Page 76 of When We Were Us
And Hudson, ever the nosy bastard, was so sure none of my relationships ever stuck because those women weren’t Wrenley. He’d used some dumb-ass analogy about ice cream to try and prove his point.
“You go to the store, looking for your favorite flavor. It’s gotta be that specific brand, even. But they don’t have that. So, you get the right flavor in a different brand. Sure, it’s still ice cream. It’s even pretty good, but it’s not the same. It’s Rocky Road, or fuckin’ Cookie Dough, or whatever, but it isn’ttheRocky Road, ortheCookie Dough. It’s fine, it just doesn’t hit the same as that one brand of that particular flavor—your favorite.”
Turns out, my brother isn’t so stupid, because he was probably right. After today, working side by side with Wren? Sitting there in my childhood home, eating sandwiches my mom made, drinking Pepsi, and laughing like a couple of teenagers?
Her checking in on Apollo, then telling me about some pretty painful shit; trusting me with all that? Taking her hand in mine and feeling her warm fingers intertwined with mine? I want that. I want that every damn day. That shit right there is my brand of ice cream and she—sheis my favorite flavor. It might sound cliché and cheesy, but I don’t care. Because I want her.
So, fuckfriends.
She already walked away from me once. I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
wrenley
Wren
SOS
Ginger
What’s going on? Are you ok?
Wren
Define “ok.”
Ginger
Are all of your limbs intact? Do you require stitches or mouth-to-mouth?
Wren
If I needed mouth-to-mouth, would I be able to text you?
Ginger
Valid point.
So, you’re conscious, and you haven’t lost enough blood to keep you from texting me. That leaves jail.
Or you need my help burying a body. Possibly both.
Wren
No jail and no burying any bodies.
Ginger
Oh, thank God. I mean, I love you, but I look really bad in orange, and digging a body-sized hole sounds really hard! Plus, I just got my nails done.
Wren
God, I miss you. ??
Ginger
Ok. Whose ass am I kicking?
