Page 98 of Relationship Goals

“I don’t know.” I want to shrug, but the question lies too heavy on my shoulders. Or maybe it’s the blanket burrito I’ve tucked myself into. Blanket burrito with a side of existential-adult-relationship-question guacamole.

“Do you think it’s LA?” she asks, then pops the cheese in her mouth.

On TV, a little girl in braids is singing the national anthem, her eyes shimmering with emotion that could very possibly be patriotism or just as possibly be straight-up nervousness.

I wouldn’t blame her for either.

“I don’t think it’s the city.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I think…people are different here, yeah, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad.” I roll my head back, staring up at the wood beams crossing the ceiling. “I think that by the time we get…to being old enough to have less time for friends, that we’re also less prone to falling for bullshit.”

“That’s…deep.”

“Deep and full of shit,” I tell her. “That’s my brain.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” She chucks a grape at me. “That’s my new friend you’re bad-mouthing.”

I curl my feet under my butt, feeling warm and fuzzy. Also a possible side effect of the fleece tortilla, but more likely from Michelle.

“We clicked, huh?”

“Yep. Clicked like a pair of high heels on tile.”

“Okay, simile, go off.”

“I might already be tipsy.”

“You had a glass and a half.” I laugh, tossing the now-scorching-hot blankets off. “I’ll get us some water.”

“Was it like that with the Wolf?” she asks, her expression serious and her brown eyes a little sad. “Did you click right away?”

I stand up, stretching my arms out, sore as hell from the weight lifting regimen the studio has me on, and consider the question. “No. No we didn’t. I thought he was a jerk.”

“But you said yes to a date with him.” It’s not a question.

“I did. He complimented me, and I’m a sucker for that. Also, I just…it seemed like there was more to him than just the Wolf image, you know? I wanted to give him a chance.” I turn my attention back to Michelle and smile. “I’m glad I did now, though. He’s just as sweet as I hoped he’d be.”

“That’s so cute it makes me sick. Gonna throw up rainbows,” she says, but she’s smiling at me.

“Water,” I say in a singsong voice. “We need water before we start crying and telling each other how beautiful we think the other is.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite part of the night!” Michelle says, then drains the rest of her wineglass.

“Slow down, Captain Ahab, that’s white wine, not the white whale.”

“A-plusMoby Dickreference,” Michelle says, tilting her empty glass at me. “A scholaranda lady.”

“Oh yeah, you like aMoby Dick, huh?” I yell over my shoulder.

I hear her laughing as I fill up a glass pitcher I’m not sure I’ve ever actually used before with ice and filtered water, thanking the gods of dihydrogen monoxide.

A moment later, I’m filling up our glasses with fresh ice water, and the Aces are gamboling across the green Vegas turf, chasing a black-and-white ball.

“Oh, go Luke!” I yell, jumping up from the couch, my wide-leg pajama pants flaring out with my enthusiasm.

“Go, go,” I chant. The next second, though, my mouth drops in horror as he goes flying over a red-and-yellow-clad player, hitting the ground hard.

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