“So he just left it like that? And you didn’t make a concerted effort to strip down naked and demand he bang you like a prized stud horse?”

Blake moved her cell phone to her other ear as her best friend, Celeste, berated her for the missed opportunity. As if she hadn’t been angry enough at herself. Gavin’s shift had ended before hers, and he’d said a soft “Goodbye” before hurrying out the door. The only consolation she had was that Stu had tasked Gavin with helping her again the next day.

“As appealing as that image is, my manager was watching me like a hawk, and he’s not my first choice for a threesome.” Blake dumped spaghetti into a pot of water and turned on the burner. “But there’s always tomorrow.”

“Yeah. You better have a super-hot story to tell me tomorrow.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“At least you still have a job. The manager could’ve fired you, and then you’d have lost the opportunity to have what I’m imagining will be a life-changing orgasm.”

“Why are you imagining my orgasm?”

Celeste sighed. “Because I live a very sad life. So what’s he look like? I need more specific details.”

“My manager?”

“No. The guy you’re seducing.”

“I don’t know that it counts as a seduction as much as a proposition.”

“The end result is the same,” Celeste argued.

“This is true. And I told you he’s hot. Probably around six feet tall, short blond hair that’s a little longer on top, wide like a football player, symmetrical features, green eyes.”

“He sounds amazing in bed. Or on a table. Whatever surface is closest.”

“You’re nuts,” Blake replied as she poured sauce into another pot she had on the stove.

“I’m aware. You working at the bar tonight?”

“Nah, I’m off because it was my first day at the coffeehouse, and I figured I’d be tired.” Blake had been working at Reed’s Bar for four years. She’d wandered in there after being fired from a clothing store nearby and had been hired after she’d broken up an almost bar fight by screaming, Can you assholes move so I can get a drink? Apparently being yelled at by a tiny white girl was somehow endearing. It was one of the few places where people seemed to like her as she was, and that made her love the place.

“Feel like grabbing dinner?” Celeste asked.

“I already started making something. Maybe another night.”

“You’re cooking?”

Blake went over to the refrigerator and took out the ketchup. “Yes, I’m cooking. Why?”

“You can’t cook.”

Sighing, Blake replied, “Everyone can cook, Celeste.”

“What are you making?”

Blake was confused but thankful Celeste didn’t continue arguing with her. “Spaghetti.”

“What was that noise?”

“What noise?”

“That one. The one that sounds like you’re squeezing a bottle.”

Blake looked at the ketchup in her hand. “It’s a bottle.”

“Of what?” Celeste asked, her voice getting louder.

“Ketchup.”

“Oh my God, Blake, are you putting ketchup on spaghetti?”

Blake scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Whew.”

“I’m adding it to the sauce.”

Celeste was silent for a moment, prompting Blake to look down at her phone to see if they’d been disconnected. “Why aren’t you talking?”

“Because I don’t know what to say.”

“Okay. Do you want to call me back when you figure it out?” Blake offered.

“Why are you putting ketchup in your sauce?” Celeste asked, evidently having found her words.

“Because I didn’t have enough sauce left, so I figured since they’re both made from tomatoes, I could just combine them.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“The consistency is weird. I think I need to add some water.” Blake walked over to the sink and filled a cup.

“Please don’t.”

Blake poured the cup into the sauce and stirred.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Celeste asked.

“Yup. It looks better.”

“I feel bad for your kitchen.”

Blake heard her front door unlock before it opened and closed. When she heard feet scuffle into the kitchen, she turned. “Hi, Bethany.”

“Ugh, that bitch is home?” Celeste groaned through the phone.

Blake ignored the question and watched as her roommate, Bethany, walked to the refrigerator, flicking her long brown hair over her shoulder as she went.

“I’m making spaghetti if you want some,” Blake offered.

Bethany peered into the fridge but must not have found anything worthwhile, because she came over to Blake and glanced into the pot. She immediately pulled back, her face pinched. “What the hell is that? It looks like blood.”

Blake looked down into her sauce. “Oh, damn, you guessed the secret ingredient.”

Bethany stared at her. “See. This is the shit that freaks me out. You’re kidding, right?”

Blake just shrugged. If her roommate couldn’t tell, why should Blake?

“I’m so over this crazy shit,” Bethany muttered. She started to walk out of the kitchen before adding, “Oh, by the way, I’m moving out.”

Blake’s head snapped around in time to see a smirk on Bethany’s lips.

“When?” Blake asked.

“Tomorrow,” Bethany said in a sing-song voice that made Blake want to force-feed her an apple that would put her to sleep indefinitely. And with that, she stomped down the short hall and slammed her bedroom door.

“Well, she was pleasant as usual,” Celeste said. “What’d she last? Two months?”

“Three,” Blake replied as she stirred the spaghetti that looked wilted, but not in the way it was supposed to.

“Almost a record.”

It was. The longest roommate Blake had ever had was Shelly at five months, and she’d only lasted as long as she did because she’d spent two of them hooked on keyboard duster and the remaining three in rehab.

“Maybe I should look for a male roommate next time. I get along great with all of the guys at Reed’s.”

Celeste laughed. “That’s because you’re hot, and they mistake your sarcasm for flirting.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“Jesus Christ. Throw that shitty dinner in the trash and meet me at Lobo’s in half an hour. I don’t want to give that asshole Bethany the satisfaction of finding you dead from food poisoning.”

Blake turned off the stove and carried her sauce to the trash. “If you insist.”