Page 2 of Unravel Me

“You’re the worst.”

“But you love me.” She waves the bartender down, who she’s been checking out since we got here.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

“Hmm. I’m in the mood for a screaming orgasm if you can manage,” she says with a flirty wink.

The bartender’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead at her bluntness, and I let loose a nervous laugh.

“Don’t mind her. She’s absolutely insane. She means the shot, not her. Vodka, Kahlua, Irish cream, and amaretto, I think.” Quickly trying to recall her go-to shot.

As he walks down the bar away from us, she smacks me on the arm.

“You’re such a buzzkill.”

“We’re nursing my shitty life tonight, just like you said, not hooking up with bartenders, no matter how hot they are.”

“Hey, there’s an idea. You could always pick up some bartending shifts for extra cash. That’s an option!”

I groan. Loudly.

“I can’t go back to bartending, Zo, c’mon. That would be like going backward in my career. Actually, it is going backward in my career. Chef by day, bartender by night. No thanks. Plus, the men are such pigs.”

Add bartending to the list of things I’d rather not be doing. The tips were incredible at the restaurant I used to work at, but it was a taxing job in an environment that made me want to crawl out of my skin.

“It’s ’cause you’re such a smoke show, babe. They can’t help but want a piece of you.”

“You keep thinking that,” I say, rolling my eyes at her.

“If I didn’t think it’d ruin our relationship, I’d be trying to get a lick for myself.”

I toss my head back in a deep laugh.

When I say my best friend is crazy, I mean it. Her audacity knows no bounds. She is the quintessential life of the party. We met in California during our college days while working at the same bar. When I wanted to move back to Washington, she was down to stick with me. Our relationship was that insta-connection kind of friendship. We’re the epitome of opposites attract, though, and it’s obnoxiously obvious in most situations.

She has gorgeous ice-blonde hair that she keeps in a stylish bob, whereas mine is midnight-black and down to my waist. She’s loud, where I’m more quiet. She’s a vivacious extrovert, while I’m a textbook introvert. My circle contains her. If it wasn’t for her forcing me around others, I would be at home reading. She has made my life immensely better since she came into it and as cliché as it may be, I’d be lost without her. Craziness and all. She’s my ride or die.

My phone goes off for the tenth time in the last thirty minutes. Pulling it out of my purse, I slide it across the bar in Zoe’s direction, laying my forehead back on the bar top with a groan.

“Your turn. It’s him again, isn’t it?”

Zoe picks up my phone and glances over the texts before turning it to face me so I can read them.

“Man, he went from pompous dickwad to full-on maniacal overlord in the span of an hour. Fuck, Ivy.”

I read over the slew of texts that get progressively more intense.

Brooks: We need to talk about this. Come home and we will get through it.

Brooks: Ivy. You don’t want to do this.

Brooks: Answer your goddamn phone. I swear to fucking God Ivy don’t ignore me.

I push the phone back to her, unable to focus on any of it. I can’t let this get to me.

“Just put it away. Turn it off. Throw it out the fucking window for all I care. He’s just pissed he was caught.” I sit up and twist my hands together in my lap before shaking them out at my sides, doing my best to control my breathing. This will not get under my skin. The last thing I need today is a panic attack in the middle of a bar.

“C’mon then, my girl, let’s get you drunk and have some fun!”

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