AVA: It’s not like there are a bunch of options in this town. Preston is young, hot af, and loaded. He’s a prime catch.
ME: He’s also insanely annoying, cocky, and a pain in the ass.
AVA: That’s just how you feel about him.
ME: My feelings are usually right.
AVA: In your opinion.
ME: My opinions are usually right.
AVA: How are your raccoons?
ME: Presumably eating the sandwiches I left for them.
AVA: And you still think you’re a good judge of character?
ME: I’m an excellent judge of character. They don’t rummage through my trash anymore, do they? I’m a genius.
AVA: You have issues.
ME: Given that I run the library, I have lots of issues. Mostly of books.
REAGAN: What the fuck are you two talking about?
It was always nice when she popped into the group chat without reading the messages before.
ME: How many girls are going to suck face with your brother and seduce him in the next week.
REAGAN: I already bet that you’d lose, Hals.
AVA: SHE ISN’T GOING TO LOSE, REAGAN, YOU FAITHLESS BITCH.
REAGAN: Look, I’m usually all for Halley winning, but against my brother? Come on. Every single 20-something woman and a few 30-somethings have their eye on him. They’re going to be camping out the night before to kiss him first.
ME: Can we argue this tomorrow? I’m watching Gilmore Girls and I need to judge Rory for all her life choices. It’s hard when y’all are judging me.
AVA: She gets with Dean?
ME: Yeah.
REAGAN: She doesn’t know he’s married.
ME: It doesn’t excuse her behavior in the reboot, Reagan.
REAGAN: This is why you aren’t allowed to watch reboots.
ME: I have strong feelings.
AVA: Yeah, for Preston.
ME: Hey, Ava, how’s Butler?
REAGAN: LOLOLOL
AVA: I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to him tonight. He’s busy.
ME: It’s like talking to a donut.
REAGAN: Don’t insult donuts.
AVA: I know what you’re asking, idiots. I’m choosing not to rise to the bait. I’m not a fish.
ME: Whatever.
AVA: We all know it’s just so you don’t have to address your feelings for Preston.
ME: It’s a crush. That’s all. I can be attracted to an attractive man and still dislike him.
REAGAN: It’s true. But after nine years of a crush, I don’t think you can use that excuse anymore.
ME: It’s way more fun to judge people than it is to be judged.
AVA: We’re not judging you.
REAGAN: I’m totally judging you.
ME: I want new best friends. You should be supporting me through this difficult time.
AVA: …He’s your competition. He didn’t die in unexpected circumstances.
REAGAN: You don’t want new best friends. They couldn’t put up with your shit.
ME: I don’t want to listen to him kissing other people!!!!!!
And there it was. The real admission that I didn’t want to hear it happening. They didn’t really need me to say it, but I know they wanted me to. Just because they were pains in the damn ass.
REAGAN: Of course you don’t want to hear him kissing other women. Especially not the kind of women who’ll be lining up to kiss him.
AVA: I wouldn’t want to hear them, either. I hate the sound of people kissing. All those slurpy little tongue-slapping sounds aren’t my jam.
ME: Yeah, but you listen to classical music for fun. Not to relax, but for fun.
AVA: We aren’t all punk-rock heathens.
ME: I haven’t listened to punk-rock since I was sixteen.
REAGAN: You’re boring me now. I’m going to take a shower. Bye.
AVA: She’s… special.
ME: We’re all special, Ava. That’s why we’re friends. That’s how this works.
AVA: I want new friends.
ME: Nobody wants us. I just said that.
AVA: Right. Well, I’ll put out some feelers online, just in case.
ME: You do that, babe.
AVA: So… Brunch tomorrow?
ME: See you at Dana’s at ten.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
HALLEY
Funfairs Aren’t Always Fun
The booth was done.
It felt surreal. I couldn’t believe that the fair was finally opening tonight and that the booth was ready to go.
Mostly because I hadn’t seen Preston for almost two days. Ever since he’d gotten done with the sign and helping me put out the posts, he’d disappeared, and I hadn’t heard from him at all.
I was torn. On the one hand, I was happy about that. The less time I had to spend with him, the better. It was going to be a rough week as it was, and Sunday was a dreadful day to start a summer fair.
Mostly because the first wave of people coming in were the people who’d spent their morning at church. We’d see the grandmas and the grandpas and the middle-aged folk who swore allegiance to Jesus but used the weekly Bingo night to flash their friskiness.
Which meant—oh, God, it meant that I’d be kissing wrinkled mouths for the next few hours.
I mean, it was okay. A lot of the old guys did occasionally kiss my cheek. The old women did the same. That wasn’t going to happen this year since Preston was my competition and, as a twenty-five-year-old, I wanted to kiss him over me.
I couldn’t blame the Bingo Babes if they wanted him over me, too.
Yes, it was amazing what a full night’s sleep could do. Granted, it was a full night on the sofa with Netflix going in the background, but whatever.
I put my hands on my hips and looked around the tent. There was nothing to do here, but I didn’t have anything to do anywhere else, either.
I wasn’t used to having nothing to do. I always had something to do.
Except for right now.
I smacked my lips together and sighed. Great. I could walk around the fairground and check it out now that it was all pretty much set up.
That was always fun. The part where people asked me to pass messages onto my dad… Not so much, but it was worth it to take in the magic of the fair without other people being around.
I grabbed my purse and left the tent, making sure to tie the heavy gold ropes together behind me. It was already hot, and Jesus Christ, the boob-sweat was real.
Boob-sweat was the kind of shit they needed to teach you in sex education in school.
Yes, girls, the boobs are useful.
Yes, boys, the boobs are nice to look at.
But the boob-sweat is neither useful nor nice. It’s awful and smelly and downright uncomfortable.
You’d think that Mother Nature would be nicer, given that she’s a woman and all that.
I itched under my boobs and looked around in case anyone had seen me. What? Nobody wanted to be seen rubbing at their boob sweat. It was kind of like scratching between your legs—we all did this, but we didn’t want anyone to see it.
Like peeing in relationships.
It happened, but the other person never saw it.
“That wasn’t very discreet.” Preston stepped up next to me, looking everywhere but right at me. “Boob sweat?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied nonchalantly. “You’re here earlier than I thought you would be.”