Page 82 of Oh, Flutz!

People really need to stop telling me that. I like ignoring my problems. “Yeah, well, what else am I supposed to do? She’s just gonna use it against me.”

“That’s a little harsh, even for her.”

Why the hell is he defending her? “Says Mr. Circles-of-Hell?”

“Sure, but this is different. You’re always saying how you wish she communicated better, but come on, man, you don’t either. You just keep it bottled up and pretend you’re all good. All the crap you deal with, I mean, she might lay off you a bit if you’re just honest with her. How is she supposed to get your position if you don’t tell her shit?”

I snort. “Please.”

“She might understand.”

“She won’t.”

“But—”

“Shewon’t,” I repeat, way too loudly, and people around us turn to stare. I can feel all the blood rushing to my face. “Just—she’s not gonna get it. Can we change the subject, please?” I pretend like I don’t see the look on Ollie’s face. Like he’s worried about me. Like he feels sorry for me.

“Okay.” Oliver nods, looping his arm in mine and starting to walk me out. “I’m not letting you drink anymore—”

“Hey!”

“—because your tolerance is comparable to that of an underfed hamster, while I could probably get hit by a car with nothing but Long Island Iced Tea running in my veins and these rock-hard thighs wouldn’t even tremble. I know where we’re going.”

Next thing I know,we’re standing in front of an extremely familiar light blue front door.

I sigh and turn to my best friend, who’s looking mischievous and gleeful. “Why are we here?”

“Because.”

“Becausewhy?”

“Because this is how we’re getting you out of your funk.”

“And how is this going to do that, exactly?”

Ollie grins, then reaches to knock on the door, but before his knuckles even hit the wood the door swings open, making us both shriek.

Lian stands there, squinting warily at both of us. “What are you doing here?”

I turn to Oliver, who’s biting his lip like that SpongeBob meme in order to keep from bursting into giggles. “Good question. Ollie, why don’t you tell Lee why we’re here?”

“To get Bryan out of his funk!” he says cheerily. “Hi, Lee.”

Lian rolls her eyes, stepping aside and opening the door further so we can go inside. “Get in. I knew I shouldn’t have told Juliet about the ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” I yelp, charging in, beelining for the kitchen, and Lian groans.

“Take off your boots, at least! My god, I thought not having kids meant I wouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Me and Ollie are already sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the freezer with tubs in our laps, giant spoonfuls of mint chocolate chip halfway to our mouths.

An hour later, Ollie’sconked out on the couch—better tolerance my ass—while I’m sitting half-asleep on one of the kitchen stools, laying my head and folding my arms atop the spotless granite.

Lian’s watching me from where she’s standing behind the counter, elegantly eating her bowl of coffee ice cream.

This woman is a fiend. Even her desserts have caffeine—I swear to god, it’s just like Oliver, only if you tried to draw blood from her veins, you’d get Folgers dark roast with extra shots of espresso instead of alcohol.

I’m quiet. There aren’t that many people I can just sit with and not feel the urge (or obligation) to run my mouth to fill the silence, but Lee’s always been one of them. Probably because I can trust her. Arguably better than anyone. She knows stuff about me, hasdoneso much for me; I can barely stand to think about it sometimes. It hurts my head about as much as my current beer overload.

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