Page 4 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?

They smiled at each other for a moment. Finally, Rachel covered Ella’s hand, her expression one of quiet sincerity.

“This was a good move, E. There’s so much going on here.

The tech scene is bustling and hiring all the time.

You want to work for a politician? We have thousands just up the interstate looking for all kinds of digital artists.

Want a girlfriend? I can definitely place you right in the middle of the whole scene. ”

“Let’s slow our roll on that last part. At least until I figure my life out.”

Rachel touched her oval-shaped wineglass to Ella’s. “You and me both. After Max and all her bullshit, I don’t know that I want back in that ring ever again.”

“Cheers to that.” She tipped the glass to her lips and let the bold, smooth flavors wash over her taste buds. Raspberries, earthiness, and a hint of spice. “This is good stuff.”

“Told ya.” Rachel led the way to the couch and sat back in total lounge mode, glass and wrist dangling.

That’s when Ella realized that her outfit was a near match for the drapes.

She’d designed herself right into her own color scheme, which was so quintessential Rachel Lenoir that she almost had to laugh.

Ella could never master that kind of coordination for …

anything. Call it the artist in her, but she flew by the seat of her pants, a happily creative mess winging it most of the time.

“So, how have you been since the nightmare that was Max?” Ella asked. “Still going through it? I haven’t laid eyes on you since you were in Tulsa a couple of weeks before the breakup.”

“Sad, pissed off, and sad again. I’m sure you can identify.” Ella’s own breakup occurred a good six months before Rachel’s, but she remembered every awful stage. “She got most of the friends when we split. At least the good ones. Fuck her.”

“Fuck her. We hate her all the more.” Ella did, too.

Because that was how friendship worked. You showed up for each other, and loyalty was everything.

Max, after playing the role of a loving girlfriend, had up and ghosted Rachel after their four-month relationship.

Though Ella had never met Max in person, it was clear from the stories Rachel had passed along that she was a shady, self-involved player. No one deserved that.

“She’s probably on woman number five by now,” Rachel said with a disgusted shake of her head.

Her green eyes narrowed. “I feel like four was a brief interlude, probably motivated by boredom. That’s how she is.

Maybe even just to taunt me.” She sighed, her gaze falling to the fabric of the couch as if the thought just stole the wind from her sails.

“So, you’ve seen her out with these women?” Ella asked.

“Glimpses on Insta. Plus, I hear things and can fill in the blanks.”

Ella couldn’t imagine dealing with that kind of pointed animosity. If Britney had thrown jabs at her post-breakup, the healing would have been exponentially harder. “I’m so sorry she targets you like that, Rach. I’m just relieved she showed her true colors before you were any further in.”

“I’m glad you didn’t marry Britney, too.” Rachel sipped her wine. “We’re like the breakup twins, and, honestly, that helps.”

“Now, if only you’d lose your job, we could be the unemployed breakup twins.” Without prompting, they both raised their glasses high in the air.

“To life and the way it continues to throw us into oncoming traffic,” Rachel said with mock joy.

“I heard that.”

“You hungry?”

“Maybe.” Ella looked behind her. “Do you have Oatmeal Hoopties?”

Rachel smiled, pride radiating. “It’s like I knew you were coming or something.”

Ella exhaled and sat up a little taller. This was why they were close. No one knew her like Rachel did. And in that moment, Ella knew without a doubt that she was right where she was supposed to be. “Hey,” she said to her louder, cooler friend, someone she could probably learn a lot from.

“What?” Rachel asked as she rounded the couch to the kitchen for a bowl of sugary cereal that would be Ella’s second helping today.

She shrugged. “I love you. You know that?”

Rachel placed her palms flat on the perfectly white speckled granite.

“I love you, too, E.” A pause. “And thank fucking God you’re finally here!

” she yelled and hit the countertop. She had an aversion to excessive sentimentality, and that was okay.

“All right. Mushy part of the evening is over. Let’s eat, veg, and then sleep late, because it’s the wonderful weekend. ”

“You and me,” Ella said, moving two fingers from her eyes to Rachel’s. “Like this.”

“Always, you nerd.” She handed Ella her bowl.

“Love you.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I can’t help it,” Ella said. “I feel like gushing.”

Rachel popped a bite of popcorn and smiled.

“Fine. Love you more.” She blew Ella a kiss and they dug in, allowing the evening to fall off of them.

Ella leaned back into the cushions, the soft glow of the TV dancing across the room.

Her shoulders dropped for what felt like the first time in weeks.

This—this easy rhythm, this quiet understanding was exactly what she’d needed.

There was a lot to look forward to, and Ella couldn’t wait to get started.

Her new life was here, simply waiting for her to dive in.

Max Wyler was not about to let the fatigue that infused every part of her body get in the way of the workout she’d desperately craved all day.

Forfeit wasn’t in her DNA. She couldn’t have foreseen that the mediation between her new clients would become as complicated as it had that afternoon.

Divorces were never easy, but when one of the parties, the asshole husband in this case, was condescending and manipulating the couple’s assets, it made her job all the more difficult.

She started with a two-mile run on the treadmill, allowing the slight pull of her muscles to distract her from the mental stress she still carried from the late-afternoon session.

She’d always been levelheaded and capable of zeroing in on the big picture, which is why her transition from family law attorney to divorce mediator had been such a natural one.

Days like today, though, had her reaching for a release.

Sex, exercise, or food usually did the trick.

Today, she’d chosen the least complicated path.

She kicked her own ass in a rotation of cardio and strength training, finishing with fifteen minutes of self-directed yoga to return to a more peaceful stasis.

By the time she rolled her mat and wiped down her equipment, the tension in her shoulders had finally started to loosen. She gave herself a moment, then made her way to the locker room, where the real reward waited.

She paid extra for her gym membership for perks like private, spacious showers, soft lighting in the locker room, a hydrotherapy pool, and fancy toiletries for the taking.

She wasn’t rich herself, but her clients certainly were, and that allowed her to live a comfortable existence, albeit with a few splurges here and there.

“Maxine Wyler, where exactly have you been?” Amanda Jimenez leaned her back against the counter, where Max was brushing out her now-wet, dark hair.

Amanda had chosen to wear only a towel for their conversation, which was so very Amanda-like.

Not that Max minded the view. Amanda was blessed in the boob department and flaunted the gift generously.

She liked to flirt, but always respected Max’s boundaries, which made their friendship easy.

Max offered a brief wince. “Thirteen-hour days have a way of cancelling my gym plans.”

“That, yes. But I haven’t seen you out either. And I’ve looked. I’ve missed you holding those smoky drinks you like.” She added a sexy pout, and if Max wasn’t mistaken, she’d also just shoved her breasts about a foot higher than they’d been even a mere moment ago.

“Oh, the smoked old-fashioned at Dexter’s Pub.

I miss them, too. What’s new out there?” It was Max’s way of checking in on the nightly scene she’d been out of for the past couple of months.

This city had relatively decent bar options for queer women, with about three locations where people tended to gather.

But the community was circular in nature, which made Max grow wary.

Everyone seemed to know everyone, which made dating kind of like threading a needle.

You had to be delicate in who you flirted with or took home for the night, because it was, in all likelihood, going to upset somebody else.

She’d been spending more time in DC these days for that very reason.

After her last relationship, which had been tumultuous to say the least, casual definitely felt like the way to go.

Less drama. Love seemed like a mythical concept these days, and that stance was only reinforced by the dissolving relationships she handled daily at the office.

“What’s new? Let’s see …” Amanda paused. “Teresa Rowe is engaged. Ivy just graduated from bartending school. Melinda is done with sex until politics turns around.”

“Lies.”

“Right? Surely, there’s something else she can do to fight back. Can you imagine never taking your clothes off and pressing your body to another woman’s again?”

“Excuse me,” an older woman said, reaching between them for a sample bottle of moisturizer.

“You’re going to love that,” Amanda told her in a soothing voice. “Your skin will never feel so soft. Use it generously.”

“Oh, I will. And now I’ll leave you two to your naked pressing.”

Max had to smile. “Sorry about that,” she said after the woman.

“No need. I was frisky once or twice. Still am on occasion.” She touched her hairdo, held up her moisturizer, and slowly sashayed her way back to her locker.