7. Whitney
7
WHITNEY
I have decided that I simply no longer care about my new roommate. So what if he’s a jerk of the biggest proportion? I don’t care. He’s just my roommate. We don’t have to be friends. In fact, we don’t even have to speak.
We can simply coexist.
It’s not like Olivia and I were ever close, so I don’t know why this bothers me so much. Maybe the difference is because she never outright hated me, which is the general feeling I get from Liam at all times. I thought British people were supposed to be nice, but clearly not. I guess he’s more of the Gordon Ramsay variety.
Whatever. I don’t have time to waste thinking about Liam. I should be focusing all my energy on figuring out a business plan for the salon. If I get everything together, I’m convinced somehow the universe will reward me with a husband.
Right?
I spend a few hours working on the business plan and budget spreadsheet. I figure the inheritance should be more than enough to front the cost of renting a place and other upfront costs. Feeling positive about my productivity, I pivot to the fun stuff — interior design. Pinterest becomes my best friend, and I spend the next few hours saving photos and thinking of color palettes.
After a few hours of work, I’m feeling exhausted and slightly dejected. Even though planning for the salon is exciting, without the money secured, it’s nothing but a pipe dream. I close my eyes, feeling raw and emotional, a voice whispering in my head that I’m alone. It might not feel so true if I’d dated anyone since Christopher, but I’ve been nursing that wound since college, and in the three years since then, I’ve barely made it three months with any of the guys I’ve dated. Some of them were fine, but the truth was, I have walls up the size of Everest.
I text Abbi, knowing she’s probably at work. I don’t think she’s ever been further than five feet away from her cell phone at any given moment, so I’m not surprised when she responds right away.
Abbi: How’s hubby hunting?
Whitney: Awful.
Abbi: Why don’t I come over tonight and we can brainstorm? I have some ideas.
Whitney: Should I be scared?
Abbi: Terrified.
Whitney: Don’t put anything in writing. The FBI agent reading this will come for us.
Abbi: See you after work. I’ll bring wine.
I decide to distract myself by cooking dinner, but end up burning it. After I finish, I go to grab some silverware, yanking on the drawer, jiggling it left and right. It’s always a pain in the ass; it’s broken, and I can’t figure out how to get it back on the tracks.
“What did that drawer ever to do you?” a voice drawls from behind me, and I turn sharply to see Liam leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.
I blink, trying not to stare at the spot where his t-shirt rides up, revealing a strip of tanned skin. I turn away from him, shaking my head.
“Ugh. It’s been broken forever,” I reply. “You have to jiggle it open, FYI.”
He slips past me to fill up a glass of water while I slam the drawer shut and cross to the dining room to eat.
“Thanks for the heads up,” he replies.
Why does he have to say everything with that teasing, sultry tone of voice? It’s like he’s purposefully trying to rile me up.
“My friend Abbi is coming over tonight,” I tell him. “She’s very loud, so I apologize in advance.”
The corners of his mouth turn upwards, a small dimple forming on one of his cheeks. The sight of it sends a fierce blush to my cheeks, another wave of mortification rushing through me. This guy has done nothing but antagonize me since he’s shown up, and here I am fawning over his every micro-expression.
“I’m off tonight, but I’ll keep to myself. Wouldn’t want to spoil your girls’ night.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to bait me, so I don’t respond. Thankfully, he goes back to his room, leaving me to eat in peace. As soon as he’s gone, I exhale in relief, shaking my head. What the hell has come over me? I should be focusing on my business plan, not getting distracted by some jerk.
Abbi texts me to let me know she’s on her way, so I clean up and light a candle.
Of course, I burn myself again, thinking about said jerk.
Once she arrives, we settle on the couch with a bottle of wine between us.
“Okay, Operation Matrimony is in action. What have you tried so far?” she asks, her tone serious.
“Mostly an embarrassing number of texts and calls to randos in my phone. Lots of getting hung up on. A few people calling me clinically insane.”
“Well, they aren’t wrong.” She smirks.
“Ha-ha,” I deadpan.
She chuckles. “This is harder than I thought it would be. You know what? We should just get you on Hinge. Put serious relationship and start swiping. Find someone who seems cool, intro the idea on date two or three… totally chill.”
“I already tried Hinge, and I chickened out. I barely swiped on anyone. Also, I don’t think there’s a chill way to ask someone to marry you on a third date.”
“Can you stop ruining all the fun?” Abbi groans. “Give me your phone. Let’s do it together.”
She takes my phone and makes me pick out my best photos while she answers all my prompts and starts swiping. I notice her thumb swiping right very often.
“Abbi, you can’t swipe right on everyone.”
“Why not? It doesn’t matter who he is. It’s not like he has to be hot or anything.”
“Why don’t you just marry me?” I groan. “It’s only three years.”
She throws daggers at me. “Shane definitely better have proposed by then. Sorry babe, but I’m spoken for.”
I groan, and she exits Hinge.
“Okay, time for Plan B. Let’s start calling your exes.”
“I only have one ex, Abbi, and you know there’s no way I’m calling Christopher.”
“Fine, then let’s try my exes. One of them owes me a favor, I bet.”
“This is a pretty big favor,” I tell her. She scrolls through her contacts until she lands on one and holds it out to me.
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can,” she encourages me. “If anything, you should offer like, 100k or something. It’s hardly any of it, and I bet someone would do it for that little.”
“Not if they find out I’m getting a million,” I grumble.
She throws her hands up. “It’s not like you’re going to call him up and say ‘hey, I just inherited a million bucks from my granny, but I can only get it if I’m married. What do you say?’”
“Shh! My roommate is home,” I say in a low voice.
“Oh my God.” She glances down the hallway. “Why didn’t you tell me? He’s here? I want to meet him.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
She rolls her eyes and points to the phone. Reluctantly, I press call and hold the phone against my ear.
“Put it on speaker!” she whisper-yells, grabbing for the phone, but I yank it out of her grasp. She throws her body over mine, reaching over my head to try and grab it, but I don’t let go.
“Stop it!”
“I want to hear!”
Trying and failing to shove her off me, I turn away, trying to tuck the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
We both freeze at the sound of the male voice coming through the phone.
“Abbi?”
My eyes wide, I shove the phone towards her, shaking my head. She shakes her head back at me, gesturing for me to take it back. After a few moments of silent communication, she relents, pressing the speaker button.
“Hi, James,” she says, her tone sweeter than honey. “How are you?”
“Uh, I’m alright. What’s up?”
“Just hanging with my friend Whitney. You remember Whit, right? Gorgeous blonde? Legs for days? Impossibly cute?”
I glare at her, and James chuckles slightly.
“What do you want, Ab? I haven’t heard from you in two years, and you call me out of the blue to set me up with your friend?”
“Excuse me! Can’t an ex-girlfriend want to reconnect just for the hell of it?”
“I’m engaged. You’d know if you hadn’t blocked me on Instagram,” he replies.
Abbi’s eyes widen and she stares down at the phone. “Uh, you’re breaking up—can’t—going through tunnel?—”
She hangs up the phone, tossing it onto the couch between us.
“Seriously?” I quirk an eyebrow at her.
We descend into a fit of giggles. After our laughter subsides, we chat for a few more minutes. She gushes about Shane; she’s expecting him to propose any day now, especially since she’s been dropping major hints that she’s ready. Last time I hung out with them, she spent the whole time showing him wedding photographer Instagram accounts and asking what he thought of them.
Abbi has never been one for subtlety.
It’s late when she finally leaves, kissing me on the cheek. “You’re gonna find someone. I know it,” she says.
I shrug. “We’ll see.”
She grabs both my shoulders. “You are not losing out on that money, Whitney. I swear to God, we will find you a husband.”
I nod, feeling suddenly emotional. I really, really want to make the salon a reality, but the more time that passes, the more I’m starting to doubt this entire plan. Too much can go wrong. Too much is at stake.
And I’m no closer to figuring any of it out.