Page 41 of Good For Me

“Shit,” Brie mutters, pulling the pitcher from my hand so I can lean over more. “Sorry. Shit. You just went white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, swallowing hard, clutching the counter. “But let’s avoid talking about…that. Okay?”

“Of course,” she sounds sheepish. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Huge idiot,” I agree, squeezing my eyes tight.

She rubs slow circles on my back. “Stay here. Breathe. I’ll bring their water and take drink orders.”

I want to tell her I’ll handle it but the room still feels awfully spinny and I’m afraid if I straighten I really might puke. So I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and mutter a thanks.

Breathe,I tell myself.Just breathe. It will pass.

“Hey,” a male voice calls as she approaches the new table. “It’s Brie, right?”

The silence from my best friend seems odd—heavy, somehow. When she answers the guy, her voice is tight and low, like she’s trying to keep her voice from travelling.

“Yeah. Good to see you again.”

“How’s the ink feeling?” he asks. “Did you remember to apply the salve I gave you?”

“Yup,” she mutters in that same low voice. It’s not at all like her. I hear the thuds and rattling ice of several water glasses hitting the table. “I’ll be back to take your drink orders,” she says hurriedly and I hear her footsteps approaching. The wave of dizziness and nausea is starting to pass so I straighten and open my eyes—and see my best friend standing right in front of me, her eyes wide and a little panicked.

“You should go to the back room,” she says in a hurried voice. “You still look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I say, confused by the weird vibe she’s putting off. “You know how this goes—it passes as quickly as it comes on.”

She darts a quick look over her shoulder, toward the new table, but when I try to peek around her she grabs my shoulders, her eyes wild. “Go to the back, Jas!”

“Why are you being so weird?” I demand. “You know that guy? Did he say something about your new tattoo?”

She closes her eyes, like she’s stealing herself. “I didn’t tell you who gave me the tattoo.”

“It wasn’t Hannie?” Brie has been seeing the same artist for years. She’s done all the art on her ever-growing sleeve.

“Hannie was out sick. I saw the owner instead.” Her expression looks like she just dropped some terrible news on me, and I have no idea what the big deal is.

“And the owner is…the guy at that table?” I guess.

She nods. “I need to tell you about my appointment,” she says quickly. “But I really,reallydon’t want to do it here. Will you please just trust me and go to the back?”

“You’re freaking me out.”

She groans. “Why are you so stubborn? You’ve always been this way, you know. You can never just—”

“Brie?”

A chill goes down my spine at the sound of the voice at the counter. It’s not the same guy I heard her talking to a moment ago, but there’s something familiar about it. Something I can’t quite—

“I thought that was you,” he says, and Brie closes her eyes, briefly. When she opens them, I see sympathy and hot anger in them.

“I’m sorry,” she mouths.

We’re standing behind the soda machine so I can’t see the guy at the counter without moving. And all of a sudden, I’m really not sure if I want to. A rush of cold certainty goes through me—I should have listened to her and gone to the back when I had the chance.

Brie holds my gaze for another second before spinning so fast her ponytail smacks my cheek. “What the fuck do you want?”

The anger in her voice only makes me feel worse. Because there aren’t many people in this world who could inspire that much protective rage from my best friend.