Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Who’s jumping who?” Melissa rejoins us.
“Nobody’s jumping anyone.” I clap once. “Let’s grab dinner. I’m starving.”
Melissa eyes me but just as quickly nods toward the door. “Tacos and margaritas across the street.”
“Perfect.” I toss Fitz an exaggerated smile. “Let’s get a few drinks in you so you’ll be too numb to feel the lumps in Melissa’s sofa.” I follow her out the door.
“If only my job involved sleeping on the ground.”
He wins. How does he always win?
Melissa dives into her interrogation the second we’re seated at the restaurant. She peppers Fitz with every possible question about his job. And I realize I’ve asked him so little about it. Maybe it’s because our relationship has been built on a solid foundation of banter. However, I have to give him credit for not only answering all her questions but doing it with a smile and not an ounce of the sarcasm he feeds me like slow-drip coffee.
Melissa decides to change the subject after thoroughly exhausting the smoke jumper Q&A. “Have you been on your skateboard yet?”
“A handful of times.” I stir the last few ounces of my margarita.
“Jamie has broken three bones, sprained an ankle, cut open the back of her head, and needed stitches twice in her knees because she refuses to wear proper gear while riding her skateboard. And she’s a nurse.”
Eyeing Melissa, I shake my head. “It’s restrictive.”
“Or lifesaving.” Melissa frowns.
“I’ll get her a helmet and pads.” Fitz wipes his mouth.
“I’m good.”
“There’s a reason your mom’s nickname for you was Intrepid Little Girl.”
Fitz chuckles. The look on his face melts me from the inside out.
The intensity of his gaze.
That sparkle in his eyes.
Every time Melissa reveals something from my childhood, he lights up a little brighter. I’m envious of him. I’d love to hear about his childhood, even if nothing would make me laugh or bring out the sparkle in my eyes.
“What’s that look? You look like you spotted a ghost.” Melissa’s nose wrinkles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned your mom.”
Fitz’s gaze drops to his empty plate.
“It’s fine. That wasn’t it. I’m fine.”
“I know you.” Wrinkles fill her brow. “You’re not fine. I’ve known you for-evah.” Melissa downs the rest of her second margarita and jumps into the continuation of the Jaymes Lanette Andrews biography. “Jamie and I met when we were five. She and her mom moved into the apartment across from my parents. My family basically adopted Jamie and her mom since her mom was estranged from the rest of her family. So I know everything about her. Every boyfriend—she’s had seven. Her first kiss—Riley Kirk, age eleven, Fourth of July on the beach. The loss of her virginity to Miguel, two floors down from our apartments.
“Jamie doesn’t like pickles or broccoli. She’s obsessed with the color yellow. She says she listens to all genres of music, but I guarantee her playlist is nothing but Imagine Dragons and Ed Sheeran. When she’s tired, she gets cranky. And when she’s excited, she nearly cries. If she says she loves dogs, she’s lying. Jaymes is a total cat person. She hates to wear makeup. Never gets manicures or pedicures. And she was suspended from school for three weeks at the beginning of our senior year. But I’m not allowed to tell that story, so that’s all I can say about that.”
“I’m cutting you off.” I take her empty glass and slide a cup of water toward her. “Why stop there? Perhaps Fitz wants to know when I got my first period or where I bought my first training bra.” I press my palm to my head and shake it.
Melissa giggles, stirring her water with a straw. “Your first period was—”
“Oh my god. Stop!” I cover my face.
Melissa doesn’t stop. She drank too much tequila. “It was toward the end of our seventh-grade year. You got it at Andie Olmen’s house during her slumber party. Your mom was working, so my mom picked you up because you were so devastated. And you didn’t buy your first bra. I gave you one of mine because your mom said you weren’t ready for a bra, but you were the only one in our friend group who didn’t wear one. And since you were homeschooled, you were also the lucky one who didn’t have stupid boys snapping your bra strap.”
“I’m never coming back here. Our friendship ends now.”
Melissa bites her lower lip, but it doesn’t contain her laughter.
“Let’s go.” I retrieve my credit card, but Fitz plucks the bill from the table and heads to the bar to pay it without a word. “Can you walk?” I ask Melissa.
“Of course I can walk.” She stands on wobbly legs, adjusting her crop top before flashing unsuspecting patrons.
When I glance back at Fitz waiting at the bar, he signals for us to head toward the exit. We loop arms and start across the street. Fitz catches up by the time we reach her apartment building.