I wince. “No hair of the dog. Jayci and I opened a bottle of gin last night. It was a bad idea. She left this morning hung over as hell. I wasn’t much better off before coffee.” Then I flash Echo a grin. “It was crazy, though. We drunk-fucked on my front porch. I’m pretty sure the neighbors heard.”
Pressing her lips in a flat line, she turns for the sink. No snort? No eye roll? No quip? That’s not like Echo.
I follow, frowning. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, shoving it against my chest. “Here.”
I take it. “You’re not fine. What did I say?”
Echo is quiet for a long moment. “Jayci is nice, but she isn’t right for you.”
“So? We’re just having fun.”
Though lately, I’ve been wondering whether I should try doing something more with my love life than fucking my way through it. It’s feeling…stale. But what else is there besides sex?
“Sure. Okay. FYI, it will just be the two of us today.”
Our group has been doing Sunday movies and munchies since our early days of high school. Not everyone makes it every weekend, but it’s unusual for two-thirds of the group to no-show. “Seriously? I know Kella said last Sunday that she wouldn’t be able to make it, but…”
“Graham had to pull a last-minute shift. Maryam texted to say she has the flu and feels like death warmed over. I DoorDashed her some soup. And Xavian…” Echo tucks a stray curl behind her ear and…is she blushing? “Um, he called a bit ago. He’s got a paper to finish.”
“Professor Akbar’s financial theories project, right?” At her nod, I shudder. “I scrambled to finish that sucker last year before graduation. That essay is no joke. And everyone knows what an asshole he is when it comes to grading.” Then Echo’s words hit me… “Wait. X called you?” Not texted. “Like, he dialed your digits and—”
“Talked to me, yeah.” She shrugs. “What’s the big deal?”
“Nothing.” Except it’s out of character for my buddy. And Echo is acting…flustered. “I didn’t know you and X were that close.” The kind of close that would warrant his extra effort.
“Since we both got stuck in that Spanish class with the Russian professor this semester, we’ve been talking more.” Again, Echo doesn’t quite meet my stare.
That makes me scowl. “How much more?”
“I don’t know. More.” She pours herself a mimosa heavy on the champagne and takes a healthy sip. “Want eggs with your French toast?”
I should get to the bottom of this thing with Xavian, but she said the magic words. “You made French toast? For me?”
She nods. “When I figured out the party would be just the two of us, I decided to make your favorite.”
“No wonder it smells so good in here.” I grab her around the waist and pull her close. “Thanks, shortcake.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s my way of buttering you up.”
“For what?”
“It’s my turn to pick the movie…”
Probably another reason everyone bailed today. The guys usually pick action flicks. Kella likes mysteries and psychological thrillers with the occasional anime film. Maryam chooses blockbusters everyone has seen a hundred times. But Echo is a hopeless romantic. She always picks the mushy movies. And they always make me groan.
Everlasting, til-death-do-us part love is a greeting-card fantasy. Businesses use it as an emotional tool to sell everything from books to flowers to honeymoon destinations. Echo is never going to agree with me, and that’s fine. Her eternal optimism is part of her charm. But my family history makes me fairly sure I’m incapable of her notion of love. And I don’t know if I can handle ninety minutes of mind-numbing sap this morning.
I grab my phone. “Gosh, would you look at the time? I just remembered that I have a thing this afternoon and—”
“A thing?”
“Yeah, an appointment.”
“For what?”
“A haircut.”
“You had one last week.”
She’s right, damn it. I grapple for another plausible answer—and draw a blank. “I mean a doctor’s appointment.”
“On a Sunday?” she asks dubiously.
“It’s a really important appointment. I’m having a lobotomy.”
“Right. Well, let’s sneak in one last feel-good film before you have half your cynical brain ripped out. It might help you…”
“No, the doctor says I’ve watched too many of your schmaltzy flicks over the years, so I should see something else before the operation. The more violence, the better.”
“You know…” She bustles to the oven and withdraws her famous French toast casserole that nearly brings me to my knees. It’s a candy-coated indulgence I don’t partake of often, but every time she makes it, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. “Maybe you should go home and rest up before your big procedure. I’ll eat all this gooey, cinnamony goodness on my own.”
It looks amazing, and it smells even better. And damn if Echo doesn’t have me right where she wants me. “I could probably move my procedure out long enough to eat that.”