Page 4 of My Cosplay Escape
“How do I thank you?” I ask as we climb the stairs to Brent and Jen’s corner suite.
“Oh, please. You didn’t need me. But here.” She hands me her phone. “Text me funny stories about work, and we’ll call it even.”
As I put in my number, Gwen pulls her hair into a tight ponytail. “What do you think of your new boss?” she asks. “What’s his name?”
I hand back the phone. “Tony?”
“Yeah, Tony. What’d you think?”
“He seems…”
Gwen’s eyes narrow. “Too muscly?”
“Maybe?”
“But nice?”
“Could be.” I nod. “Maybe layered underneath a heavy façade of ‘I can’t be bothered to give two Shirley Temples.’”
Gwen looks at me sideways.
My cheeks burn. “The drinks, I mean. NotRebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.” Although that was one of the movies Mom had on frequent rotation while I was growing up.
Gwen’s smile flickers before she pushes open the office door. “Only one way to find out. I saw him first. We’ll find someone else for you. K?”
Time to quote Hamlet.O, my prophetic soul.Etcetera, etcetera. Except it’s not my soul. It’s Gwen’s soul. And I’m not about to bare my soul to my new friend. “K,” I mumble.
Chapter Two
If my life were a Jane Austen novel, I’d say Gwen and I became “fast” friends. I’d splay a hand across my collarbone, bat my eyes, and totally seal my fate as an idiot, like Lydia Bennet. Which is hardly fair, because I’ve always thought of myself as a Lizzie. Except everyone thinks of herself as a Lizzie (thank you, Mr. Darcy). So, I am an Elinor. Elinor Dashwood would totally have been a distance runner, too, had Lululemon and Asics been around. She would have pounded out her frustrations on all those miles of gravel walks and muddy country road.
But my life is not Austen. So I’ll just say that in the month since I’ve met Gwen, we’ve become friends. She comes to see me after work at the gym most days. And while I’m not stupid and know that she’s coming mostly for Tony, I don’t mind. It’s been too long since I’ve had a friend, particularly a friend who includes me on any of her guy stuff. Even though I want nothing to do with men for the next two score years, I still like hearing about them. Prince Charming is still a nice idea, even if I don’t believe in him anymore.
Gwen holds on to the counter of the Kids Club desk for a deep quad stretch. “But you do believe in soulmates?”
“I do.” I reach for the stray crayons from under the kids’ table. “But I’m the type of person who’s going to find hers when she’s sixty-five, and he’s forty-three. Not much point looking now. He’s still running around in diapers.”
“He’d be in here.” Gwen gags and shudders, surveying my Kids Club kingdom of broken crayons and foam-covered plastic. “You can’t be serious.”
“Of course not! But I’d not be serious with any guy I’d meet right now. So what’s the point?”
Gwen’s smile turns all sultry and suggestive. She arches a brow, and I toss a foam block at her. She swats the block into the bin. My eyes add blurgits to her actions. “Say you did meet Mr. Right right now?”
“I’d be Shirley Temples out of luck. Because I’m not doing anything even close to dating for the next forty-three years.” It’s one of my rules. I tug the corner of the tumbling mat straight. “How are things going between you and Captain Patriotic Man?”
Gwen’s eyes twinkle. “Slowly. New topic. How is life? I know you live here now.”
It’s not far from the truth. The perk to my employment is a free membership. When I’m not working, I train. Not for any one event or purpose, but because pounding on a treadmill or strapping myself to a rowing machine feels better than being stuck at home in my mom’s office/spare bedroom. Especially now that San Diego schools are out for the summer. The gym is always open. And I’ve come at two a.m. some nights and cried myself silly while rowing in the empty gym, CNN flashing silently above me.
“I’m very popular since I don’t mind working nights or picking up other people’s shifts on weekends.” I look up and stifle a laugh. Tony must have found his courage. “He’s coming over.”
Gwen laughs again, and fudge, but it sounds genuine. I’ve never learned how to do that. Not that I want to learn now. “No flirting” is also one of my rules.
“What’s so funny?” Tony asks.
“Sarah was telling me she sells more memberships when she works the front desk than any other employee.” Gwen winks at me while Tony is busy admiring how her pistachio-colored tank hugs her torso.
I turn red. “I do not.”
