Dylan leans back, grabs a twenty from his pocket and hands it to Seth. Seth takes it and stares at it like it’s foreign currency. Standing, Dylan tucks in his chair and leans over the table again. “Sigmund, Sigmund, Sigmund, Sigmund…”
Sierra narrows her eyes into small slits. She stands and tucks her chair in, mimicking Dylan’s moves, leaning so she’s right in front of his face. “Whore, Whore, Whore, Whore…”
Dylan’s jaw grows rigid and it’s obvious he’s holding back. When his gaze moves to me, I widen my eyes. “Thanks for the food, Blanca.”
“Um… you’re… welcome,” I stutter out.
He turns to leave and seconds later, the apartment door slams behind him.
“He drives me crazy!” Sierra stomps into the family room.
“Excuse me,” Rian says, swaying her hand in the air to tell Sierra to move along. She’s completely oblivious to what just happened because she starts a conversation with Knox about what’s going on in the show.
I wonder how many seasons I’ll need to catch up on in order to join in with them.
Sierra huffs and stomps down the hall to her bedroom.
“So that’s a touchy subject.” Seth picks his fork up and slides the cake closer to him.
“I can see that Dylan was friends with him, but why’s it such a big deal?” I ask. Sierra hasn’t mentioned anything about a bad break-up since we’ve rekindled our friendship.
Seth stares over at me. “Dylan took Sigmund’s side when they broke up. I think that’s why she was so quick to find a roommate because Dylan moved in here just so Sigmund could move in with Knox and me. Their promise to be friends didn’t pan out, so he moved out a month ago.”
I hate that I’m getting all this information from Seth, when it should be coming from Sierra.
I drop my feet from the chair beside then stand and push in my chair. “I’m going to go check on her.”
“It’s a touchy subject. It sucked for everyone when they split. We were all friends.” Seth looks like tears could fall from his eyes as he continues to pile the cake into his mouth. Amazing how much I’ve found out about him from this one interaction—he hates confrontation and eats when he’s upset.
I head down the hallway and knock softly on Sierra’s door. After she says a quiet ‘come in,’ I enter, shutting the door behind me.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed with a pillow across her middle, bent over flipping through her phone.
“Want to talk?” I ask.
She clicks off the screen. “It’s fine. I’m over him. I really am. It’s just still a little raw.”
I sit next to her and put my arm around her shoulders, drawing her in closer to me. “You can tell me anything. I know we’ve been separated for a few years, but I’m still a great secret keeper.” I do the whole locking my lips and throwing away the key like I used to when we were younger.
“Honestly, there’s not much to tell. We just argued all the time. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him. God, he was so aggravating though.” She sits straighter and shifts to face me. “You know that he punched Ben in the nose?”
I can feel my jaw slacken. “He punched your cousin?”
She nods. “He was so ultra-competitive. Like a game of football on Thanksgiving morning was that important.” She rolls her eyes.
I refrain from mentioning that I’ve witnessed those Thanksgiving family football games and how heated they can become. My brothers have returned with someone needing an ice pack on more than one occasion. But punching someone in the nose seems a little over the top.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a frown.
She nods. “If only one of your brothers were still available.” A smile tips her lips.
“So gross,” I mutter.
“Or Prince Adrian from Sandsal. I’d take him in a heartbeat.”
“Who?” My forehead wrinkles.
She looks at me with her mouth hanging open. “Seriously, Blanc?” She swipes her phone off the mattress and opens up some royal gossip site on Sandsal to show me picture after picture of Prince Adrian Marx from Sandsal. I feign interest because it’s clear talking about this is making her much happier than when she was talking about her ex. By the time I leave, she’s much happier, as am I because I feel like I’ve fulfilled my duty as a friend. Talking shit about an ex and ogling the guy you’re using to distract yourself from said ex, is practically in the handbook.
I shut her door to find only Rian, cleaning up all the takeout and leftovers I returned with. The boys are gone, and the television is off.
“You go to bed. I got this,” Rian says. “You have a big day tomorrow at your new job.”
“Are you sure?”
She laughs. “One thing you’ll figure out about me is that I like everything just so. I’m more than happy to do this. Go.”
“Thanks so much.” What a sweetheart she is. I could use a really good night’s sleep before I start at my new job tomorrow.
Twenty minutes after my bedtime routine of washing my face and brushing my teeth, I lay down in my bed, the nerves about tomorrow already flaring to life. As my eyes close, a face pops into my head—Ethan. Not a bad vision to fall asleep to at all.
Sweet dreams to me.
Chapter Four
Ethan
I stop in at Andrews Bagel Co. on my way to work and Mrs. Andrews’ smile grows when she spots me.
“Good morning, Ethan.” She reaches into the display case, grabbing my Asiago bagel and handing it to one of the employees, telling her sliced, cream cheese, not toasted. Then she pulls an empty coffee cup out. I bypass the line to meet her at the cash register. I’m here often and Mrs. Andrews gives me preferential treatment since I used to live across the hall from her son, Seth, back when Sierra and I were still a thing.
“Good morning, Mrs. Andrews.” I pull out my wallet, handing her over a twenty. “How are you?”
“Monday is a good day. Busy day. All you kids don’t want to cook for yourselves.” She hands me my change and I glimpse behind me to the line. Sure enough, mostly everyone waiting are young professionals probably trying to work their way up the corporate ladder. Most are dressed similar to me in business casual attire, computer messenger bags swung over their shoulders. “So what are you up to these days? Still freelancing?”
I tuck my change in my pocket, picking up my bag and cup. “Yep, writing here and there.”
Once I stopped in here after Mr. Andrews read my article about sex toys and Mrs. Andrews pulled me aside and asked where she could find some. She even pulled out the folded sheet from the magazine and everything. It was mortifying. Now I try not to let her know where I’m writing by keeping it vague. It helps avoid those awkward conversations.
“I have to ask.” She leans forward and we both glance to the line forming behind me. “Do you know of any publications that have a woman to write about more womanly things?”
I smile. “As luck would have it, I heard a rumor that someone is starting at that Mars And Venus magazine this week.”