Holly releases a long, slow breath of ‘I’m gonna kill you, bitch’ and sets her teasing brush down. “You did not. Start at the beginning and catch me all up . . . from when I forced you to go for drinks with this guy and Bubba fucked everything up.”

I need to do this, even though I want to keep it all to myself like a greedy little whore. Memories I can take out and examine when I’m old and gray like Mrs. Cochran after a lifetime of being alone.

Poor dear, Mrs. Cochran tsks.

But if I don’t tell Holly everything, she might not understand just how dangerous the situation has become and give me the advice I need. I steel my spine and tell her everything . . . from the morning texts to the emergency call for trivia help, the encouragement without pressure to come inside at his office, our evening of Scooby Gang research, and finishing with our kitchen island activities.

As embarrassing as it is, I even tell her that part.

“Hols, I never even got my shoes off, much less my pants, and with two fingers, this man rocked my world in ways I’ll be dreaming about forever.”

My eyes lose focus as my mind disappears back to last night and how good Blake made me feel. Yes, with his hand and mouth, but also with his mind, his words.

“Fuck, I need my world rocked like that.” Holly sighs wistfully. Meeting my eyes, she smiles. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I know, and that’s the problem! I never have a hard time keeping everyone at bay. Except for you, of course,” I accuse with a pointed finger and eye roll. “But you’re a crazy bitch.”

“Of course.” She preens as though that were high praise.

“And now Blake,” I groan. “What am I going to do?”

This is the part where she reminds me of my history—of everyone I’ve lost, of my bad luck, all the stupid accidents and improbable happenstances in the lives of the people I care about. This is when she reminds me of my fate, my destiny to be alone for everyone else’s good, and tells me that it’s selfish to risk someone’s life because I’m lonely and Blake makes me wish for things I can’t have, even telling me that he doesn’t believe in luck and is willing to risk it . . . risk me. I need her to remind me because I’m forgetting. Not the losses, of course, but the sharpness of the pain. With it being so long ago, softened by time, it’s starting to seem worth the gamble.

Blake seems worth it.

“What makes this guy different?” Holly asks carefully.

That’s not what I expected her to say at all. My head falls back, and I stare at the fluorescent light overhead. “Everything? He quotes me statistics and silly trivia. He’s so damn smart, and that’s sexy as fuck. But at the same time, he’s got this sweet, romantic, believes-in-happily-ever-afters heart. I don’t know what to do with that!” I spin the stool around, already feeling dizzy at my whiplash thoughts, and then stop facing Holly. “He makes me want to believe too,” I confess shamefully, “but we both know how dangerous that is.”

“Is it?” Holly challenges me with a fierce look.

“Ugh. Holly, you know everything that’s happened. I told you when I tried to shoo you off.”

“Exactly. And I didn’t let it scare me away, so maybe this Blake Hale guy has some big brass balls that clang like mine do” —she hits her thighs over the apron, framing her nonexistent testicles— “and isn’t scared off by some tragic backstory you’ve created as a way to protect your fragile, wittle, hurt heart.” Holly pats her heart and pouts with puppy dog eyes.

“Ouch,” I deadpan, but that does really sting.

“Zoey,” Holly continues, giving me ‘the look’, “buckle up, babe. Sister Holly is about to lay some truth on you, and you ain’t gonna like it one bit, but you need to hear me loud and clear. You ready?”

“Honestly, no.”

Holly nods once, firmly. “Don’t matter, because here it comes. Back to the beginning . . . that Michael kid, the peanut butter allergy one? He should’ve known to ask about exposures, been his own advocate or something. Or the parents should’ve known better than to send their hyper-allergic ass of a kid off to sleepaway camp. Yes, it was a bad smooch. All people’s first kisses suck even if they don’t want to admit it, and yours was admittedly the worst of the worst. But that wasn’t your fault because you were a kid playing a game, not asking for full disclosure and STD tests before smooching.” She pauses and holds up a finger, her tone going from smackdown to educational. “FYI, you need to do that these days. Get him tested. If Blake acts put off by it, or God help him, refuses to wear a condom, you get yourself right up and see yourself out the door. If he can’t have an adult conversation about bodily functions, run. He’ll be a selfish lover, guaranteed.”

I blink, still overwhelmed by the change in direction of this conversation. “Uhm . . .”

Holly switches back into all-business, burning my bridges down like a townsperson with a torch. “And Jordan? Babe, that guy was a lazy asshole who didn’t check his own ass for cleanliness, much less his chute for functionality. I’m just glad you didn’t jump that day too, because who knows if he checked your chute. You could’ve plunged to your death because he was too busy playing video games to perform actual life-saving procedures.”