by Clare James
“I know, right?” I tip my head back for the full effect. “And look how beautiful my kimono looks against your couch.”
Tabby jumps on the sofa and envelopes me in a huge hug.
“Whoa,” I say, lifting my tea cup above my head. “Hot tea here.”
“I’m sorry,” Tabby says. “I’m just so happy you’re here.”
Though I play tough, I can’t believe I live here either. Anna, my boring but clean roommate, is going back home to Ohio for the summer, so Tab offered me her extra room. I was here all the time anyway, it only made sense.
I moved in before finals to beat the rush of the moving trucks. Our place already feels like home. It’s cool and comfy and in a great location, but the best thing about it is the little deck out by the fire escape. We have room for a small table and two café chairs—and my herb garden. I have mint for my tea. Basil, rosemary, and cilantro for cooking. And a bunch of lavender for my baths. I adore it out there.
Inside, the apartment is big and airy with high ceilings, exposed pipes, and brick walls, but Tabby’s made it feminine with all of her flea market finds: the huge distressed table for the dining room, an Asian screen in the corner, and a pretty nice collection of milk glass vases. The vases are currently on display in my armoire Tab helped me paint bright orange. She also let me bring my huge faux fur beanbag chair and even hung a bunch of my framed photography. The place looks amazing.
“We are going to have so much fun this summer,” Tab says with one more squeeze.
“Well, you will with all your dance shows, and your hot man-candy showing you a good time all summer. But remember, I’m joining the workforce, kid. So I don’t want you keeping me up with all your partying and wild sex. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Hey,” Tabby protests. “Don’t forget, I have a full load of classes this summer. And if I don’t do well, I won’t be graduating with you guys. So no partying for me.”
“And what about the wild sex?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
“We’ll go to Noah’s for that.” Tab winks. “Now, get out of your loungewear so we can make you look respectable for…what’s the name of the firm again?”
“Dunham and Dirk,” I answer with a wicked grin. “Or as I like to call it, Dildos and Dicks.”
“Classy.” Tab laughs.
Thank God I have Tabby. She used to be a country club princess, so she’ll know exactly what I need for a summer interning in a respectable law firm. She lent me clothes for the interview.
And I nailed it.
But it’s not like I can raid her wardrobe all summer. My internship starts in a few days and I don’t have a thing to wear so Tab’s helping with my hair and taking me shopping. An entire girls-gone-boring day.
I turn off my e-cig and drag myself off the sofa. It’s the one thing in the apartment that cost big bucks. The purple beauty is from a little boutique in Uptown, and Tabby bought it with pleasure.
She has quite a bit of hush money after a huge sex scandal at her school in Illinois. Some rich asshole got her so drunk and high that she lost the whole night—with only pictures as documentation of the events. She was assaulted, embarrassed, and ruined. Still, her parents forced her to take the payoff. I so wish I knew her back then. I would’ve nailed that asshole’s balls to the wall.
It’s situations like this that remind me why I want to be an attorney in the first place, though this summer I’m working at a family law practice. It was either law or photography. I think I’m making the right choice. If I can look the part.
Unfortunately, it’s not only my clothes that are an issue for this internship. My hair also has to go. I managed to pin my colorful stripes under my thick mane for the interview. I wasn’t gonna go a’changing until I knew I had the position.
Well, now I know.
Tabby knows how much my hair means to me. It’s my thing. So we hold a memorial service for my highlights.
Poor little guys.
I hold the scissors out for Tabby. She’s almost giddy.
The demon.
“How much are you going to take off the length?”
“At least four or five inches, so get a good chunk,” I tell her. “I want a lock of each color.”
“Ew.” Tab cringes. “Why Jules? That is really repulsive.”
“Locks of hair are considered holy in many cultures,” I argue.
“Whatev, Rainbow Brite.” She giggles before taking my streak of fuchsia gorgeousness, tying it off with a ribbon, and cutting the bejesus out of it.
When she finally hands it to me, I stroke it like a pet.
Tabby rolls her eyes.
She makes her way through every color, blowing out dramatic breaths with each snip.
After she’s done, we head to Foiled—Tab’s favorite salon—to finish my cut and color. Rafi does a great job. He keeps it pretty long. And I leave with a shoulder-length, layered bob.
Then, it’s partner mani-pedi time. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a chick day in my life. Normally not my deal, but Tab makes it fun.
Next up is shopping. The part I’ve been dreading most of all.
We go to the godforsaken Mall of America so we can hit Nordstrom’s, Bloomingdale’s, and Macy’s. Tabby’s quite the efficient shopper. A few hours and a few poplin shirts, dresses, and slacks (I can’t believe I’m using the term slacks) later, I think we have a wardrobe. We even found a few pieces with a tiny, minuscule edge to them. With the more conservative pieces, I’m able to add a twist: funky earrings or a spiked belt. Tabby made the score of the day: a pair of smoking black platform pumps with a silver-capped toe. She did, however, make me promise to only wear ONE Jules piece per outfit. And that is nothing but a travesty because I’m telling you, the shoes, belt, and funked-out earrings are screaming to go out as a package deal.
By the time we make our way home, I’m completely spent. All I want is a bath and my bed.
But plans take a turn once we see a familiar hot piece of ass on a motorcycle in front of us.
Chapter 4
Foster
Jules passes by my bike in her boat of a car. Tabby’s in the passenger seat.
Looks like it’s time to man up.
At the stoplight, I catch up to them, moving close to Tabby’s window. I circle my hand so she’ll roll down the window.
“Hey.” I lean in so I can get a look at Jules. She looks cute, and younger somehow—carefree. All of the color is gone in her long locks, which I personally loved. I like my Jules with an edge. Still, this version of her looks good enough to eat.
“Hey,” the girls answer in unison.
“What are you ladies up to on this fine afternoon?”
“We went shopping for Jules’ attorney-wear,” Tabby answers.
I lean in to see Jules again. “You didn’t tell me you got the internship.”
“Last time I saw you, you were too shitfaced to talk,” she says with a glare.
“I—” I start to explain, but Jules points at the light that’s now changed to green and she begins to accelerate.
“Come by the house,” Tabby yells out the window. “Jules is putting on a fashion show.”
Who could say no to that? Not me. I rev my engine and follow them to the apartment.
~~~
“The place looks killer,” I tell Tabby when we walk in. It really is the perfect blend of their two personalities. Soft and elegant like Tab and funky and fiery like Jules—who is still clearly pissed at me.
“Show me your room,” I pick up Jules in a cradle and walk her through the door, despite her surprisingly hard punches to my chest.
Showtime.
“Foster Sutton,” Jules hisses. “If you don’t put me down right now, I will give you a replay of my knee to your balls. This time in slow motion.”
“Hey now, Jules.” I try to lighten the mood. “No need to get violent. I know you’re pissed at me and I can only assume it’s from yesterday,” I say. “Which, I might add, I don’t remember. I w
ent black at about four o’clock.”
“Of course you did,” she snaps.
“It was one last hurrah after my last final,” I lie, not wanting to go into my real reason for downing half a bottle of Jameson. “I told you, I’m on the straight and narrow now, and I promise, no more hitting on you or begging for one last hook-up. I want to be your friend and not some asshole trying to get into your pants.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“I’m saying it now. I’m sober and plan to stay that way. I have my own internship this summer and I need to be coherent.”
“What?” Jules asks, this time with a smile. She really does care about me. Even now, when she’s pissed, it doesn’t stop her from being happy for me. I want to kiss her. Badly. Pick her up and throw her on the bed and smother her with my mouth until there’s no part of her left untouched.
Get it together, man.
“You’re looking at the new apprentice to Chef Paul at that little bistro in Uptown. I start tomorrow.”
“Foster.” Jules wraps her tiny arms around my waist.
I breathe her in. I can smell the herbs on her. The lavender from her bath and the mint on her breath—she’s been drinking tea.
“I’m so proud of you.” She reaches up to kiss me on the cheek.
“I should say the same.” I kiss her back. “Our own little Ally McBeal.”
“We should celebrate. Let me cook for you,” I blurt.
She gives me a confused look.
Slow down, you’re scaring her.
“After the fashion show, let me cook something for you and Tabby.”
There we go. Add the best friend into the plans—good recovery, Sutton.
“Can’t,” Jules says. “We’re continuing our girls’ time with movies.”
“Okay, what about tomorrow night? I can show you what I learned after one day on the job.”
“No can do, big guy.” She frowns, but doesn’t seem to be all that upset. “We’re going out tomorrow. Tabby’s leaving for Illinois on Sunday to spend some time with her family before summer semester starts. So we’re having our own last hurrah.”
“Oh, maybe—”
“Noah’s coming with us,” she interrupts.
Shut down.
“Ah,” I say. There’s no way the noble master would approve of having me along—not to mention my deal with him. After the accident, and after everything came out, I promised I’d stay clear of Jules. Friendship with Jules, nothing more, is what I agreed to. It’s that, or Noah tells Jules what really happened between Jenna and me. If that were to happen, there’d be nothing left of our relationship. I’d rather have Jules this way than not at all. No matter how much it sucks.
“Maybe next week then,” I say, trying not to look sad and pathetic. “Now let’s get this fashion show going.”
The next thirty minutes progress with oohs and aahs from Tabby. Meanwhile, I’m stuck trying to adjust myself every few minutes so Jules doesn’t know exactly how I feel about seeing her all career-sexy.
For the finale, she comes out in a casual sundress and I about lose my shit.
Tabby stands. “And this.” She waves her hands over Jules. “Is for casual Fridays at the office.”
Jules rolls her eyes.
“Sweater on during the day.” Tabby pats her arms, before sliding the sweater off Jules’ shoulders. She’s enjoying herself, making a big production out of it. “Sweater off for our Friday nights on the town.”
Tabby laughs and Jules is now visibly blushing.
“What’s the matter, Foster?” Tabby teases. “Need a tissue for all that drool?”
I snap my mouth shut.
Though I’ve seen Jules in much less, there’s something about this dress that’s so unbelievably hot. It fits her tiny body perfectly, but isn’t slutty or overdone—like most of Ash’s wardrobe. She is the epitome of feminine as the dress hugs each delicate curve perfectly. The material is soft cotton and I imagine running my hands over it, over her, unzipping the back, and letting it pool on the floor. Taking her—
Tabby’s clapping jerks me out of my reverie.
“Yes, this is perfect to wear tomorrow,” Tabby says as she releases Jules’ dark waves from the tail she had it secured in. The silky curls drape across her shoulders and Tabby fusses with them.
It’s almost my undoing.
“There,” Tabby adds. “A little gloss for your lips and done and done.” She swipes one hand across the other, clearly proud of herself.
All I can think about is some jackoff at the bar pawing at Jules.
There’s no way I’m going to let that happen. It’s just that simple. I guess I have plans for tomorrow night after all.
Chapter 5
Jules
After Foster leaves, taking the last of my pride with him, we finish the night watching old Hitchcock films. Tab said I deserved a reward and I can’t argue. Not only the shopping and hair, but making me try on all those clothes for Foster was beyond embarrassing.
The funny thing is, it didn’t seem like he minded all that much. Some of the time he appeared to be enjoying himself. God, I love him in those moments, when there’s no stress and he’s just himself. I hope he makes the straight and narrow work this time. I hate to see him waste his talents.
I try to concentrate on the movie, but Noah’s calls and texts to Tabby interrupt all the best parts—like when Tippi is being pecked to hell by the birds. And with all the buzzing of his incoming love messages, I’m having a hard time enjoying the blood and gore.
Noah Adler is Tab’s boyfriend and Editor-in-Chief of our college paper. Foster and I grew up with him and he’s a pretty amazing guy. Most importantly, he is Fred Astaire to Tabby’s Ginger Rogers. The two are ridiculously gorgeous and completely hot for each other.
“All right, lady,” I yell at her. “Go already.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, looking up from her phone.
“Go to your man.” I wink.
“No,” she says rather unconvincingly. “What about our girls-go-boring day? This is our special time together.”
“You’ve been with me since nine a.m. Go. Plus, I want to watch the ending in peace without the incessant vibrating of your phone—it’s reminding me of Henry, and I’m out of batteries, so actually you’re giving me blue balls.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
“Okay then,” she agrees. “But we all have a date tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be ready,” I say, giving her a tight squeeze when she hugs me goodnight. “Thanks for everything today, Tab.”
“You did good.” She kisses the top of my head before dashing out to the love of her life.
That look in her eyes does something to me in the moment, and I decide it’s time. Time for me to find someone to put that look in my eyes. Foster and I are friends and he’s made it perfectly clear that’s where we’re staying—the dreaded friend zone—so it’s stupid to keep waiting on him.
Yes, it is past time I find someone. I flip my new hairstyle from side to side. I can do this.
The search begins—tomorrow.
Chapter 6
Foster
Jules sends me a good luck text in the morning as I get ready for my first day at the bistro. I smile, knowing she’s thinking about me.
I clock my time on the motorcycle: from the parking lot, over the river, through the neighborhoods, into Uptown, to the staff lot outside of Paul’s Bistro. Nineteen minutes. I may be a fuck-up, but I’m a punctual fuck-up.
A skinny red-head meets me at the door.
“Foster?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Are you Jared?”
“The one and only.” He grins, nodding so much his hair flops all over.
Goofy dude.
“Chef Paul said you’d get me set up today.”
“You bet,” he says, leading me inside.
We walk through the quaint European-style restaurant filled w
ith small tables. They’ve made great use of the space. The beige walls are covered in artwork and there are flowers and candles everywhere. It’s warm and inviting—definitely a place you’d want to take a date.
Jared seems like a good guy, cracking jokes throughout the tour and introducing me to staff along the way. I like it here already.
I follow him outside to the courtyard, the best part of the place. This is where I had my interview with Chef Paul. There’s a garden and lights strung overhead.
“So Keesha tells me to watch myself,” Jared says. “She said you’ll be running this place in a week.”
My friend Keesha worked with me at my last restaurant, a funky burger joint in Northeast Minneapolis. Paul is her uncle and I’m not ashamed to say Keesha got me this gig.
“No,” I tell him. “I’m just here to work. I have no interest in running anything.”
I mean it.
I can’t afford to be sucked into a delusion. I watched my dad with all his big plans too many times to go down that road. I’ll stick to safe, dependable. Unlike Dad, who died chasing dreams.
When I was in junior high, my poor old man had another one of his money-making schemes underway, refurbing old cars and selling them for a profit. But like most of his get-rich-quick plans, everything was done half-assed—shoddy equipment, inexperienced mechanics, zero money management. Dad was killed when a faulty vehicle lift dropped the car he was working on.
As a kid, I was devastated. We didn’t have the best family life—Mom and Dad fought a lot over money and the time he spent away from us—but my little brother, Tristan, and I adored our dad. As an adult, I’ve become more jaded and all I can do is shake my head at the fucking tragedy—not about the way he died, but the way he lived. He wasted so much time wanting more.
Before Dad died, we lived on the reservation for a few years. It was no picnic, for Mom especially. Being an outsider, she never really fit in. None of us did. And that shit stays with you. If you are always a burden and never really belong, it’s imprinted on you—deeper than my tattoo. Even if you’re too young to understand.