Page 5 of Give Me Love

“What’s Austin got to do with the heat?”

She rolls her eyes. “Nothing, but he is going to get us past this line.” She looks ahead, biting her cherry-colored lip.

“How?”

“Ask him when he gets here. You haven’t talked to him in forever.”

I cross my arms and examine the chipped fire red polish on my nails, feeling bad I’ve been so consumed in my own misery. I’ve neglected the two people who care about me the most. Regardless, the amount I’d rather be bundled up in my bed, not having to deal with people right now is larger than the ache in my feet from being in these damn shoes. A girl bumps into me from behind.

“Sorry,” she says.

I give a weak smile.

Damn people.

I flick the last piece of polish off and exhale loudly. “Claire, this is taking too long. My feet already hurt in these stupid heels.”

“Stop complaining. The shoes make your legs look longer. You know us short girls gotta do what we can.”

“Well, I’ll probably be holding them before the end of the night. Give me a shot,” I say, looking at her clutch and holding out my hand. I know I’m moaning and groaning a lot, but I hate pointy heels, I hate this heat, and I hate that I’ve had to leave the safe comfort of my bed.

She opens her bag and hands me a small bottle of Fireball before she twists the cap off another.

“To getting out of the house,” she says with a smile.

I hit her little bottle with mine. “To getting back in it.”

She rolls her eyes, and with a smirk I tip my bottle back, grimacing at the warm cinnamon taste. She puts the now empty bottles back into her purse and we continue to stand in line.

I wonder what my ex is doing. Probably having an orgy. I really should have seen it coming. Our relationship was shit. He worked all the time at his dad’s law firm, or he said he was working.

Who knows now?

How did I not see this?

Because you’re an idiot, my subconscious says.

I’m not an idiot. I was… comfortable.

You were an idiot.

Shut up.

Anyway, the best thing I ever did besides get out of that soul-sucking house I grew up in was move back into my once shared apartment with my best friend and the second person I met when I moved to Atlanta, Georgia. The first was an older woman with a terrible smoking habit, but that’s another story.

“There’s Austin,” Claire says, hitting me in the side with her elbow and interrupting the internal conversation going on in Kathrine Land.

Austin walks across the street in worn black jeans and a blue jean shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Boots with relaxed laces cover his feet, and a toothpick hangs loosely from his lips. His blond hair looks beach dried even though there’s not one for miles and miles. He grins when he nears us. “Why are you two standing in this long ass line?”

“We were waiting on you,” Claire says, likeduh.

“Sorry. I got held up,” he says. “Come on. I know the owner.”

“You know the owner?” I ask, grimacing when we start walking, because damn, these shoes.

He looks over at me. “Yeah, I’ve been rebuilding his car for a few months now. Just finished it about a week ago, which you’d know if you wouldn’t have been acting like the world ended because your relationship with that piece of shit did.”

I flinch. “I’ve been a shitty friend.” He gives me a sideways glance. “Okay, a very shitty friend. Sorry—”

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