“Hey, listen,” I say and then I hear her groan over the phone. “What?”
“I know what you’re going to say,” she says flatly.
“Pretty sure you don’t. I have to cancel tonight. I’m so sorry but—”
“Yup, I knew it.”
I feel a twinge of frustration. “What does that mean?”
“It means I knew you were going to cancel. Let me guess, hot date?”
“Hot date?” I repeat.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
I press my palm into my forehead. “Why are you saying all these confusing things?”
“Rio saw you on Wharf Street a few days ago, hitting on some blondes with your friend.”
“Did Rio also mention I had a heap of beer spilled on me?” Granted, I wasn’t the one hitting on them, or even talking to them, so I don’t know what the hell Rio is talking about but since Amanda is already jumping to conclusions, I have no need to correct her.
“She said something about that too,” she says.
“And why do you care anyway?”
“Me?” she asks snidely. “I just don’t want my grade to suffer because you can’t keep it in your pants.”
Oh that fucking does it. “Fine,” I tell her. “I do have a hot date. Two blondes. Sorry I can’t meet up with you but I think a threesome takes precedent over homework.”
“Oh fuck off,” she says.
“You’re the third person to tell me that this whole weekend. It must be good luck.”
She hangs up.
I stare at the phone for a while, the triumph over pissing her off slowly slipping away. I really should have told her the truth, but I just couldn’t help myself. Let her think what she wants of me, what does it matter in the end? I’m no stranger to judgement and what she thinks of me should be my last concern. There are bigger things to worry about here.
I take in a deep breath and head inside the house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amanda
“Seriously, fuck everyone,” Rio says, swiping my phone from me. “You need to make my contact name ‘Daddy Issues’.”
We’re in a tapas bar downtown, one of my favorite places to go since the food and wine are phenomenal and it’s located down this narrow brick alley that makes you think you’re in some quaint European city, but unfortunately neither of us are in the best mood. Rio has just finished telling me about the thirty-five year old single dad she’s seeing, illustrating the time his ex-wife and child came home early and caught them both buck-ass naked in bed. Me, well, I’ve been listening to her but mainly stewing over the asshole maneuver that Blake pulled tonight.
I think what pisses me off more is not that I’m missing out on a night of finishing up the project but that I was actually looking forward to Blake’s company. It pains me to admit it but for the last two weeks, I’ve started enjoying our time together, both of us working toward a common goal. It’s like for once I’m with someone who understands the drive to write and the deep-seated perfectionist need to make it the best that it can be.
But then he blew off our meeting to go bang some chicks and so now I’m at the bar, drinking rioja like it’s going out of style.
Rio hands my phone back to me and I check that she indeed changed her contact name to “Daddy Issues.” “Anyway,” she says, popping an olive in her mouth, “I’m not sure how much longer this will last.”
“It’s only been a week,” I remind her quietly.
“Feels like a lifetime,” she says, giving me a sidelong glance. “Hey, you better start smiling or keep drinking or I’m not going to sit with you anymore.”
I roll my eyes and take a gulp of my wine. “I pick the wine.”
She twists in her seat to face me, studying my expression. “I’m surprised you’re this upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I reply testily. “I’m angry.”
“That’s called being upset, Amanda. And really, the question is, why are you angry? You knew he was like this. I mean, he’s been your nemesis until recently.”
“I think I liked him better when he was my nemesis,” I say into my wine. Hating Blake was a lot more fun in some ways. At least I didn’t feel hurt when he slighted me, just annoyed.
“People never change,” she says, reaching for the sliced chorizo. She offers it to me but I shake my head. She goes on. “I mean, not really. It’s not like I actually saw him hitting on them, it was mainly his friend, whom I’ve already nicknamed Johnny Utah.”
I glance up at her sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“The other day,” she explains between chews. “It was Blake’s Point Break friend that was hitting on them. He made the googly eyes and head nod and pelvis thrusts before he went and sat with them while Blake stayed behind and got a beer bath.”
I try to form words. “Are you serious? Why did you tell me it was Blake?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, what’s the difference? The point was, he’s pissed off a lot of waitresses at that bar. I was by the window, inside when it happened and I heard quite the mouthful from some of the girls. They were actually clapping.”
I rub my lips together, trying to think. The copious amount of wine is finally hitting me and thinking is getting harder. “He told me he was going out with them.”