleeping with Nash,” Sloane added with a playful eyebrow wriggle.
“He’s miserable, by the way,” Naomi said, pointing in the direction of the bathroom.
“His state of misery is none of my business,” I insisted.
He’d knocked on my door twice yesterday after the disaster at the soccer game. The third time, he’d threatened to break it in if I didn’t at least confirm that I was okay.
To save the expense of replacing the door, I’d texted him a succinctI’m fine. Fuck off.
“Hurry up and get ready. We can’t drink all day if we don’t start now,” Sloane said, examining another sweater. “Hey, can I borrow this for my date with Nolan?”
And that washow I ended up at Hellhound, a dingy biker bar, on a Sunday afternoon with Team Lina.
The music was loud. The floor was sticky. The pool tables were all taken. And there were more wallets on chains than off.
“This place still makes me want to use a bucket of Pine-Sol and a pallet of Lysol before sitting down,” Naomi complained as we bellied up to the bar.
Stef grimaced and rolled up the sleeves of his Alexander McQueen sweater before resting his forearms gingerly on the wood. “Well, hello, hot bartender,” he said under his breath.
Joel, the gentlemanly bartender, was tall, muscly, facial hair-y, and decked out in head to toe black. His hair was a mane of silver swept back from his tanned face. “Welcome back, ladies,” he said with a smirk of recognition. “I see you brought a new friend along.”
