Page 5 of The Pocket Pair

“Guess I’m pretty boring.”

“Hardly,” Mari says. “You’re constant. Steady. Trustworthy. Isn’t he a good man, Val?”

Val gives me a conspiratorial look, letting me know she, too, gets how Mari seems to be playing matchmaker. Not for the first time. “I guess he’s okay,” Val says.

“Thanks for the high praise, buddy.”

Buddy? Val’s nose wrinkles the slightest bit at the term, which is almost as dorky as if I’d called her pal. But Mari’s not-so-subtle words have me wanting to make it clear what Val and I are: Friends. I’m not sure who, exactly, the reminder is for. Mari? Val?

Me?

Val is, and always has been, completely off-limits. When I was a senior in high school and they were freshmen, Winnie threatened to castrate me in a number of colorful and terrifying ways if I ever hurt Val. That has made it really easy to shut down any feelings other than friendship, which is where we need to stay.

I knock my shoulder into her again and shoot her a grin. “You wanna stop blocking my exit?”

Val scoots to the end of the booth, losing the paintbrushes from her hair as she does. The long curtain of her hair falls. A sweet scent hits my nostrils as a few strands whisper against my cheek, the ends marked with purple paint. I grab her brushes from the floor, handing them back as I stand.

“Thanks, Chev.” She puts them between her teeth, grinning as she winds her hair back up in a knot and sticks the brushes through. It feels strangely intimate to watch, though it’s a simple movement and something I’ve seen dozens of times before. I swallow and take a step away.

“I’ll see you around, Tiny.”

Grabbing my box, I make a quick exit and head for home, my head full of loud thoughts, like a bunch of toddlers have been set loose with cymbals in there.

Why does Mari need me to take care of Val?

What does Val have coming up?

Would my mama be proud?

Am I really like my daddy?

Why does Val have a time issue?

And finally, the one that’s clanging loudest of all—AM I happy?

CHAPTER 2

Val

When you live in a tiny, nosy town, buying a pregnancy test for one of your best friends requires stealth. Which tonight, looks like driving halfway to Austin in order to find a CVS where you don’t know everyone inside the building.

I mean, unless you WANT all of Sheet Cake to hear about your potential bun in the oven on the Neighborly app, right alongside complaints about Harvey Woodward leaving his trash cans out by the curb all week. Lindy definitely doesn’t want the rumor mill on Neighborly knowing anything. Honestly, I’m not even sure Lindy herself is ready to know if she’s pregnant.

“I’m only a couple of days late,” Lindy says, staring wide-eyed at the rows of pregnancy tests like she’s looking at a venomous snake exhibit.

She’s been running her hands through her dark hair so much that it’s starting to look like the end of a well-used broom. Meanwhile, Winnie, who drove and is leading this misadventure, still looks like the picture of a perfect punk pinup with her high blond ponytail, black-rimmed glasses, and boots under a flouncy polka-dot dress.

“Maybe I should wait a few more weeks. I’ll probably get my period tomorrow. No need to waste time.”

“Nope. You’ve totally got baby boobs,” Winnie says, pointing at Lindy’s chest. “Back me up, Val.”

I can’t see a difference, but then I don’t spend much time examining my friends’ chests.

Lindy pulls her long-sleeve shirt away from her body, effectively hiding any baby or non-baby boobs and starts to slowly back away.

“They are extra sensitive … but that could be a PMS thing. I’m sure that’s it.”

“Val, grab her before she bolts.” Winnie hasn’t looked up from the box she’s holding, but she obviously sensed Lindy’s fight-or-flight urge heading quickly toward flight.

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