For the Record by Nicole Lam

Author:Nicole Lam [Nicole Lam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: KDP
Published: 2021-12-10T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty One

Chapter 20: Skye Holland

“You know, you still haven’t told me how things are going with your man,” Poppy sing-songs over brunch, poking at the overpriced fried egg on her duck confit chilaquiles with a knife. “It’s been three dates. That has to be some kind of record for you, right?”

Brunch is our once-a-month ritual, instated because once a week would be impractical and expensive, and both of our jobs keep us too busy anyway. We rotate between a few cheap but trendy spots, and Redbird is her favourite, not mine. It’s expensive, but beautiful, set in an old cathedral with tiled floors, a rooftop patio, and views of downtown L.A. Parking was a nightmare, but I’m glad I have my car back from the shop. I make a mental note to pay Leo back. I don’t want one last piece of him hanging over my head.

“First of all, he’s not ‘my man’ anymore, remember? Second of all… What do you mean?” I say, slyly trying to dodge her question. With Poppy, it’s more like escaping a fleet of dodgeballs thrown with expert precision by seventeen-year-old boys in gym class: impossible. “I’ve gone on three dates with a guy before.”

To be truthful, I don’t want to think about how my argument with Leo ended.

And how I let my emotions impede my professionalism. And I can’t even say that I’ll never see Leo again since we work together. And this is why I should never do this whole ‘dating your boss’ thing again.

Not to mention that I’ve been oh-so-maturely avoiding him—or doing my best—ever since we had an extremely unprofessional blowup. In the middle of the office. Right next to the water cooler. Like an idiot who wants to lose her job and make her own life a living hell.

Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that I’m just going to swear off men. For a long time.

“Yes, but the three dates were in college, with my brother, so it doesn’t count,” she says, aiming her egg yolk-covered fork at me. I make a face, gesturing for her to put it down before she drips it onto either of us. Neither my cream-coloured tunic nor her white silk slip would survive the casualty. “I’m talking about going on three dates with a new guy. Leo Perez. I have to say, Skye, he didn’t strike me as your type.”

“What do you mean?” I say warily, taking a bite of my blueberry pancakes drenched in syrup. “I don’t have a type.”

If I do, it’s apparently guys who are intent on breaking my heart.

Poppy snorts. “You have a type if I’ve ever seen a type.”

I eat in silence, not wanting to accept the weight of my best friend’s too-true judgment.

“First year of college. You dated that guy, Ethan, the tattooed drummer in his best friend’s rock band. What was the band called again?” she snaps her fingers.

Sadly, I even remember the name of Ethan’s band. And how he had a tattoo of his ex-girlfriend’s name on his knee, of all places.

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