Bab 3: Chapter 3

“I think you’re just chasing a cowboy again. You’re good at that. This’ll be your third one in as many years.”

“Fourth,” I corrected her. “You’re forgetting Tag.”

She rolled her eyes at me, blushed sweetly, and said, “Tag is forgettable and doesn’t count. Neither of us knew he was into little boys. That’s a sin, you know.”

“I know, Mel.”

“And I’m not talking eighteen-year-olds, either. Elementary boys with rosy cheeks—sickens me to this day. That man was a Carl Sandusky all the way, and a monster.”

“Let’s not get into this again. You’ll rant for the next hour and get filthy drunk.”

She agreed, nodding. My friend of friends tucked her lipstick into her faux leather handbag, took her apple martini from the glass end table, and said, “We should toast your desperation.”

I sort of chuckled, enjoying her humor and friendship to the fullest. “Don’t you mean to ‘cowboy chasing?’”