Until last December.
When her brother put their grandmother’s house up for sale last spring, I nearly went ballistic until I remembered she’d be back for the wedding.
Not sure how it went from Joey and I talking almost daily to me getting ghosted by the girl who’s been my shadow since we were kids, but that’s what happened.
Yeah, I’m pissed. At her for treating our friendship like it means nothing to her. At myself for not knowing what’s going on with her. Because obviously something is wrong for her to up and leave like her ass was on fire.
I’ve always prided myself on being there for Joey when no one else was. I thought we had something special. Something meaningful. We’re each other’s one call from jail, for fuck’s sake. My Netflix binge buddy when I genuinely want to watch a movie and relax. The one woman who makes me want to try to be a better person.
Patrick nods at me. “You coming to the bonfire?” When I don’t say anything because I’m too deep in thought about this mess with Joey, he groans. “Come on, man. It’s been ages since you’ve gone out with us.”
It’s my first night off in weeks, and all I want to do is order a pizza, grab a beer, and veg out in front of my flatscreen with Joey, if we can get over whatever the hell happened between us this year.
“Don’t tell me you’re ditching us for another chick?” He snickers. “Which one you been hanging out with? Felicia, Deb, or Anna?”
I have no clue who he’s talking about, but that’s because I’m a liar, and I can’t keep my shit straight anymore.
“Sure. One of them.” It’s the only way to get him to shut up. I can’t explain what I do with my time without untangling a lie too big to stuff down once it’s out.
My phone buzzes on the console between us, but before I can pick it up, the name flashes. I mute it and jam it in my pocket.
A quick glance at Patrick tells me he saw more than he should’ve. He lifts his eyebrows. “A new one, huh? Is she a babe?”
I don’t respond because there’s no way to answer that question in an appropriate way. Not sure when I became an “appropriate way” kind of guy, but I can’t deny the last few years have fucked me up.
He hums in the back of his throat. “Been meaning to ask you… You wouldn’t care if I asked Joey out, would you? Bro code kinda applies because you’re BFFs or whatever weird platonic thing you have going on, and you get ragey when guys hit on her, so I thought I should ask. But she’s been looking so damn hot on her Instagram, it got me thinking.”
“Ragey” is fucking right. The last thing I want is one of my idiot friends jerking her around. He’d probably dine-and-dash her like the rest of my friends, and there’s no way I’ll put up with that bullshit. Joey’s not a casual sex kind of girl.
Don’t get me wrong. I love women who are into casual sex. They’re pretty much all I’ve sampled in a horizontal sense, but I know enough not to mess with anyone who wants a ring on that finger. And I say don’t fish in that pond if you’re only lookin’ to catch and release.
My eyes narrow. “And you think you’re good enough for Josephine?” Because I know Patrick won’t bother to wake his lazy ass up when Joey gets locked out of her house in the middle of the night or needs a ride home after pulling a double shift at the salon. And my girl deserves someone who’ll man up for her.
He starts to mumble a response, but I throw my hand up. “Back up. What Instagram? Joey has an account?” She hates IG.
His eyebrows pop up. Probably because never in the history of Joey and me has Patrick known something about her before I did.
Reaching into his pocket, he palms his phone and clicks around, and then I’m looking at the beautiful girl with the face I know as well as my own.
Damn, I miss her. Never thought I’d miss that little squirt so much.
She was always trailing behind me and her brother Silas when she was little. With lopsided pigtails and a toothy grin. Always tripping and scraping her knees or elbows. Always needing help climbing up the slide or wanting a push on the swings.
Silas and I are four years older. We used to be best friends until our families had a falling out. Then it was just me and Joey. Whatever happened between our parents somehow didn’t affect our friendship, though I can’t blame her for sticking with me instead of Silas since he’s a dick. After all, I’m the one who crawled down an abandoned well to get her when she fell in as a kid, and not her dumbass brother, who was standing right there.
I scroll through three or four photos, marveling at her golden tan and smooth skin. Staring at the freckles dotting her cheeks. Looking a little too long at her plump bottom lip and the way her flowy top clings to her petite body.
My eyes drift to her lips again. To the delicate curve of her neck and the way her necklace dangles between her perky, round breasts.
But years of kicking my own ass to not let things get weird between us force my attention above her neckline. To her eyes.
Joey has the most expressive gray eyes, the kind that soothe and cajole and caress. These photos don’t show the depth of her eyes.
Somehow, she’s different. Distant.
It sends a shiver up my spine.
What’s happened to my best friend?
Except I don’t have time to snoop more because her bus pulls into the station.
2
Joey
The closer the bus gets to our destination, the harder my heart pounds. Sweat builds down my back and under my arms even though I have the air conditioner vents aimed at my face.
After twenty-seven hours on a cross-country bus, I have no illusions about how I look. Ratty hair twisted into a crazy bun. No makeup. Circles under my eyes. And I’m so on edge, I’ve barely been able to eat or sleep despite being exhausted. Not even the bodice-ripper on my old Kindle is enough to keep my attention.
Thank God Tori is picking me up and not Logan, but I know I can’t avoid him forever.
You don’t want to avoid him forever, dummy.
That’s the worst part—the eager, hungry piece of me that’s dying to see him.
I tuck both of my hands under my thighs so I don’t bite my nails. Some beautician I’d be if I showed up to Tori’s wedding with hands looking like they’d been gnawed off by a gremlin. My hair situation is bad enough at the moment.
When I left Texas, I wasn’t thinking I’d be returning so soon. Tori and Ethan’s wedding crept up on me. I booked this bus ticket in February, and back then, July seemed like plenty of time to get my life in order and my emotions on lockdown, but with every passing mile, my anxiety ratchets up like I’m about to walk off the gangplank of a pirate ship instead of visiting old friends.
“Sweetheart, would you like one of these?” asks Mrs. Reynolds as she holds out a bear claw from 7/11, the cellophane crinkling in her weathered hand.
“No, thank you, but I appreciate it.”
I’ve had the good fortune of sitting next to a very kind elderly woman for the last twenty hours, and although she looks like the kind of person who snuggles her grandbabies and sings them lullabies before bedtime, she threatened to chop off the balls of the thug who harassed me for a blow job back at that Port Arthur rest stop.