“We should celebrate.”
I disentangled myself from Paul and smoothed down my shirt. I’d tore down the hallway and launched myself into his arms, shrieking and laughing.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Absolutely. How?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. What would you do with Jill?”
There would have been no celebrating with Jill. Not right away, at least. She would have lectured me and chastised me for a good long while. And then we would have gone for ice cream.
I decided to skip to the good stuff. “Ice cream.”
His face brightened. “Excellent. Let’s go.”
I glanced at the clock. “Are you sure? It’s almost six o’clock. I don’t want to keep you…”
He’d been with me for over an hour. Almost two. He’d more than fulfilled any sort of obligation he might have felt toward me over his best friend’s poor judgment.
“You’re not keeping me,” he said. “I don’t have plans until eight. No worries.”
Dairy Queen was less than two blocks from my apartment. It was surprisingly empty for a late summer day; only a handful of people sat at the picnic tables outside, licking cones and digging into Blizzards.
“Pre-dinner lull,” Paul commented as he held the door open for me, revealing no line at the counter. “Don’t be fooled.”
We ordered two hot-fudge sundaes and I paid. Paul started to protest but I stopped him.
“It’s the least I can do.” I handed the teenager behind the counter a ten dollar bill. “Besides, I’m the one who’s celebrating.”
He frowned.
“And you paid for the tests. And some stretch cream I’m thankfully not going to need.”
He laughed.
I took my change and we waited for our sundaes. Paul grabbed a couple of napkins and we headed outside to one of the empty picnic tables. Clouds dotted the sky, shielding our ice cream from the late summer sun.
I dug into my sundae, more fudge than ice cream on my spoon.
Paul noticed. “Too bad you can’t just order the hot fudge, huh?”
“Best part. Hands down.”
He polished his off in a matter of minutes.
I sucked the fudge off of my spoon. “So, thanks. You know…”
He nodded. “You’re welcome.”
YOU ARE READING
Match Me
RomanceI wasn't the kind of girl to crash a wedding. Truly. But Chase Somers wasn't the kind of guy who should be marrying the wrong girl. And Angela Biltmore was absolutely, positively, the wrong girl. I couldn't get the Taylor Swift song out of my head...
