Page 4 of The World

“Oh no, Muffy darling,anythingbut Tuscanvineyards,” I muttered under my breath, repeating the bullshit the suit had said, while he was looking at the raffle prizes like he was trying to choose between different kinds of poison. “Don't you justhateTimes Square? Seen the Mediterranean once, seen it athousand times!”

It was like the guy didn’t get how fuckingluckyhe was that he’d gone to all these places or how lucky he’d be to go back. I’d decided I didn’t like him evenbeforehe’d bumped into me and caused me to drop the tickets I’d been clutching like tiny paper keys to a magical kingdom.

I mean, I knew my chances of winning anything had been slim. No matter what my friends and family back in O’Leary believed, I did havesomeclue how to calculate odds, whether it was the odds of moving to Boston and finding a writing job that would pay me enough to travel the world, or the odds of winning a getaway in a charity raffle. I knew both were extremely unlikely, but I’d never been one to let long odds dampen my enthusiasm or kill my optimism. As long as I lived in Boston, there was a chance I’d be successful here. As long as I’d held those tickets, there’d been a chance I’d win.

They hadn’t just been tickets, they’d beenhope. And after the past few shitty months, hope was in pretty short supply, even for me.

I sighed and brought out my phone to text my friend Parker, wishing for about the billionth time that he was still in Boston, still my roommate and confidant and wingman, the way he had been for the past ten years.

Me:Parkerrrrr!

Parker:Uh oh.

Me:What?

Parker:You put 5 r's in my name, Sunshine, that's what. You only whine when you're extremely pissed or when someone eats your donuts.

Me:No one's eaten my donuts since you left town. *sad face* You busy at the bar? I can let you go.

Parker had gone back to O’Leary a few months ago and opened a bar that was a big success. I was super proud and happy for him… and yeah, a little bit lonely. I missed him like crazy, especially at times like this.

Parker:Wow. Now I'm really worried. Whining, missing me eating your Dunkies, and avoiding the subject? Spill.

I sighed.

Me:Eh. It's no big thing. I'm at a bar. I had a chance to win a prize and I lost it. A guy bumped me.

Parker:What guy? What prize? Bumped you how?

Leave it to Parker to insist on important things, like facts, when all I wanted was a head-pat.

Me:A guy. Hot. Tall.

Parker:Your type?

Me:*snort* This guy iseveryone'stype.

Parker:Not seeing the problem.

I chuckled. God, I missed him. And not just because I couldn't find another roommate and the rent was fuckingcripplingme.

Me:He was rude. Rich and entitled. We don't like him.

Parker:Got it. And he bumped you… which is not a euphemism?

Me:Alas, no. He literally bumped into me and I dropped some raffle tickets.

It sounded stupid now that I was typing it. A pretty silly reason to be upset, especially for a guy who didn’t usuallydoupset, but…

Me:Here's the thing. I got a freelance gig writing content about a Heart2Heart charity event, and they comped my admission.

Parker:Sweet!

He had no idea. Lately, I'd jumped at every freelance content writing opportunity that came my way just to make ends meet. Last week I’d googled my way throughFive Lube-Alternatives You Have Around the House!, though with no boyfriend and no prospects in sight, I'd managed to stretch my single bottle of lube formonths,thank you very much.

This gig was a dream in comparison.

Me:When I got here, I saw they had these raffle prizes. Trips to Europe, New York… But the hot guy knocked into me and my tickets went flying and…Game over. I’m disappointed AF.