“It’s not.” Ava felt like a shit for saying it, but the words left her mouth anyway. “It’s just a small publication; I didn’t get paid; only about a hundred people will see it–”
“It’s your first gig!” Leah said. “Don’t take this the wrong way – but get over yourself.”
Ava grinned. “I missed you.”
“I know you did. No one in Athens would keep your feet nailed down on the ground.” She lifted her nose to a superior angle. “Lucky for you, you won’t have to brave grad school without me.”
“Lucky for me,” Ava repeated, smiling, shaking her head.
Leah sobered a fraction and dropped her voice. “Seriously, though, you haven’t had any more trouble with your old boy, have you? He’s not in town for the…”
Ava nodded.
“Oh, heis. Damn.” Her smooth black brows tucked together over her almond eyes. “Well, but you can’t have…”
“Run into him? Back at the clubhouse.”
“Shit.” She made a face. “And I’m guessing you’re…”
“I’m fine.”
“Right. Obviously.”
“Honestly, why does everyone think I’m going to fall to pieces?”
Leah’s nose scrunched up like a little button in a comical show of regret. “Because you kind of did. More than once.”
“That was years ago.” But her heart grabbed like it had been yesterday. Her palms grew damp and her chest tightened and Ava wondered if anyone ever truly conquered that kind of heartbreak, or if it settled in a person’s bones and flared up at a moment’s notice when the afflicted party came in contact with the original pathogen again. A disease – that’s what it had been like. Not love, but a corrosive sickness. “I’ve moved on,” she said, like she meant it.
Leah’s brows rose as if to sayreally?“I thought you were bringing a new guy with you.”
“She did.”
Ava nearly leapt from her skin at the sound of Ronnie’s voice from the entry behind her. The sting of guilt heated her face. Three times now in the last hour, she’d forgotten he existed.
Leah sat, gaping, and Ava hoped her own expression was less bewildered as she turned to face her boyfriend. “Did you get all set up?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He’d traded his polo shirt for a plain blue t-shirt, his khakis for jeans; he still wore the loafers. Ava knew he didn’t own a single pair of boots.
He looked at Leah and smiled politely. “Hi. I’m Ronnie.”
“Leah,” she answered, sounding dazed.
“Ronnie,” Ava said, “Leah’s my best friend from back in elementary school. We grew up together.”
“That’s great.” Another polite smile graced his beautiful face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Where’s the restroom?”
“Oh, I’ll show you–”
“You can just tell me.”
“Oh.” Now she’d done it. She hadn’t ever seen him like this, all closed off and disinterested. Three was the magic number: a man could only be removed from the equation so many times before he started to shut down. “It’s across the hall from my room.”
He nodded and retreated, loafers scuffing against the bright orange Mexican tile. A moment later, they heard the bathroom door close.
“I think you screwed up,” Leah said.
“Yeah,” Ava agreed. “I think I did.”
