Page 27 of Resisting the Grump

“Oh yeah, who with?”

“Oliver Harrington.”

Silence.

Was she still there?

“The Oliver Harrington?” she asked finally.

I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Uh-huh.”

“How did that happen?”

“He came into the café and asked me to join him for dinner.”

“You must’ve made quite an impression on him at the festival.”

I wasn’t sure I liked her tone. “I guess so.”

“Well, I hope you have a nice time.”

“It doesn’t sound like you hope that.”

She sighed. “What am I supposed to say, Avery? I’ve been listening to you go on and on for months about how you’re done dating assholes, and now you’re telling me you’re going out with the king of the assholes.”

“He’s not king of the assholes.”

“Based on what? He was nice to you for two minutes? You’ve been reading that guy’s column for years, and we watched all those clips of him on that restaurant nightmare show. You can’t possibly argue that he’s not an asshole.”

“Just because he makes a living from being an asshole…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence. How could I without sounding like a complete moron? “Whatever. What was I supposed to say? He practically insisted, and he’s handsome and employed and—”

“It’s fine if you like him,” she said, like it wasn’t really fine at all. “Just don’t say he’s not an asshole.”

“Thanks for your support,” I said sarcastically.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I appreciate that, Grace, but what am I supposed to do? Not put myself out there? Never go on a date again? Never give anyone a chance and be one of those scorned women who settles for the company of cats?”

“Cats are great company.”

I groaned. “That’s not my point.”

“What is your point?”

“I don’t know.” Was it so wrong that I might want to go on a romantic getaway to Paris someday with a handsome man who thought I was a catch? Was it so wrong that I wanted one night away from my neighbor’s incessant drumming and hammering and pranking? Speaking of which, maybe I should bring Oliver back here just so I’d have an excuse to moan my head off. Not that I couldn’t do that anyway. Though the prospect of faking earth-shattering sex seemed even sadder than my obsession with disturbing the dickhead in number eight.

“I didn’t mean to be unsupportive,” she said. “You deserve to go out and have a good time. And who knows? Maybe I’m wrong about the guy. Maybe everyone in the country’s wrong about him.”

“You were doing so well till the sarcasm creeped in.”

“Like I said, I just don’t want to see you get hurt any more than I want to see you break promises to yourself that you made for a reason.”

“Thanks, Grace. I’m feeling super sexy and psyched for my date now.”

“As you should,” she said, ignoring my sassy tone. “I hope you have an epic night. It’s the least you deserve after a busy week of baking up a sweat.”

“Better,” I lied, knowing I was going to have to pump myself back up with a punchy playlist the second she got off the phone. “Anyway, I have to go or I’ll be late and—”

---