Page 89 of Home in Nevada

“…No, what?!” Lucy recoils like I’ve committed some cardinal sin. “Jeff,GOD!Why can’t you ever take me seriously? Just once in your life,be serious!”

I keep giggling—giggling.I don’t do that. Ever. But apparently, a few too many beers turn me into some alternate version of myself who does. How many have I had? Five? Seven? My brain’s too foggy to figure it out.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to sound sincere but failing miserably because I’m still grinning. “It was just the first thing that popped into my head. It’s true, though. It’s the best. He’s the best. His tight little ass is the best—”

“Oh my God, that’s enough. Please stop,” Lucy groans, dragging her hands down her face like she’s trying to physically erase my words from her brain.

She tugs at her messy blonde hair, pacing in tiny, wobbly circles on the sidewalk while we wait for the Uber. Where evenarewe? Downtown LA? I squint at the neon blur of signs and streetlights, but nothing looks familiar. My brain feels like it’s moving through molasses, and honestly, I can’t bring myself to care.

Lucy’s still muttering under her breath, probably about me, but I’m too busy fighting off the dumb grin that won’t leave my face. Jamiedoeshave the best ass. It’s not my fault the truth comes out when I’ve had a few too many beers.

It’s unseasonably cold for LA tonight, a total slap in the face after the heat earlier. I hug myself, swaying a little to keep warm, while Lucy teeters on the edge of the curb in her heels. And somehow she still looks annoyingly put together. Her purplish lipstick hasn’t smudged, her outfit’s on point, and her hair looks perfectly disheveled in that effortless way I’ll never understand. Meanwhile, I’m standing here with a sauce stain—ranch, maybe?—smeared across my shirt. Did I eat wings? I honestly don’t remember right now.

I rub at the sticky mess absentmindedly, and then it hits me: itlookslike someone blew a load on me. Fantastic. Jamie would take one look at me right now and roll his eyes so hard they’d fall out of his head.

God, I miss him.

Lucy’s babbling again, wobbling on her heels, and I snap back to the moment just as she says, “Jamie has a beautiful…”

“Uh,” I hesitate, running a hand through my hair. “Fuck. He doesn’t have a beautifulanything,Lucy. He justisbeautiful. He’s a beautiful fucking person. What do you want me to say?!”

She stares at me, her expression softening for a moment like she might actually let it go—but no, she just sighs dramatically, tossing her hands in the air.

“You’re so fucking hopeless, Jeff.”

And maybe I am. Because no matter what I say or how hard I try to sound cool about it, one thing’s for sure: Jamie reallyisthe most beautiful person I’ve ever known. And I’ll probably never stop thinking that.

She narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to solve a math problem. “You said you wanted to stop thinking about Jamie, so talk about it—and then we’ll stop. You’ll feel better.” She pauses, then completely derails. “Butter. Hey, margarine is shit, Jeff, don’t you think? Like… whatisit, really? God. How do we even know we can trust it?”

I blink at her, completely lost. I’m not sure if I zoned out or if she actually jumped from Jamie to margarine that fast.

Finally, the Uber pulls up, and we climb in. Lucy launches into her usual drunken small talk with the driver, while I stare out the window, trying to piece together how many drinks I’ve had tonight. Would Jamie be impressed or horrified? Probably horrified. Definitely horrified.

“I want to call Jamie,” I say suddenly. “I want to talk to Jamie.”

“Wait until we get back to your place, at least,” Lucy whines, clutching the side of my jacket like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Her fingers are digging into the fabric, and her bottom lip is sticking out in a ridiculous pout. “Don’t do that now. That’s super fucking boring for me.”

I sigh, nudging her hand off my jacket with my elbow. “Lucy, let go. You’re acting like a toddler.”

“No! Come on, Jeff, at least wait until we get inside…”

“Lucy,” I groan, putting my empty hand back in my lap, “what does it matter?”

She leans in close, her face just inches from mine, her eyes wide and deadly serious, like she’s about to drop some earth-shattering revelation.

“Jeffrey, hey… listen. Listen to me really closely…”

I blink, bracing myself for whatever dramatic nonsense is about to come out of her mouth.

“…Can we please order pizza?” she whispers, her voice so earnest it almost throws me off.

“What?!”

She bursts out laughing and throws herself back against the window, clutching her stomach like she just told the joke of the century. I stare at her, baffled, like she’s just landed from another planet.

I groan, shaking my head. “You’re so dumb.”

“And you’re so drunk,” she counters, sticking her tongue out at me like we’re five.

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