Page 73 of Love Is…?

Luce punched Jayde’s shoulder, then collected her drink. “Just thought you needed to hang out. Dunno.” She shrugged. “You looked sad last time all of us met.”

Jayde contemplated her drink. Was she sad? Not really. Perplexed. Attracted. Turned on. Heart sore. In very strong like with Tessa.

But not sad.

“I’m not sad.”

“But…?”

Jayde let her head fall back on her neck. “I don’t… I think… I’m…”

A tiny smile grew on Luce’s lips. “You’re incoherent. That’s what you are.” She stared at Jayde until it became uncomfortable.

“Drink your bourbon, Luce.”

“I know why you’re incoherent and grumpy. Not like the grumpy and confused when I’m trying to read my GPS when the hot AI chick stops talking.” She set her glass down, reached back to tighten her ponytail, then shot finger guns at Jayde’s face. “You’re eating lemon meringue pie.”

Jayde coughed on her mouthful. “That’s…No, I’m not, actually”

“Okay. But you’ve walked into the bakery to taste test.”

Jayde glared. “Have I told you how much I hate your analogies?”

Luce laughed. “Yeah, but I’m still gonna use them. Readers recognise my style now, which keeps me employed.”

Jayde squinted, but couldn’t think of anything to add. Luce was right. Jayde had walked into the bakery. She had tasted…Well, not tasted. Okay. That thought didn't need to go anywhere.

Her brain had other ideas, sending her imagination on an unsupervised field trip.

“Luce, can we talk about something else for a while?”

They gave a mutual head nod.

“O’course we can.” Luce wriggled her bum on the seat. “I heard that Liam Hershall, the Tigers captain, is running for local council. The slogan on his corflute signage should read ‘Vote for me; I’m a misogynistic wanker who calls women’s AFL ‘fanny footy’.” She growled. “He is such a wanker.”

“You said that.”

“It bears repeating.”

Jayde grinned into her glass.

Luce continued to leapfrog from topic to topic. It was exactly what Jayde had needed, and she loved Luce for knowing that. Her group of friends might not be the type who sat in each other’s back pockets, but they were there if any of them needed help.

Or just to listen to social and political rambling in a bar on a Sunday night.

“Oh! Fuck! Awesome!” Luce smacked Jayde’s arm.

“Ow! What?” Jayde followed Luce’s gaze. A group of four men was sitting at a round table on the other side of the room. She flicked her finger. “Them?”

“Yep. Red shirt and the one in black. Shawn and Gianno are the organisers of Melbourne Pride. I’ve been playing email tag with them for a week. Do you mind if I go chat for a bit? I’m sorry to be bailing.” Luce wrinkled her brow.

Jayde waved away her apology. “Go. Do. You’re not bailing, and even if you end up chatting for ages and I become a mere shell, nay a husk, and my ashes are whisked away to my flat then?—”

“Shut up.”

They laughed at each other’s silliness.

“No, I’m serious. This has been really nice. Thanks, Luce.”

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