Page 19 of Last First Kiss
Clara rolls her eyes. “Ilove you, too,” she says before walking to her room.
With a satisfied hum, I flop right back onto the warm spot Clara left on the couch, too tired to make it to my room. I grab the blanket Clara was using earlier and throw it over me. It smells faintly of her, and I let that guide me back into a deep slumber.
Fake dating Clara has been the best idea I’ve ever had. I haven’t had a single call from Lala telling me about one ofher friends’ granddaughters in weeks, which has made my mood a thousand times better.
I’m glad Lala and I can finally go back to talking about things that don’t directly involve my love life.
Of course, she still asks about my “relationship” with Clara, but it’s not all-consuming like it was when I was going on all those dates she’d set up for me.
I’m still adjusting to the overwhelming number of messages congratulating Clara and me. My grandma has been busy calling everyone with a phone to gossip about our relationship. Even my cousins in Mexico DM’d me on Instagram to congratulate me. I don’t think I’ve heard from them since Christmas last year.
My family doesn’t seem even a little surprised that I’m dating Clara, which I’m still trying to wrap my head around. I had no idea so many people thought we’d end up together.
But I shouldn’t be surprised. When your best friend is as attractive as Clara, it kind of makes sense. Of course people assume you’d fall head over heels for her. She’s beautiful—in that effortless, kind-of-annoying way. She’s kind, ambitious, funny as hell, basically the whole package. She’s the one person you want in your corner. She makes even the worst days feel survivable.
If she weren’t the most important person in my life, maybe I would’ve risked a heartbreak for her.
CHAPTER SIX
CLARA
Ithought getting promoted to marketing director was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. But now I spend ninety percent of my day explaining to the new hires how to do my old job, despite having left both of them averydetailed how-to document. On top of that, I’m stuck in about twenty more meetings a week—I wish I was exaggerating—and to make things worse, my boss—the VP of Marketing—seems to have completely forgotten what boundaries are.
Since my promotion, my boss has been messaging me late at night, asking for report updates, even though I’ve made it clear that I don’t work past 5 p.m. I might be salaried, but I work my full eight hours every day, and that’s where I draw the line. But no matter how many times I remind him, it doesn’t sink in, or maybe it does, and he’s pretending it doesn’t.Men.
Work’s been so exhausting lately that the couch in the living room has become my new bed. This week’s been especially draining, and every night during movie time with Alejandra, I end up dozing off before the credits even roll.And when she gets up to go to bed, I’m too tired to move, so I curl up in the warm spot she leaves behind and drift right back to sleep.
The last time I slept in my bed was Monday—four days ago—and that only happened because I passed out scrolling through my phone instead of making it to the couch.
Thankfully, it’s Friday, so I don’t have to worry about my boss tonight because at least on the weekends, he leaves me alone. I guess we’ll see how long that lasts.
All week, Alejandra told me to skip our nightly hangout and get some rest, but I refused. I love our dedicated time together; my days are incomplete without it. I’ve been especially looking forward to it this week because Alejandra’s had to be on-site for photoshoots every day. She doesn’t usually work from home like I do, although she’s home at least two days a week. This is the first time in a month or two that she’s been on-site all week long.
So here I am once again waking up on the couch with a slight kink in my neck. I pat around on the floor, searching for my phone. The alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so it’s either the middle of the night or my 7 a.m. alarm is seconds away from going off.
When I can’t find it, I grumble, throw the blanket off me, and sit at the edge of the couch, rubbing the sleep from my puffy eyes. I still feel exhausted. I look around, but my phone is nowhere to be found. Whatever. I’ll deal with it after coffee because, according to the time on the microwave, it’s time for me to get up anyway. Maybe once I’m fully awake, I’ll remember where I left it.
I shuffle into the kitchen and start brewing a pot, the rich smell filling the air. I inhale deeply, letting it wrap aroundme.
“Yes, this is heaven,” I murmur, taking in another deep breath.
“What’s heaven?” Alejandra asks groggily, startling me.
Her long brown hair is up in a messy bun, with loose strands framing her face perfectly. Why can’t I look that perfect first thing in the morning? Life isn’t fair.
“Coffee,” I say, turning back to watch the coffee drip into my mug. “What are you doing up so early?” I ask, remembering Alejandra doesn’t work today.
“I accidentally took your phone into my room last night, and the alarm woke me up,” she says, handing me my phone.
I gasp. “Were you looking through my phone? Are we at that stage in our relationship?” I tease, knowing she does this at least once a week. It’s hard not to mix them up; we have the same phone, the same case, the same Polaroid tucked in the case, the same home screen, and the same password.
“Just doing my part to let your roster know you’re officially taken,” she says with a sleepy smirk that has no business being so cute.
“My roster?” I laugh. “How many women do you think I talk to at once?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Enough that I had to send out a group text.”
She’s ridiculous. “Wow. You think I’ve got it like that?” I lean in slightly and bite my bottom lip, mainly as a joke, but now I can’t help but feel heat rise to my cheeks.
