Page 22 of Never Say Yes To Your Best Friend (I said Yes)

I need it to have terms in my mind. I need to know what we’re doing. A meeting sounds so much better than a fake date because it’s still going out together, which kind of makes it sound like a date. We’re not friends, but even two friends meeting for drinks or dinner can still sometimes go way off the rails. That’s not going to happen. We’re not dates, and we’re not friends. We’re co-workers having a non-related work meeting.

Fuck.

I guess those sometimes go sideways, too.

“Anyway,” I say in a rush, hoping my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Let me know the place and time. I’ll meet you there.”

Maybe he did choose the right moment to corner me in here because he nods, turns around, and strides out. And no, I do not get fixated on his bottom as he leaves. I remember myself. Even if I nearly forget my coffee, the reason I came in here, and everything else.

Chapter eight

Mont

Ifeel like an old boot. Erm, an old heel. I’m not up to par with my old lingo.

I also feel like a mama’s boy. I never thought that could be me. I moved out when I was eighteen and went to college. Yes, we had family money, but I made my own way with it. I can admit that I got more than my fair share of help from my parents, but I didn’t want to sit on that and let their accomplishments speak for me. I wanted to do something on my own merit.

I guess that this week, I’ve just been thinking a lot about how I got here. I know I mentioned it before, but it hasn’t stopped. I don’t know why I took charge of the rest of my life but not my love life. I still don’t know why I just couldn’t force out that one simple word.

No.

My mom thinks not living life to the fullest is basically like being dead. I love her, but she has life as an hourglass image in her head, where time is constantly running out. It doesn’t matterthat I’m still young, or that I’m busy, or that I’m not ready for the level of commitment she wants to force on me.

Looking at it all from this moment, I feel utterly silly. A grown man in this predicament. No wonder Evilla has so much scorn and disbelief when it comes to this. To me. To all of my life.

I plan on making this (not a) date the least about scorn and disbelief as it can be. What I want is what I said. I think if we got to know each other better, we might find that we could sort of be friends or at least be okay with working together.

I know, I know. I forced the situation. I can’t undo that, but I can try and make the best of this going forward if there even is a best to be made. As much as I would like to call the whole thing off, I’ve trapped myself. I’ve trapped Evilla. We might have made a bargain in the end, but I still feel like an ass.

So I try to pick the best-darned crab place in the city.

Correction: The best-darned crab place on a budget in the city.

I get there early, pick a table, and sip an unsweetened iced tea while I wait. I don’t mind people watching, and the small restaurant is packed. It’s a little mom-and-pop shop with all the walls painted bright, vibrant colors. It’s pink on one side, blue on the other, and yellow on the far end. From the fake palm trees to the beachy photos, fishing nets, lighthouses, painted wooden ships, and other décor hanging on the walls, this place is tropically vibing.

Am I too old to say vibing?

I’m thirty.

Doesfeelingtoo old count?

The place thoroughly smells like seafood, but I swear that when Evilla walks in, spots me, and walks to the table with a straight face that looks neither pleased nor pissed, I can smell flowers clinging to her hair and skin. She’s dressed for a fun time, wearing a bright pink pin-up style dress with a halter neck, buttons where the straps meet the neckties, and polka dotsall over the flared-out skirt. Her black leggings are very toned down, but she picked fun heels. They’re cats, not kitten heels. Real cats. I mean, not literal cats. Christ. They just look like cats. They have fuzzy faces and fuzzy black tails that wrap around her ankles as straps. Her hair glistens copper in the loose braid she teased it into, and around her neck is a lanyard with a picture dangling from the bottom that proudly boasts that she loves to save rats. A cartoon rat is giving two thumbs up.

“Oh!” Her hand closes around it when she notices me staring. “I forgot to take this off.” She sits down on the other side of the booth. Since it’s later in the day, there were a few free ones at the back. I thought Evilla would prefer a booth over sitting at a table near the front. The truth is, I thinkIprefer it. I’m not a backwatcher, but I also don’t want the whole place to overhear our conversation or watch us as we talk.

If I tell her that I think it’s awesome, she’ll probably toss it into the first trash can. I don’t mean to experiment or play games, but I cast a dubious brow at it. Her hand falls away, and she gives me a stubborn smile. “It’s from the event. I do love to save rats, so I guess I’ll keep it on.”

That’s pretty much what I thought.

“I have something for you.” She reaches into her purse, which is just a plain black messenger-style leather bag looped over her shoulder. Then, she pulls out and places a small object in a little clear baggie on the table.

I reach for it and immediately inspect it. It’s a pin of a pink rat, also giving the thumbs up. “My friend had a few extras. She asked me if I’d like to take one.”

“You got this for me?” It hits me hard. It’s thoughtful, and I didn’t expect it.

She quirks one red-gold brow up at me, and her freckles dance on her nose when it scrunches up near the top. “Yeah. I thoughtyou’d like to donate to the cause. With a twenty-five dollar donation, you get one for free.”

“So you’d like me to make a twenty-five dollar donation for the pin?”

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