Page 39 of The Little Black Book

Ugh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’m just tired. Or hangry. No, I’ve been munching on cheese fries since I got here, so that’s not it.

Maybe I’m pissed that Sam’s date is at least a decade younger than both of us, and she keeps fucking touching him every chance she gets. Simpering and cooing over his muscles and handsome face.

Fuck. Thatisit. I’m jealous, and I have no idea what to do about it.

I look up from my cold plate of fries, and Sam catches my eye. Charlene is looking down at her phone, and while she’s distracted, Sam crosses his eyes and pokes his tongue out at me. I try to smile back, but it must look as fake as it feels, because Sam’s face falls into a frown.

Shaking my head, I mouth “be right back” before sliding off my barstool and hauling ass to the ladies’ room. I use the toilet and wash my hands, then stare at my reflection for several beats. I’m disgusted with what I see. Not my appearance, but the hollow look in my eyes and the downward turn of my lips.

Sam is counting on me to do what I promised. To be his wing-woman and help him find love. And here I am, mooning over him like some lovestruck teenager while he’s on a date with a woman barely out of her teens, herself.

“Ugh. Stop it, Zoey,” I mutter at my reflection before turning and walking toward the door.

Pulling it open, I step out and freeze. The door swings closed, bumping me in the back as I stare at a pair of icy-blue eyes filled with concern.

“Hey,” I say, injecting some pep into my tone. “What are you doing back here?”

“Waiting for you to come out,” he says, cocking his head to peer at me. “You okay?”

“Where’s your date?” I ask, ignoring his question.

“At the bar where I left her, I guess. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m fine,” I say, waving a hand in the air. “Just feeling a little queasy. All those cheese fries, I think.”

The words are spewing from my mouth like vomit, but I can’t seem to make them stop.

“I’m actually going to head out. You’ve got this from here, right? She seems like a lovely girl.Woman. I meant…well, you know what I meant. Anyway, I’ll see you later, okay?”

Before Sam can respond, I scurry past him. I see Charlene at the bar, taking selfie after selfie with puckered lips and rounded eyes. The cheese fries threaten to make a reappearance, for real, but I manage to swallow the bile back down and exit the bar before I make an even bigger spectacle of myself.

In the elevator, I tap my foot and whisper, “Come on. Come on. Come on,” until the car finally stops on the ground floor.

I rush out and hurry for the casino exit that leads to the parking lot where I left my car. My eyes are burning, and I’m silently cussing myself out for it. It’s stupid.I’mstupid.

Because even if Sam doesn’t find love with Charlene, one thing is completely and utterly obvious––he’s getting laid tonight.

And I can’t fucking handle it.

By the time I get home, I’ve managed to get ahold of myself. While I’m not happy about where this night is obviously leading for Sam, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m supposed to be helping him, for fuck’s sake.

I let myself into my apartment and turn on the lights. I pull off my shirt as I head toward the bedroom, then strip the rest of my clothes off. I’m not ready to go to bed yet, so I slip a thin, tank-style nightgown over my head and down my naked body. Leaving my clothes where I dropped them, I head out into the kitchen for some antacids and a glass of water.

After taking the medication, I shuffle into the living room and plop down onto the couch. My stomach feels better, but a headache is quickly forming. I can’t stop imagining Sam holding Charlene, kissing her, stripping that hooker dress off her young, wrinkle-free body––

A knock on the door rips me from my dark imaginings. I stand slowly and tiptoe my way over to the door. Leaning in carefully, I peer through the peephole. Sam’s handsome face appears, his mouth turned down into a frown.

“Come on, Zoey. I saw your car in the parking lot. I know you’re here.”

Leaning back and taking a deep, fortifying breath, I unlock the door and pull it open.

“What are you doing here, Sam?” I ask without preamble.

“I was worried about you,” he says. “Can I come in?”

I step aside automatically, motioning him inside. My neighbors are nosy as hell, and I don’t need everyone speculating over the handsome man knocking on my door in the middle of the night. Closing the door and relocking it out of habit, I turn to face Sam.

“Where’s your date?” I ask, flinching at the venom I hear in the words.

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