“I really want to respect your choices and be supportive of you, but as your friend, please know that everything you’re saying is still dumb. You should totally be making out with him.”

When I just shook my head as my response, she came over to sit on the other barstool. “You know I only want the best for you, right? Instead of drawing boundaries, I think you should go with the flow. See where the universe takes you.”

“That’s not really my thing. I’m more of a violently-struggle-against-the-flow type of person.” Sometimes I did make things harder than they needed to be.

We sat in silence for a moment until she said, “So, just friends, huh? Does that mean you’d be good with him dating someone else?”

“Is he?” The words rushed out of my mouth without my approval. “I mean, if he is, that’s fine. Good for him.” My reaction was totally unwarranted considering he’d told me himself that he wasn’t dating anyone. “As his friend, I would want him to be happy.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said in a singsong voice.

Yeah, neither did I.

But even if I wanted to date him and wasn’t desperately afraid of getting close to him, there still wouldn’t be any way. I couldn’t compete with the kind of women he could date. What did I have in common with the world’s most beautiful actresses and models?

I mean other than the fact that we were all hungry all the time?

“Well, I have to get ready for work.” She put an emphasis on the last word, clearly pleased to have a client again. She took her coffee mug to the sink. “Is there a message you want me to pass along to your newly acquired friend?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Maybe I’ll give him a good, rousing speech about how faint heart never won fair maiden,” she mused, rinsing her cup out and putting it into the dishwasher.

“It won’t do you any good. He accepted his defeat and retreated like a good soldier.”

She seemed to consider this. “Or . . . he didn’t retreat. Maybe he’s biding his time and planning to attack from another position.”

Shaking my head, I gathered up my stuff and then went into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I dropped my purse on my bed and plugged the charger into my phone. I peeled off my dress. I needed a shower, but Shelby would need to use it first.

For her new job.

My phone buzzed again, and I let myself have that moment of hope again before checking. My bank again. They must really want me to go into debt. But this time I bothered to read the first line.

It said SECURITY ALERT.