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Not that I can call her my friend anymore. Or that I should’ve called her a friend before.
My father’s voice butts into my pity party. “Well, I’m sure you have someone else to take. I’ll leave the tickets, Lenore, and like I said, if you need more, let me know.”
“Sure, Dad. I’ll let you know.”
Like I have friends who are dying to go to a hockey game.
“Bye, Dad.”
“Miss you, honey.”
I pause as surprise hits me. “Miss you, too.”
It’s evident that he’s trying. I’m probably the only one not.
The call ends, and I clutch my phone in my hands. Zaiah would love to go to a pro hockey game. But then I’d have to tell him how I got the tickets and who my dad is. Would he be mad I didn’t tell him sooner?
Peeking up, I spot Flora. She’s pretending not to look at me, but for once, her fingers aren’t flying over the keyboard. God, she’d be a horrible undercover reporter.
“Hey…” I walk toward her. “Do you want to take this workday to the café?”
She peers at the coffee cup I sat on the table, but my gaze immediately moves to Clark to make sure he’s still in his office.
She grins like she knows I’m about to spill the tea. “Hell yeah. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
I grab my stuff I hadn’t even unpacked yet, and Flora and I take off. Clark looks up at the last minute before I can escape, but he’s on the phone, so he can’t say anything. He watches me go, his face full of unsaid questions.
“Girl, what’s going on?” Flora asks as soon as we make it outside. “There was some major weirdness going on between you and Clark and not the usual you pining after him when he doesn’t notice.”
I give her a look.
She holds her hands up. “It’s the truth. Look at you. Clandestine phone calls. Clark staring over like a star-crossed, jaded lover. How did your life get interesting all of a sudden?”
Maybe I asked the wrong person to talk to about this. I don’t need another friend to make fun of me when I really need them to listen.
“Hey.” She pulls me to a stop. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Genuinely. I was only teasing.”
I peer into her eyes. There’s a subtle difference from the way Trish used to apologize to the way Flora just did. Trish used to do it like she couldn’t believe I was upset. She did it begrudgingly and with a hint of annoyance. I don’t see the same in Flora.
“Apology accepted. I’m sorry.”
“No,” Flora says. “I apologize, you say okay, and that’s it. You don’t apologize back.”
“Okay, I take my apology back.”
“Well, now you’re just being a bitch.”
She smirks, and I understand the teasing that time. “Get used to it.”
She nearly jumps up and down. “I cannot wait to hear what happened. This is going to be so good.”
I laugh as we turn toward the café again. She places her arm through mine, and we walk linked. Campus is sparse, only the occasional person meandering between classes, but the closer we get to the café, the busier it is.
“I hope we can find a seat,” I muse.
“Oh, we’re getting a seat. Even if we have to sneak these into the library. By the way, you already have a coffee.”
I grin, sipping. “Then I’ll grab the seat while you catch up.”