—Fucking Josh invited his boss and coworkers over for dinner tonight without telling me. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you!
She isn’t even finished reading that one when another pops up. From Erik, her former work husband who was the one whotold her she wasn’t crazy for going for her PhD when she was absolutely miserable in her high school teaching job.
—Don’t hate me, but I can’t make it tonight. The twins are colicky. Have so much fun. I’m Venmo’ing you! Have a drink on me!! Xoxo
He and his husband adopted twins a few months ago and he’s been tough to see ever since, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Her phone dings with a cash register noise.
And then another, from Frankie, who sat next to her on the bus on the first day of kindergarten, asked her if she wanted to be best friends, and they were ever since.
—I am so sorry, but we’ve got a last-minute meeting with Tokyo right now. I don’t think I’m gonna make it. We’ll catch up soon, I promise! Congrats Dr Dimitriou.
When the notification pops up, she can barely make out the message as hot tears start to build and a lump the size of her student loan debt climbs into her throat.
That’s when she fled, away from Miranda and away from the people in her degree program who she can barely even count as friends, back toward the bar to get another drink or ten from Lorraine and drown this feeling into oblivion.
And of course that’s when he showed up, looking so fucking good, and she’s a total mess and now he’s handing her another drink, his face soft and open and concerned.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, his free hand landing on her shoulder, warm and solid.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t . . .”
“I’mfine. But I changed my mind. I need shots.”
“Shots?” he asks and even three drinks in, or is it four now, she can hear the disbelief in his voice.
“Shots,” she confirms. “Lorraine! We need shots! Tequila shots!”
“Coming right up, Dr Honey!” Lorraine fires back from the other side of the bar, probably thrilled to serve her something that isn’t pink.
“Bianca,” he says and damn, she likes how he says her name. She can feel him behind her, his hand still at her shoulder, standing tall and broad against her back. It’s actually really annoying how much she likes how he says her name.
Spinning in place, she glares up at him. “I am a fucking doctor and if I say I want shots, then I get shots, even if my friends are all assholes and won’t be here to take shots with me. Except you, you came.”
“Well, me and Miranda and you know, everyone else that’s here.”
“Yeah, but they’re not my friends, not like . . . but you’re my friend, right?”
He stares down at her and she waits and God, he’s not the kind of asshole who’ll call her on it, is he? Because they aren’t friends, not really, not like the people who blew her off tonight, but maybe he reads something in her face that says she needs this right now. That she needs him to be her friend.
“Yeah, boss, we’re friends.”
Bianca rolls her eyes at the nickname she apparently earned when they were in their first year, during their very first project together. It’s not her fault that years in early academia had trained her to just take charge if she wanted anything done right. Then a wide smile slides across her face and she jumps up from the barstool, throwing her arms around his shoulders, standing on her very tippy-toes to hug him close. His hands steady her when she starts to list sideways, one landing at her hip and the other spanning the middle of her back and shit, he smells really, really good. Which is nice and also dangerous and scary, andseems way less like a bad idea than it did for the last five years, when mixing their work with what could become extremely messyfeelings. Feelings that would ultimately lead to one place: both of them hurt and alone.
“Friends don’t let friends do shots alone,” she says, needing a distraction from exactly how good he feels against her. “You’ll do shots with me?”
“I’ll do shots with you,” he agrees softly, as she drops back on her heels, but his arms don’t fall away as she spins back to the bar; he just leans in closer, his arms the perfect shield to block out everything else for at least the rest of the night.
Chapter 2
He’s not drunk. Not really.
He’s buzzed.
Sheis drunk.
Not blackout or incoherent.
