Page 91 of Wicked Pickle

Based on my inability to stop thinking about him, talking about him, texting him, planning our next rendezvous, something is up with me, too.

I’m not sure a pair was ever as doomed. Maybe he’s not a Montague, and I’m not a Capulet, but damn, he’s wrong for me.

Nothing illustrates this better than when I get a call for an interview at the federal building.

It’s for real!

We book a time for next week, and I have to email my professor because I’ll miss my imperialism class.

But it’s real!

And so are the risks of being caught on social media downing shots at a biker bar with a room full of possible former felons.

I feel like Dolly Parton and Burt Reynolds inThe Best Little Whorehouse in Texas,which I was exposed to at an impressionable age. For me, “I Will Always Love You” will always be Dolly’s anthem about why she’s all wrong for a sheriff. Wait, was he a sheriff?

Okay, so my memory on this is full of holes, but I know he was the establishment, and she was against the law. And even though I’m not exactly a politician, and Diesel isn’t a madam, it’s the same sentiment.

We’re star-crossed lovers. He can cost me my career. I can expose whatever he’s got going on at the Leaky Skull to people in power. People who can snuff his biker bar into oblivion.

We can’t do this. Not long term.

But I refuse to think about the future. At least not any further than our next collision.

On Thursday, I sit on the lawn with my class. Mina also got a call for an interview.

“This will be so exciting,” she says. “I hope all of us get in!”

I spot a familiar figure crossing the quad. Is it?

It is!

I jump up. “Bailey! You’re back!”

She hurries across the grass, tan and pink-cheeked in a white jumper. “I am! I have to check in with my adviser. I’m hoping she understands I haven’t made any progress on my thesis yet.”

“She’ll get it. You’ve been on your honeymoon!”

We return to the circle. “You remember Mina and Henry,” I say. “I’m not sure you’ve met Billy.”

Everyone waves.

“Walk with me to the poli-sci building,” Bailey says. “I want to hear about what happened with Diesel.”

“Sure.” I wave at the others. “I’ll report back on my interview next week.”

Bailey leads the way down the sidewalk. “You have an interview?”

I sling my backpack over my shoulder. “I applied for a position at the federal building.”

Her face lights up. “That’s so great!”

“Tell me about the honeymoon.”

We take off across the grass. “It was beautiful. Boat. Sun. Beach. But that’s boring. Diesel left the wedding early. I’ve been dying for almost two weeks to know what happened!”

The sun is blinding as we approach the more modern glass-drenched buildings, so I drop my sunglasses down from where they are perched on my head. “The Pickles pissed him off.”

She halts. “What do you mean?”

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