Chapter 11 #3
Trixy swore under her breath but reached for a spoon. “I already regret this.”
The man laughed, then glanced at his watch. “Okay, ladies. You have half an hour starting…now!”
Exactly twenty-nine minutes later, I collapsed against the booth’s sticky vinyl seat and prayed I wouldn’t hurl as I stretched out.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Trixy complained as she tore open a wet wipe packet. “The brain freeze, the chocolate-coated fingers, or that my stomach feels like it’s about to rupture.”
My responding grin was sleepy. “Yeah, but at least we finished.”
“Hoo-freaking-ray for you, but what do I get? Diabetes?”
“Bragging rights,” I suggested as I stared at the ceiling. There was a splotch of red on one of the fissured tiles, and I wondered how someone managed to get ketchup all the way up there.
“Why did we ever think this was a good idea?” she asked, but it wasn’t really a question.
We both knew why. As fifteen-year-olds fighting for our lives, we’d had to eat a strict diet.
Lots of leafy greens, no processed sugar.
The Mrs. Sprinkles Monstrosity was the epitome of everything we weren’t allowed to have, so of course we’d wanted it, stomachaches and all.
“I’m never eating ice cream again,” I announced.
“Ugh, don’t even say those words,” Trixy groaned. “I hope this torture was worth it.”
Gripping the edge of the table, I managed to haul myself into a sitting position. I rummaged through my purse for a pen, then proceeded to strike a line through Beat Mrs. Sprinkles.
“It definitely was,” I told her, smiling down at the page. “I’ve officially crossed the halfway point.”
“Did you get a selfie with the colonel yet?”
“Yeah, two weekends ago.” I scrolled through my camera roll, then slid my phone over to Trixy.
She glanced from the screen to me, then back again, her mouth gaping. “That’s JJ Morris! You hung out with him again and didn’t tell me? Isn’t there some kind of best friend code that requires you to mention any celebrity encounters?”
I winced. “Sorry, I’ve had a lot going on lately.”
Trixy rolled her eyes. “No kidding.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, worried I upset her somehow.
Ever since the Frozen Dip, I’d been making an effort to hang out with Trixy whenever possible.
I answered the phone when she called and didn’t turn down any of her invitations.
I thought I was doing a pretty good job of mending our friendship, but maybe that wasn’t enough?
“That after looking at this picture, I’m not surprised.” She wiggled her brows suggestively. “You two look…close.”
Oh! She thought… “It’s not like that,” I said in a rush, my cheeks warming. Why was I having this conversation twice in one day?
“You sure?”
“JJ’s a big flirt, but it doesn’t mean anything. You can’t take ninety-five percent of what comes out of his mouth seriously.”
“What about the other five percent?” she asked, but I didn’t have an answer to that. Trixy smirked but moved on to a new subject instead of nagging. “If you’re trying to finish your bucket list, what’s next?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” I answered immediately, grateful my relationship with JJ was no longer under a magnifying glass. “Any idea where I can rent a chainsaw?”
“The Home Depot, maybe? My cousin Rowan is super outdoorsy, so he might have an idea. Why?”
“Don’t laugh, but I can’t remember what I meant by chainsaw.” I pointed to number five on my list. “I’ve decided to take it literally and cut down a tree.” Maybe afterward, I’d have a Texas Chainsaw Massacre marathon to be thorough.
“If that’s the case, I’m definitely texting Rowan,” Trixy said. “If I don’t, you’ll wind up in the hospital with a severed limb. You plus a chainsaw sounds like an accident waiting to happen.”
The smile I shot her was sheepish. “Probably a good call.”
“Okay, well, I should get going.” She stuffed her arms back into her leather jacket and slid out of the booth. “Promised my dad I’d fill in for one of our hostesses who’s out sick. If you get bored later tonight, feel free to swing by.”
“Thanks for your help, Trixy,” I said, tucking my list and the Polaroid the Mrs. Sprinkles employee took of us inside my purse. He’d given me a funny look when I said I’d rather keep it than add it to the Wall of Fame, but I wanted a memento from today.
“You’re welcome. See you later, Cara.”
Once she was gone, I allowed myself ten more minutes to digest before heading home. As I walked to the bus stop, I passed by Studio Red, a local interior design company. Taped to the window was a help wanted sign.
I could really use a job, I thought, pausing at the door.
One takeaway from my trip to Florida? Life was expensive.
If I wanted to keep doing fun things like taking spontaneous vacations, then I needed cash.
And I’d always dreamed about becoming a designer.
Even though I hadn’t considered a future career in years, this could be the perfect opportunity to gain valuable experience.
Before I could chicken out or convince myself that this was a stupid idea, I pulled open the door and stepped inside.