Page 17 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

They make room for me on the bed, and we sit in silence as Ronnie uncorks the bottle and carefully fills the glasses halfway.

She then examines each of the tumblers before purposely handing me the one printed with the words Wine about it , as if that will somehow make me talk.

For a moment, I expect her to say something first, but she doesn’t, waiting patiently.

I’m grateful she doesn’t bring up the Damian-shaped elephant in the room.

“So, what’s going on, Lex?” Andie finally asks in a gentle voice when I don’t, in fact, whine about it, opting instead to quietly sip from my glass. “Is your mom okay?”

There’s no hiding the grimace that pulls at my lips.

Part of me really doesn’t want to get into it.

I’ve held the tears in all day for Mom’s sake (except for that one little bastard that managed to slip free), and I’m afraid that if I open the flood gates and let them loose now, they might never stop.

Another part of me wants to spill my guts, and weep as they hold my hands and tell me that everything will be okay. Even though it won’t.

Not unless I find us a way out of this nightmare.

“The insurance company raised our deductible and, come January, won’t cover her oral chemo meds anymore.

” My voice breaks on that last word, and I pause, drawing in a breath and taking a few seconds to steady myself.

Once I’m certain my composure won’t crumble, I add, “Her treatments are still covered, but when the new year hits…well, it won’t matter.

They won’t continue paying for her infusions until that deductible is paid in full, and as for the meds themselves…

” I scoff. “They cost a fortune on their own. So, no. I don’t think she will be. ”

Ronnie presses one hand to her mouth, her eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. Clearly, she didn’t expect my news to be this bad. She flounders, quickly downing her wine, then gasps out the only response that suits the situation. “Shit. That’s beyond fucked up.”

I nod as my gaze drifts down to the quote staring back at me from the front of her glass— I make pour choices —and for a moment, I find myself thinking of Damian again. Poor choices, indeed. I bet that asshole has never worried about money a single day in his life.

“Yup,” I grumble, chugging the rest of my drink, and hold my tumbler out for a refill.

Once my glass is topped off, Ronnie sets her own empty cup down on my bedside table, and takes my free hand in hers, rubbing her thumbs over my skin in slow, soothing circles. Her cousin mimics the motion on my back, her palm warm through the fabric of my T-shirt.

“What are you guys going to do?” Andie asks.

I shrug. “I mean, I told her I’d drop out of Conwick and get a job, but she wasn’t really fond of that idea.”

Ronnie snorts. “What kind of job do you think you’d get as a college dropout, smarty pants? Probably not one that would pay anything close to what you need.” She releases my hand and taps a manicured nail against the middle of my forehead.

A frown twists my lips and tugs at my brow.

I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she’s right.

I can’t rely on a perfect SAT score and a college scholarship to get me a job with a high enough salary.

Or at least a job with good benefits, not that I could claim Mom as a dependent.

Which would mean paying for everything she needs treatment-wise out of pocket.

Without a degree or sufficient experience in the field, my options are limited. Still…

“I don’t know what other choice I have.” A lump swells in my throat, and I force myself to swallow. “If I don’t, she might…” But I can’t finish that sentence. I can’t even finish that thought.

“What about crowdfunding or something?” Andie suggests. “A lot of people do that these days to pay their medical bills.”

“Which is so sad,” Ronnie laments. “The system is well and truly fucked.”

I exhale a wheezy, mirthless laugh. “Agreed, but I don’t think my mom would want me asking a bunch of strangers for the money.

She’d see it as charity and find a way to feel guilty about it until it eats her alive.

Which we can all agree is ridiculous, but I think it’s because we’ve had to do things on our own for so long that she sees this as just another problem for us to bear the weight of alone.

Gina might be able to talk some sense into her, but I don’t see that happening. My mother is nothing if not stubborn.”

Not that I’ve entirely discounted the charity route. It would just have to be through some official channel for Mom to accept it.

“I could ask my dads to pay for it,” Ronnie says, as plainly as if we were just discussing the weather. “God knows they have more than enough money.”

My heart falters, but though my chest warms at her offer, I adamantly shake my head.

“I can’t let them do that, not with the kind of money we’d need.

Besides, we all know there’s no way in hell Mom would agree to take it.

Plus, your dads are paying three tuitions right now between you two and Sammy, and Conwick isn’t exactly a state college.

” Samantha—Andie’s younger sister—isn’t in college yet, but she goes to a swanky private high school which costs nearly as much as Conwick.

I can’t even imagine trying to afford one tuition let alone three.

Thank god for my scholarship or we’d really be screwed. “They have enough to pay for.”

And as much as I wish I could accept Ronnie’s offer, this isn’t their problem.

Andie makes a pensive humming sound. “Well, there must be something out there that can help without turning you into a charity case. Or a stripper.” She drums her fingers on her chin before rolling off the bed, a devious smile forming on her face as she prances over to my desk and sinks down into the spinning gray chair.

“Let’s have a little look, shall we?” She opens my laptop, brings up the browser, and starts typing in the search bar.

When she hits enter, a website pops up, and I sneer.

“Craigslist? Seriously ?”

She looks at me and cocks a brow. “Hey, this site has been known to have some quality shit on it. Besides, despite that incredible brain of yours, you have no qualifications, mi amiga, and minimum wage will not help you with your current predicament. Therefore, in the immortal words of Leia Organa, Craigslist is your only hope.”

“ Ugh , are you quoting Star Trek again?” Ronnie asks, not bothering to mask her disdain.

Unlike her nerd-culture loving, D&D-playing, cosplay-enthusiast cousin, Ronnie loves the classics, period dramas, and all things smutty romance.

When it comes to sci-fi and fantasy, though…

well, let’s just say we could only convince her to watch the Lord of the Rings movies because of Orlando Bloom.

Andie spins the chair around and gapes at her cousin. “ Star Wars . My god, how are we even related?”

I don’t point out the obvious—that because they aren’t biologically related, the odds of them sharing any traits, including non-hereditary ones like taste in film genre, are slim.

In fact, the two cousins are about as polar opposite as you can get despite being the children of twins, but that’s only because Marco isn’t Ronnie’s biological father.

When he and Simon—Ronnie’s other dad—hired a surrogate to help them have a baby, they both decided to throw their special sauce into the mix and never find out which swimmer was fastest. But the moment Ronnie was born with that porcelain skin and red hair, it was evident whose sperm had won that particular race.

Still, as Ronnie said this morning at Izzy’s, genetics aside, Andie is family. Just as these two bickering morons are my family.

Blood doesn’t mean a damn thing.

Sliding off the bed, I crouch beside Andie at my desk and wave a hand at the screen. “That’s definitely not what Leia said, but start scrolling.” Not that I actually believe Craigslist is the answer, but at this point, I’m willing to try anything.

Ronnie joins us, resting her chin on Andie’s left shoulder while I hover behind the other, watching with carefully contained interest as she presses on the trackpad with her thumb and swipes down, down, down with her index finger, coaxing listing after listing to inch up into view.

My eyes scan over every job title that floats into my eyeline, and as the seconds creep by, whatever flicker of optimism I felt at this plan withers and dies.

“Professional pancake flipper? These are ridiculous.”

“Ohhhh, this one’s looking for female social drinkers.” Ronnie thrusts her arm out, pointing at one of the ads. “I could do that. So could you, even if you are a bit of a lightweight.” When I give her an Excuse me? look, she blows me a kiss.

Curiosity piqued, I urge Andie to click on the listing and then scan the description. Drink to pay the bills? Don’t mind if I do. But when we reach the bottom where payment is mentioned, reality knocks some of the sense back into me. “They’re paying in IHOP gift cards. Pass.”

“But…pancakes!” Ronnie whines.

I throw a sidelong glance in her direction.

Ronnie could literally buy an IHOP if she wanted.

She doesn’t need to be paid in gift cards.

Then again, I know all too well what she’s like when she’s hungover.

Pancakes are her Kryptonite. Alcohol and pancakes?

A dangerous combination. Temptation personified.

“Pass,” I repeat. At my command, Andie clicks the back button and returns to scrolling the listings.

“Let’s see…” She mutters absently to herself as we continue scanning. “Sandwich artist. No. Experienced bra fitter. Interesting, but no. Beard mentor?” She peers up at me over her shoulder. “What the fuck is a beard mentor?”

I shake my head. “Why are you asking me?”