“Sweet Mother of Mercy,” I mutter.
“What?” Booker looks up from his snack and I show him my phone.
“Did you ever see an ass you just needed to stick your dick in?” I ask my best friend.
He nearly chokes on his Gatorade. “Uh…”
“Because Lucy’s ass is a thing of beauty. I’d marry it tomorrow if she let me. But it’s more than that, you know? I love her. I love Lucy Alvarez, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
Booker swipes my beer off the table and drinks. “I am way too sober for this conversation.”
* * *
Lucy
It’s the package that does it. Sends me right over the damn edge. My fingers are fumbling with my phone and dialing his number even as tears stream down my face. I try to recall his schedule, but I can’t quite remember if he has class now, or if he’s done for the day.
And just when I’m sure the call is going to send me to voicemail, he picks up.
“Hey, Lucy Adelaide,” he says, and I can almost hear his smile.
“Are you in class?” I ask, my words watery.
“I just got done. Why? What’s wrong? Holy shit, are you crying?”
“Yes,” I blubber. “And it’s all your fault.”
“I’m a fucking asshole. What did I do?”
I look at the box in front of me, the bubble wrap, the tissue paper, the tin of peanut butter blossoms, and the shirt. “You sent me a package.”
He laughs. “I really am a bastard. You said those were your favorite cookies, even if you don’t call them by their proper name.”
“No one on earth calls those cookies Witch Hats but you.”
“The hell they don’t. They look like little witch hats, hence the name.”
“Well, whatever you call them, they’re my favorite and these ones are delicious.”
“You like the shirt? I made it just for you.”
I dust the crumbs from my hands and unfold the lavender t-shirt. It’s soft, with long sleeves, but what makes it my new favorite shirt is the slogan that reads:I’m Wearing My Bossy Pants.
“It’s one of a kind, you know.”
I make quick work of discarding the trash and putting my goodies where they belong. “Then I’m a lucky girl.”
“If you’re so lucky, what’s with the tears, Lucy Josephine? I mean, I know my cookies are life-changing, but they’ve never reduced anyone to tears until now.”
“It’s not that,” I say, shaking my head even though he can’t see me. “It’s been a shit day, and it’s barely noon. I spent the morning at the foundation, and you know how I’ve worked my ass off on the gala that we’re hosting next month? The invitations needed to go out today. I had them proofed by twenty-seven people, and I was all ready to send them to the printer when he demanded a word change. And he did it right in front of our supervisor, so if I didn’t agree, it would look like I’m not a team player. And the word change was stupid. So stupid.”
“What was it?”
“Down at the bottom, in teensy print it says that the facility will be accessible, right? Because it will. Well, Derek the Dick said my wording was too liberal, and that we needed to change it to handicapped accessible so people would know what we mean. But that's bullshit because who even says handicapped anymore? But of course, our supervisor, Steve, agreed, so I had to change it. But adding the stupid H-word changed the spacing and I had to redesign it and it took for fucking ever and I hate him.”
Caleb starts to say something, but I’m not done with my rant.
“And I have to sit through a two-hour lecture later today. And I got my period, so sitting for two fucking hours is less than ideal. That’s more information than you needed, but I don’t fucking care.”
