Love's Paradox

Chapter 26: Incongruous Topics of Conversation

Have you ever heard the saying: "It must be Tuesday"? Well, it is Tuesday. Seriously, though, I used to think that Wednesday was the middle finger of the workweek. But I take that back. It's definitely today.

When I arrive at Livingston Oil this morning, Thompson Snyder's office is no longer empty. Mr. Snyder is a large man with rosy red cheeks and beady eyes that refuse to meet my face because they are glued to my chest, even though I'm wearing a shirt that buttons up to my collarbone. Parker spends the entire morning arguing behind closed doors with Mr. Snyder about hiring me, where the word "nepotism" is thrown out as if Parker's work ethic and degree in geology are trifling facets.

Then later in the afternoon, Parker ends up pissing off a client due to his unfortunate mood, and then I have to deal with the aftermath as the guy calls and cusses me out several times throughout the day. The entire time, all I want to do is slink low in my seat and hope no one notices me. Days like today should come with a warning label, I muse.

Today's Going to Suck! Skip the Coffee and Go Straight for the Alcohol.

But hey, I'm not really in a foul mood. No, more like a "If given the chance to try shock therapy on someone, I'll flip the switch!" kind of mood.

That's how I find myself filling a grocery cart with ice cream and alcohol I can't legally buy. Of course, I'm so busy thinking about relaxing with my friends this evening that I don't realize my mistake until the cart is full and I'm heading toward the checkout lane. I call Hunter, who, thankfully, comes to my rescue.

Note: I do not condone anyone buying alcohol for those under the age of twenty-one. Unless they're buying it for me. Personally, I think eighteen should be the legal drinking age.

But, I digress.

Steph and Cherry are already on the couch when I return to the apartment with Hunter. I don't really have the energy to pretend I like Steph today, but seeing how buoyant Cherry is makes me thankful for her presence.

"I need some good news," I say while putting away groceries.

"I thought Ian's being arrested was the good news," Cherry says, confused. "Did something happen today?"

"Not really; it's just been a very, very long day." I leave out the butter pecan ice cream and grab a spoon. "My to-do list for this evening consists of: alcohol, debauchery, madness, and mayhem. Not exactly in that order."

Hunter hands me a Guinness, already open. "Sounds about right."

"I don't know how you can drink that stuff," Steph says. Her voice has a nasal quality to it, but not the annoying type. Almost like Phoebe on Friends when she's sick and sings Smelly Cat. Once, when I was tipsy, I asked her to sing it. She was not amused.

I take a sip of my Guinness. "Tastes pretty delicious to me. And believe it or not, it's actually lower in calories than most alcoholic drinks."

"It's like a meal it's so thick," Steph complains.

I want to respond with: I like the sound you make when you aren't breathing. Instead, I say, "Luckily, I bought you vanilla Coke for your rum instead." I try not to let annoyance leak into my tone.

Steph grins. "You didn't have to do that."

It's true, but I've been trying to stay on my best behavior whenever I'm around Steph—for Cherry's sake. The last thing I need is for Steph to put an edict out that Cherry can no longer hang out with me. Though I know if she ever did, Cherry would leave Steph in a hot second. Chicks before dicks, and all that jazz. Wait. Scratch that. Chicks before clits. Because honestly, what lesbian in her right mind gives a damn about dicks? Unless they're of the strap-on variety. I've seen one of Cherry's. Two words: Holy. Hell.