Page 46 of Fastlander Fallen

“Feels like a long time.”

“Tell me about him.”

“I have to get ready for work.”

“Cool, put me on speakerphone and get ready while you talk.”

“I don’t talk about him. That’s the deal.”

“You don’t talk to anyone about him?”

“No.”

“You loved him?”

He nodded, but remembered she couldn’t see him, so he said, “Yes,” but his voice cracked on the word. He huffed a humorless laugh and shook his head. “I have to go.”

“First rule of friendship? No shutting down. You don’t drop a bomb like this photograph and then leave me, as a known overthinker, to worry about your mindset all day. Now, you don’t have to tell me the super-secret werewolf stuff about him. Just tell me about the person you loved.”

“What are you? Some kind of therapist?”

“Oh hell no. If I was a therapist I would tell any woman who came to me with a problem with their boyfriend to break up with them. I cannot give life advice. I would just be like, ‘have you tried drinking your problems away?’”

He chuckled and rubbed his hands over his eyes, and then brought the phone into the bathroom. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”

“What are you wearing?” she asked. “As friends. Hopefully a potato sack. You know what? Don’t answer my question. I’m going to imagine you as a lamp.”

All right, this woman was something else. He was smiling the whole damn way through brushing his teeth as she chattered on and on. He rinsed, and asked, “What are you wearing? As friends?”

“Oh, one of those grandma-nightgowns with the little pink flowers that make my boobs look like misshapen little things. It’s too long, so I keep tripping on it. No makeup, hair in a messy bun, retainer, glasses, you know. The works.”

“All of that was a lie. Send me a picture, and I’ll send you one of me in the potato sack.”

“Fine. Hold please. I need to get the perfect angle. Oh yeah, that’s the one.”

A picture came through and dear God, she hadn’t been lying. She was wearing one of the nighties and glasses and the messy bun.

And was somehow still fuckin’ adorable. He belted out a laugh. “I’m saving this,” he told her.

“Good. Make it your lock screen, I dare you.”

“Woman, don’t be tossing dares out there like that.”

“Potato sack, let’s see it. Let’s see how plain you look when you wake up in the mornings. Let’s compare.”

He shook his head, took a few steps back from the sink, and took a picture of himself in the mirror. He might’ve flexed a little for her.

He sent it, and waited.

“Oh what the hell, Ace. I’m hanging up.”

He cracked up and said, “Don’t hang up!”

“You just wake up looking like that? Are you serious right now? Are you wearing gray sweatpants? Seriously. Go delete my picture now, please and thank you.”

“I like muumuus.”

“I hate gray sweatpants.”

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