I nod. We’ve all partied together.
“Yeah, the same one. He edited it and Joe thought it would be better if his name went on the byline, since I’m not actually a writer.”
“That’s bullshit,” Nicola says, frowning. “We’re not pulling your leg when we tell you it’s great. I mean, really, you should be proud of yourself.”
Am I proud of myself though? I don’t know.
I turn away. “Well, it is what it is. I’m over it.”
“If you were over it, you wouldn’t be avoiding your best friends,” Steph says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Do you need a hug?”
I swat her hand away and back up. “Absolutely not.” I look at them both. “Why are you both here at such an ungodly hour? Who gets up at eight a.m. on a Sunday?”
“Your friends,” Steph says imploringly, “who want to make sure you’re up and ready to go to the festival today.”
“Oh, hell no,” I say, shaking my head vigorously. “I’m not going to that. I’ve already missed two days. What’s the point of going to the third?”
“Two days that were a lot of fun,” Steph says. “Don’t miss the last one. It will take your mind off things, and I think you need to get out of your apartment before you start peeing into jars and letting your toenails grow long.”
“Like Howard Hughes,” Nicola adds.
I give her a dry look. “Yeah, I know who Howard Hughes is.”
“Please. Even Ava is going,” Nicola says. “She’s so excited.”
“Are you going to dress her up like a little fairy hipster?” I ask, picturing her daughter like all the feathers and headband wearing girls that swarm these festivals.
“Maybe.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I tell them. “But it’s Sock Sunday, and I have a lot of reading and napping to do.” I kick my leg out, showcasing the fuzzy knee-length socks with Minions on them.
“Fuck sock Sunday,” Steph says. “Do you know who else is going?” she adds conspiratorially.
I swallow, already feeling heat in my stomach. “Who?”
“Lachlan,” she says. She adds a knowing little smirk.
“So?” I tell her, ignoring the flutter in my chest. Just the mention of his name and I feel myself light up from the inside, like a switch being turned on.
“Oh, come on,” Nicola says. “Don’t pretend you’re still not all—”
“All what?” I challenge.
“Lovestruck.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “Lovestruck? Please. This is me you’re talking about. Kayla Moore. Maneater extraordinaire.” Even though that phrase has kind of lost its shine.
“Okay, not lovestruck,” Nicola corrects herself. “Infatuated.”
“Horny,” Steph adds. “Kayla is just a horny monster with a raging lady boner.”
I grimace. “It doesn’t sound so good when you say it.”
“Phffft. Whatever. The point is, you need to get laid something fierce,” she adds. “This celibacy thing is not good for you.”
“While that may or may not be true, we all know it won’t be with him,” I say, tapping my foot, wishing the damn coffee would drip faster. “And I thought he wasn’t going to go. He told me he didn’t like crowds and that it wasn’t his scene.”
“Bram bought him a VIP for today. Somehow convinced him,” Nicola says. I look over at her and she gives me a hopeful smile. “You know, he leaves next Sunday for Scotland. This might be the last time you see him.”
I rub my lips together anxiously.
“That’s true,” Steph says. “You probably should say goodbye.”
I eye them both. “I don’t know,” I say reluctantly, even though in my heart I do know. I want to see him again. One more time. I know nothing will come of it, but I’ve become addicted to that high I get when I’m around him. I may not be lovestruck, but there is something so…I don’t know, refreshing, about feeling like a schoolgirl again with one hell of a crush. And I think Steph and Nicola know that, too.