Page 58 of Thirst For Me
“And sometimes you need to take a fucking risk,” he fires back. “The truth is, you won’t make a move on her because it’s not safe enough for your liking. You never take risks anymore, man. And that is exactly why you should.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, irritable. “You’d understand not taking risks if you ever worried about anyone other than yourself.”
But he doesn’t let me bait him, either. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t.”
But my best friend ignores that. “And here’s why,” he says. “Sierra fucking scares you.”
I grunt a laugh and shake my head. “That is so off base,” I tell him, “I’m not even gonna bother.”
But his words stay with me, long after Layne and I head out into the night.
Chapter 11
Sierra
“I realize you’re an absolute sucker for a fixer-upper, uncomfortably competitive,andsocially awkward,” Sophie says, “but this is extreme, even for you.”
I’m not really listening, I’m so deep into my new “Who Needs a Man Anyway?” playlist, but I toss her a dirty look as she turns down the volume on Miley Cyrus buying herself flowers. I was singing along, of course.
Soph leans on the tiny peninsula in the cottage’s kitchen, flipping casually through a paperback as I roll a nice, thick coating of Simply White kitchen paint onto the small piece of bare wall that runs next to the cupboards and behind the kitchen table. I managed to get this whole wall taped off today and prepped for its fresh new facelift. This is now the only wall that isn’t dank and dreary; light bounces off it, and already the cottage feels brighter.
“This is not extreme,” I inform her. “It’ssatisfying.”
“You need to back away from the overachieving and get ready. We leave in half an hour.”
“I’m not overachieving. I’m actually behind schedule.” I start rolling faster, covering the last corner of the sad old wall with itsrotten-oyster-colored paint and making it disappear. “I wanted to get this coat done and finish a light sanding on the bathroom cupboards today.”
“Of course you’re behind,” she says sarcastically. “You could teach a masterclass in avoidance—”
“Thank you.”
“Which is why you’ve been fixing up this cottage, which you don’t own, in addition to running the smoothie bar,andyou read a whole mystery novel in the last three days. To avoid Mason Grant and getting on with your uncertain future.”
“Didn’tyouread it?” I avoid that last (very accurate) bit she said and place the roller in the pan, wiping off my sweaty face with a rag. “It was your idea to go to this book club.”
“Yeah, to meet the local gossips and have girl talk. Drink wine and eat too much cheese. I don’t think they actually expected us to readMurder in the Barnyard. We only got invited like four days ago.”
“It’s not exactlyAnna Karenina. It’s a quick read.”
Sophie shrugs as she flips, scanning random pages, which I guess is her version of reading the book. “I’ll just read your notes.”
“How do you know I made notes?” I say airily.
My best friend laughs.
I sigh. I pluck my copy ofMurder in the Barnyardfrom my purse, stuffed with Post-its that are scrawled with my thoughts, and toss it to her. “Are we really doing this?”
“Of course we are. What else is there to do in this town if you won’t let us go to the bar?”
“Hey,hewon’t let us go to the bar.”
“No, he told you to stay away from his family. How do you know if his family’s at the bar? And why do you even care? He might not even be there. And if he is, as long as you don’t get up and start singing karaoke, he might not even notice you’re there.”
I snort. “Thanks.”
She frowns. “I meant, if it’s crowded.”
