Page 115 of For Eva

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Fine, whatever,” I said, pushing myself up from the couch. “I’ve got to get in the shower so I can go sit through dinner, pretend I’m having fun, and then never see this guy again.”

“Just picture Eric’s face while you’re fucking him.”

“Denise!”

She tried to stifle her giggles. “Okay, okay, I’ll let you go get ready. Tell me all about it after you get home…tomorrow morning.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Love you, babe.”

“Love you, too.”

I trudged down the hallway into my bedroom, tossing my phone on the bed before I opened the closet to see if I had anything remotely suitable to wear that evening. As I flipped through the hangers, my cell rang.

Oh! Maybe it’s Kate calling to cancel. Or maybe it’s Aaron calling to say one of the boys is sick and needs to come home so he won’t infect the rest of the house. They have a new baby nowand simply can’t risk it. The perfect excuse to bail. Kate will understand.

I squealed at the possibility of Miles or Drew having the flu and hurried to the bed, ready to tell Aaron I’d be right over. The name that appeared on the screen wasn’t his, but I wasn’t disappointed.

I smiled as I walked back over to the closet. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, back,” Eric said, a smile in his voice. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, I’m just…” I trailed off, wondering if I should tell him the truth.

Is this weird? Why do I feel weird? If we’re just friends, it’s not weird. Which we are…just friends.

“I’m getting ready to go to dinner.”

Mostly true.

“In that case, call me tomorrow. I’ll be around.”

I glanced over at the alarm clock on my nightstand. An hour and forty-five minutes before I had to leave to meet Kate, her husband, and my mystery date at the restaurant.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, padding back to the bed. “I can talk for a little while. How’s Hollywood? What glamorous events will you be attending later tonight?”

“Trying to decide between dinner at Brad and Angelina’s or sitting here on my deck eating pizza. What do you think?”

“Oh, Brad did Jennifer Aniston so wrong, Eric. I vote for pizza.”

“Good, because I don’t really know BradorAngelina, so it would’ve been awkward showing up there.”

I laughed and settled into the pillows resting against the headboard. “So what kind of pizza?”

“Pepperoni,” we said in unison.

“Is there any other kind?” he asked.

“Absolutely not. Pizza without pepperoni is an abomination.”

“You speak the truth. So who are you going to dinner with?”

I paused, a shot of adrenaline rushing from my head to my feet.

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