Page 8 of Love at Teamsgiving
“Huh?” I ask, pulled from my thoughts and not entirely sure I offered anything of use.
“The gist is to form a united front. Agree with each other in group situations. Converse and correct in private. Don’t take low blows or walk away from each other unless you need to take a lap to cool off.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Sounds to me like you’ll do just fine, my friend.” If only I had this kind of sound guidance fourteen months ago.
Shane pauses on the sidewalk. “So, will you be my best man?”
I tuck my chin, taken off guard. “What? Yeah, bro. Of course. Wow. Thanks for asking.”
“I was going to have Jonas do it, but?—”
My eyebrow lifts sharply. “I’m your backup plan?”
“No, I was deciding between the two of you. But he’s still a boy when it comes to women. You’re a man.”
I bark a laugh, startling someone walking their dog. “Just last week, you texted me when you saw a photo online of me out with Rebecca Rios.”
“Erica is a big fan of her music,” he says.
“You told me to be careful. There are rumors that she’s a drama queen.”
“It’s true.”
“It’s true,” I repeat, having learned that the hard way, which resulted in me blocking her number and insisting my publicist, agent, and manager keep her far away from me.
He claps me on the back. “I think you’re going to be okay, though.”
Not quite following, I squint as if that’ll help me better understand the comment.
“I mean, with women. What you had with Juniper was special. The two of you were going to get married. You’ll always measure women against her, so with that litmus test, you’ll?—”
I lose track of whatever else Shane says because I know where it’s going. But there won’t ever be another Junie.
I screwed up.
I’m missing out on the match for me. We were meant to be and threw it away. Not only do I compare every other woman to her, not only did I want her at the altar, I put her on a pedestal and not in a worshiping kind of way. Junie was smart, kind, caring, gorgeous ... and stubborn, but so am I. Maybe that was our downfall.
Having polished off the cinnamon bun, Shane tosses his paper plate in the trash and turns around in the other direction.
“Now, where are we going?” I ask.
“I have to walk off the cinnamon bun, so Erica doesn’t get mad. And probably the other dozen I’ve eaten.”
“At this rate, we’re better off lacing up and skating a few laps.”
“Game on in Cobbiton,” Shane replies.
He’s a Nebraska boy, and it’s soon to be my new home state.
CHAPTER THREE
It’sstupid early on my first day off, in I don’t know how long. Technically, I’m unemployed for the first time in my adult life, but I remind myself that I’ll be starting my business when I get to Nebraska.
I’m not stress-sweating. The coffee is hot, and that’s why there’s a little bead on my upper lip.
I have savings. I planned on this. But it’s weird for the workaholic in me to be out in the world on a Thursday morning and not rushing to work a long day at the salon.
Erica insisted we meet at our favorite bakery and coffee shop. She slurps a sip of iced coffee through a straw.
