Page 109 of Wicked Pickle

When we’re settled with our food, Mina says, “So, how are you really? No word from biker boy?”

Everyone seems to know about Diesel and me, even though I didn’t broadcast it.

I peer at my bread, afraid she’ll see an emotion on my face that I’d rather not share. “No. He’s gone, gone.”

“Hmmm.” She turns her sandwich around in her hands. “And the bar?”

“It closed yesterday.” I called a week ago, dying to know if Diesel had told me the truth. But he had.

At first, Jake and Vicki and Jose kept the bar going cash-only. But as kegs got tapped and supplies ran out, they weren’t authorized to order more. They shut down the Leaky Skull before the permit office could get to them.

“Sucks. But at least we’ve got this!” She gestures toward the window with the towering federal building in the distance. “We’re going to be in a great position when we get our degrees. The sky is the limit!”

I try to eat my sandwich, but like it has been for the two weeks since Diesel left, my stomach isn’t interested. I take a few forced bites.

This summer has changed everything. My friendship with Bailey is pretty much over. Marietta works opposite hours as me at the bookstore, so we see other much less.

Jenna and I have class together, but she feels torn between Bailey and me, and I don’t want to inadvertently give her information she’ll pass on. So, we don’t talk like we used to.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, Billy got an interview finally. Maybe he’ll join us, too!”

“That’s great.”

“You know, I think he likes you. You don’t give him a second look, but he has his eye on you all the time.”

I set my sandwich down. “Really?”

“Totally. But if he works here, maybe it’s not the best timing. I hear workplace romances are dangerous if they go belly up. Still. Give him a look. I think he’s a good guy.”

A good guy. I sip my soda. Do I want a good guy? I imagine Billy kissing me, and nope. No. Not working.

My mind slides back to Diesel. On his desk. By the stairs in my apartment. In his bed.

My chest stutters a breath. I haven’t cried over this, and I don’t plan to. It was fun. Wild. Wicked.

He was never going to be around for long. I got him way more than most of his dalliances did.

Mina notices my silence. “I’ve never had a love like that. I don’t know what to say.”

“It wasn’t love,” I tell her. “Just …” What was it? Sex. Craziness.

But maybe there was something more. Not love, exactly. But compatibility. Edginess. A way of pushing each other.

“He used to sketch me,” I say. I haven’t told anyone, not even Marietta. But if he’s gone, it doesn’t matter.

“He was an artist, too?” Mina opens her chip bag. “Usually those are so sensitive. I don’t associate biker bad boys with art.”

“Well, he was.” I don’t know what I’m arguing it. Why I spilled that at all.

But Mina’s right. It didn’t match his outward attitude.

I’d barely scratched the surface of who he really was.

And it was over.

“I only get half an hour,” Mina says, folding up her leftover sandwich. “You?”

“An hour, actually.”