Page 77 of All That Glitters
‘Working late into the night. #writerslife #newproject.’
And, of course, he tagged Debbie.
Debbie hurried from the theater to the sidewalk out front, followed by the boys still locked in their heated, stupid argument.
“Dude. You touched me,” Jeff grimaced. “I felt your hand on my shoulder. It was weird and clammy.”
“You touched me first,” Matt shot back, shoving his glasses up his nose.
“That’s because I thought I was touching Debbie!”
“I thought I was touching Debbie!”
“Dude, it’s my night to touch her! You already had your night! We have a schedule!”
“It’s nobody’s night to touch Debbie,” Debbie shouted, coming to a screeching stop and spinning around to face them. “And there is no schedule. I’m not a timeshare you can book for two-hour stays.”
The boys looked at her, momentarily startled into silence by her outburst.
“This whole thing is insane,” she continued, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I’ve spent this entire week pretending to have fun, pretending to like terrible movies, trying not to face-plant into mushy lettuce, trying not to choke on questionable hotdogs. I can’t do this anymore. I’m done.”
As she paused from her rant to take a breath, her phone buzzed with an incoming Instagram notification. She looked at the screen.
‘Tony Harding tagged you in a photo.’
She just stared at it for a moment. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But maybe it was an apology. She tapped the notification.
The image loaded. It wasn’t an apology. It was a photo of Tony. And Carrie Thompson. Kissing. Not a friendly peck, either. It was a full-on, hands-on-face, Hollywood-movie-poster kiss, the kind that screamed, ‘we are madly in love and probably just did it on the kitchen counter.’ The caption read:‘Working late into the night. #writerslife #newproject.’
The world around Debbie went silent. The sounds of the city, the bickering of the guys, her own breathing, it all faded away. There was only the glowing screen and the sharp, shattering pain in her chest. It was worse than she could have imagined. This wasn’t just a date. This was serious.
“Whoa,” Matt breathed, and to Debbie’s horror, she noticed him and Jeff looking over her shoulders at the photo.
Jeff squinted, then his eyes widened in recognition. “Holy crap! Is that Carrie Thompson?”
“Yup,” Matt said, giving a big nod. “That’s her.”
“No. Way. Tony’s kissing Carrie Thompson?!” Jeff said. “Damn! I need to learn how to write screenplays.”
“Me too!” Matt exclaimed.
This sudden ‘guy-brain’ exchange between the boys definitely wasn’t helping things. With a snarl, Debbie shoved the phone back in her pocket. Her whole ‘make Tony jealous’ thing had just backfired spectacularly, and she was torn between wanting to cry and wanting to hit something.
The hitting something won — the closest target was Matt’s arm.
“Ow!” Matt said, rubbing his arm where Debbie just hit him. “You hit me.”
“That’s for being a guy!” Debbie said.
“What about Jeff? He’s sort of a guy.”
Debbie hit Jeff too.
“Ow!” Jeff exclaimed, rubbing his arm. “You should hit him again for ruining our date.”
She did.
“Hey!” Matt said, rubbing his arm where she just hit him again. “He ruined my date first.”
