How the hell could she be confused at any part of my reaction? “Have you slept together?”
She hesitated in her answer—also, a yes. What if she fucks up all your stuff? What the fuck?”
It grew quiet, and I used the opportunity to put my shirt on, stewing on what she’d just told me and the implications. “No, thank you. I grew up in middle-class, upstate New York as one of four children to an architect mother and a musician father—well, step-father. “There’s sixty-something dollars in the side drawer. I, on the other hand, was an analyst in New York who made a high five digits. “Phoebe is fine.”
I nodded and gave her a weak smile. I usually visited here early in the morning before work when the customers were more sparse. He was probably right. The din of a busy coffee shop slipped into white noise as I drank my coffee, stared into space, and spent time processing my breakup. Lucas.”
“I keep telling you,” she said. So, that’s what I was to her: an option. You’re single in a city with the largest population of hot, unattached women in
