I chuckle. “He is very gorgeous, and I can’t believe I’m even saying it.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with admiring a fine-looking man. And Guns?” she asks.
I shrug. “It’s the nickname Emerson and Shannon gave him. They started referring to him as that so much because of the size of his biceps. I automatically adopted it, without even trying. Now it just comes out.”
She smirks. “Well, shit. It suits him.”
“I still can’t believe he had the balls to come in here after everything. Like, you guys were engaged, ready to be married, and he goes and sleeps with his ex? Makes no sense to me.” Shannon sits across from me at the kitchen table in my apartment. Yeah, we’re talking about this again while we wait for Emy to meet us here in a few minutes.
I shrug. “It wasn’t as though that was the first time he did it. When I caught him, he came clean about being with her multiple times in the past. He really killed my ability to trust someone. I loved him with all my heart. I never imagined he’d do this to me.”
She pops a chip into her mouth, and after chewing and swallowing, she responds. “I know. Which is why I’m surprised he came by.”
I nod. “And after so long.”
“Had he called or texted you before showing up?”
I shake my head. “Nope, not even a text.”
“And it’s not like you ever changed your number since you two broke up.”
I sip on a glass of water. “Nope, it’s been the same this whole time.”
Of course, after we first broke up, I thought of changing my number. But then, after a couple of days of him not even bothering to reach out, I figured there was no point. He didn’t even try apologizing or talking to me. So I left it at that. If I had changed it, I might have thought he tried to call me before stopping by the other day.
But does it even matter?
“What’s up, bitches!” Emy’s voice booms through the apartment. “I brought goodies!”
“We’re in the kitchen,” Shannon calls.
Moments later, Emy walks in, her hands full of brown paper bags. She places them onto the table.
“What’s in the bags?” I ask.
Emy looks at me with a wide-open smile. “Goodies.”
“Yeah, we heard you say that, but what kind of goodies?” Shannon asks.
Emy’s smile widens. “The kind of goodies sure enough to get us fucked up and make us happy.”
“That’s my girl,” Shannon states, helping Emy pull out two bottles of Ciroc and a bottle of Moscato from the paper bags.
I roll my eyes and laugh. “But of course. You know I’m not crazy about drinking.”
“Who do you think these are for?” Emy asks, pulling out a box of Entenmann’s cookies and a bottle of frozen iced coffee.
“Iced coffee! My savior!” I grab the bottle from her. I couldn’t care less about the cookies.
“Emy Claus delivers,” she answers with a wink.
Shannon laughs. “Emy Claus, that’s a good one.”
Emy walks toward the cupboard above the counters and pulls out two wine glasses, then walks them to the table and takes a seat. After pouring some Moscato into her glass, she takes her first sip. “Damn, that’s good and so fucking needed after a day at work.”
“Girl, yes. And especially after the conversation I just had with this one.” Shannon points at me with her right thumb.
“Oh, come on.” I hate that I’m the topic of discussion… again.
“Oh, shit. What conversation did I miss?” Emy asks and takes another sip.
Shannon grabs a glass from the table and fills it with Moscato. “Steve the Ass.”
Emy’s eyes widen. “Ah… Steve the Ass. This conversation also wouldn’t have anything to do with his little stunt I had to break up the other day?”
“It sure would,” Shannon answers.
Okay, so maybe now I do care about the cookies. I flip open the box and grab a handful. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Not at all,” Emy answers. “But you should have never let him in.”
“Right, girl,” Shannon says.
I look away from them, stuff cookies into my mouth, and chew. “Can we change discussion… please.”
Emy laughs. “Sure, chunky cheeks. Let’s talk about Guns. Or should I say Lorenzo Trevano.”
I immediately dart my eyes in her direction at the mention of his name.
“Yeah, I thought that would grab your attention,” Emy says.
I throw her a questioning stare. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Shannon giggles to herself and chugs another mouthful of wine.
Emy sits back in her seat. “Oh, nothing… except that you are finding it hard to keep your mind off of him.”
How the hell does she know? I guess she’s my best friend for a reason, but damn. I hadn’t said as much.
“I bet she wouldn’t mind keeping something else off of him,” Shannon says, and the two of them start cracking up.
I glare at her, crumpling up a napkin, and throw it her way. “Shut up, witch.”
But deep down inside, I know she’s right.
I push my cart into aisle five: baking supplies. Shannon’s birthday is tomorrow, and I’m planning on making her a birthday cake. Red velvet cheesecake.
Cheesecake. Cream cheese. I’d better go grab some before I forget. I need to head to the dairy section of the grocery store. I always leave that aisle for last because every time I’m there, I freeze. It totally doesn’t help that I’m wearing a miniskirt right now. Like what had possessed me?
Emy is supposed to be coming over for dinner, and afterward, we’re planning to head out. Shannon can’t make up her mind on whether she wants to go to the movies or go dancing. I’m hoping she picks the movies because I really don’t want to go dancing, but it is her birthday, and I will sacrifice what I need to make her happy.
I push my cart into the dairy section and scan the items. Yogurt… butter… mozzarella… cream cheese. Bingo.
Reaching to grab it, my hand brushes against another as it tries to grab the same thing.
I snap my head to the left and… holy shit. What are the odds? Out of all the freaking places to be on a typical weekday afternoon… How?
Lorenzo “Guns” Trevano is here, shopping at the same freaking grocery store as me. I’m surprised he doesn’t have people to shop for him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, pulling back. My heart speeds and my hands tremble. I can’t believe he’s standing so close to me.
A warm smile forms on his face. “No, no. It’s my fault. Please, go ahead.”
I smile back, unable to withhold it. Slowly, I reach forward and grab two containers of cheese, still staring at him.
His smiling face turns into a puzzled expression. “That’s a lot of cream cheese,” he says. “Planning brunch for a big crowd?” Now he’s smiling again.
Suddenly realizing that I was grabbing more cheese off the shelf, I quickly stop. Somehow, two containers of cream cheese became four, four became five, and finally six. In no time, I had managed to clear the store of their entire stock of cream cheese by putting them all in my basket.