Page 12 of Absolutely Not in Love
She smirks. “A reputation I cherish, thank you.” She pulls out her keys. “Come on. Let me drive to dinner, then we can circle back and grab your car.”
We wind up at DeLucca’s, a tiny Italian place downtown that serves the best garlic knots I’ve ever had. We settle into a corner booth, where Summer immediately orders a bottle of wine and two baskets of garlic knots at my recommendation. The wine is more expensive than anything I would ever splurge on by myself, so even though I’ve never been a big drinker, I happily let the waiter fill my glass.
I take a sip, eyeing Summer across the table. “Are we celebrating something tonight?” I nod toward the bottle.
She grins. “A tiny promotion? It isn’t a huge deal, but I’m possibly the youngest person in the office ever to be promoted so fast, so…maybe that’s worth celebrating?”
“Shut up,” I say. “That’s amazing! Of course that’s worth celebrating.”
Summer launches into the work dynamics that led to her promotion, thankfully forgetting about Felix’s black Audi. Once that topic is exhausted, she starts in about her older sister’s upcoming wedding, which gets us almost all the way through the garlic knots and halfway through our main course. Summer’s sister, Audrey, who is a wildlife biologist over in Silver Creek, just had a whirlwind romance with Flint Hawthorne—one of the biggest movie stars in Hollywood. Summer has kept me updated via text, but hearing her talk through the details in person feels way too trippy. The whole thing sounds like it came straight out of a romance novel or some over-the-top movie.
“Seriously though,” Summer says. “You would flip if you saw the guest list. It’s supposed to just be their closest friends and family, but like, Flint Hawthorne’s closest friends are all A-list actors. Harry Styles is on the list. HarryfreakingStyles.”
“And you’re sure you can’t get me an invite?” I might listen to classical more than any other kind of music, but I was a diehard One Direction fan when I was a kid. So much so that I figured out cello covers of their biggest hits and uploaded videos of me playing them to YouTube, where I absolutely tagged every single member of the band. I’d take them down—the braces and One Direction T-shirt aren’t doing me any favors—but I’m actually kind of proud of the music.
“Girl, I would if I could,” Summer says. “But you know Audrey. If it were up to her, it wouldonlybe family. She’s got the guest list on lockdown.”
I’ve only met Audrey a few times, but I’ve heard enough about her through Summer that this doesn’t surprise me at all. “I’m happy for her,” I say. “And you, too. You better send me lots of pictures.”
I refill my wine glass, letting myself relax. Summer has clearly forgotten all about Felix and his fancy Audi. I offer her the bottle, but she declines. “I’m done for the night,” she says. “But you have more, because we’re going to talk about you now, and I think you might need it.”
I pause mid-sip. Well,crap.I should have known better. “Do we have to? I promise there is nothing worth talking about.”
Summer lifts an eyebrow. “Your life is that boring, huh?”
“Totally boring,” I say. “Same old, same old.”
Summer leans forward, her elbows propped on the table. “How’s your dating life?” she asks.
“Nonexistent.”
“Are you on any dating apps?”
I scoff. “Areyouon any dating apps?”
“Several,” she says, without breaking my gaze. “And I’ve got a date almost every weekend.”
“That’s fine for you,” I say. “But that doesn’t sound like very much fun to me.”
“I’m not talking about casual hookups,” Summer says, though I know her well enough that I don’t need the clarification. She’s a social person who loves to be around people, but she’s never been one to sleep around. “I’m talking real first dates.”
“Only first dates?” I ask.
“Until I find the right guy,” she says, with a confidence that says she’s positive she will.
I take a gulp of wine, my skin prickling under Summer’s intense stare. Summer is my closest friend and I trust that she’ll love me no matter what, but when she puts me in the hot seat like this, it’s impossible not to squirm.
“Don’t knock them if you aren’t willing to try them,” Summer says. “What’s your opposition?”
“I just don’t understand why people can’t meet the old-fashioned way anymore,” I say. “Browsing in a bookstore or picking out oranges at the grocery store. Why does it always have to start on the internet?”
“Because it’s hard to meet people when everyone is so glued to their phones,” Summer says matter-of-factly. “Unless you want to spend every weekend trolling bars, and the older I get, the worse that sounds. At least on a dating app, I can filter out the ones who have no potential without wasting a good outfit or money on drinks I don’t want or need.”
“Okay. Fair point” I say. “I still don’t want to do it.”
“Fine,” Summer says, holding up her hands. “Suit yourself. But I’m just saying, it would probably be a lot easier to find your angsty musician if you were willing to try it.” She smiles, and I sense her interrogation finally losing steam.
Her comment about anangsty musicianis a throwback to the type of guy I dated in college. Tall, waify, achingly broody. The exact opposite of Gavin and every other hockey player I’ve ever known—something I definitely did on purpose.
