Real Fake Love by Pippa Grant

Author:Pippa Grant [Grant, Pippa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bang Laugh Love LLC
Published: 2020-09-02T23:00:00+00:00

21

Henri

As I follow my new Lady Fireballs friends into Chester Green’s Sports Bar after the nail-biter game that we barely won, thanks to Cooper’s two-run home run in the eighth inning, I realize I have a girlfriend problem.

Aside from my long-distance writer friends, I’ve had very few girlfriends in my life that I didn’t meet through a fiancé. Which means I don’t have many girlfriends that I’ve kept past my failed weddings.

Okay, I have zero.

I have zero in-person girlfriends that I’ve kept after my failed weddings. I have Elsa, and I have a few cousins, and then I have a long list of girlfriends that I don’t see anymore because my exes always got them in the split. And here I am, with an all-new set of in-person girlfriends…courtesy of Luca.

Tillie Jean Rock, who’s not dating anyone on the team, but who lives close enough to the city that she joined the Lady Fireballs to annoy her brother, nudges me as we take our seats at a long table. “What’s with the frowny face?”

Well, Tillie Jean, since you asked, I’ve realized I probably won’t know you long. I shake my head. “I went to la-la-land. Thinking about a story problem.”

“Ooh, with Confucius?” Mackenzie asks.

“Yes.”

All four of my new friends stare at me expectantly. To the best of my knowledge, Marisol, Tanesha, and Tillie Jean haven’t read my books, but Mackenzie kept talking about Confucius, and also some of the early reviews on How to Train Your Vampire, while we were cleaning up after the whipped cream mascot fight, so I think they’ve basically picked up on the fact that I write slapstick humor in a paranormal package, and I’m not entirely right in the head, but that I’ve accepted myself for who I am.

“That’s all I can say.” I shrug, because it’s a writer’s first line of defense. “Anything else might be a spoiler. Or, I might totally change the storyline, and then you’d be expecting one thing and get another.”

We pause to order drinks, and when all of my friends order for their significant others—or, in Tillie Jean’s case, her brother—I realize I need to order something for Luca.

“Can I get a Shirley Temple and a tomato juice?” I ask the server.

Again, my new friends give me a weird look.

“Not mixed together,” I add quickly. “I want the Shirley Temple in one glass, and the tomato juice in another. It’s for my boyfriend.”

Tanesha’s baby makes a horrified sound, so she pulls him out of his sling and shoves a boob in his mouth while I get another round of weird looks.

“I’m allergic to alcohol,” I blurt.

“Oh, honey.” Tanesha’s brown eyes go soft and sympathetic. “Have you ever had a Riley Anna?”

“A what?” Mackenzie sputters.

“I know you’re not suggesting we eat child actresses,” Marisol adds, which isn’t far off from what I’m thinking, because I’ve secretly watched Riley Anna’s Stacey & Lacey: Twins on a Mission kids’ show more times than I can count. She’s this kid generation’s Hannah Montana.

Tanesha rolls her eyes.

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