The Reality of You Read Online Free PDF Page A

obsessed with the idea of
cheap gourmet food.
    I liked preparing
food for my friends. Okay, my culinary skill simply ranged from toast to dips,
but dips were good. Dips were filling. Dips used chips. And what was better
than fried tortillas? Nothing. Well, except Doritos. But they were fried
tortillas with cheese-flavored dusting.
    “Naomi!”
    “What?” I snapped
down the tinfoil. “I was just looking.”
    Avery faced me with
her hands on her hips. “You have to be kidding me?”
    I stepped back,
pointing to the burrito pan. “I didn’t pick at them or anything.”
    “You’ve been mooning
over this guy for seven months and you’re not going to take this opportunity?”
    There had to be
something in the water on our block. Something that hadn’t affected me yet.
Something that warped people’s brains.
    I turned toward her,
nonchalantly resting my hands on the counter behind me. “So you’re thinking hot
sex on the beach too?”
    She pushed a hunk of
curly, black hair behind her ear as her blue eyes widened. “I’m thinking that
you find out he’s a jerk, or maybe you two will actually connect!” she said a
little breathlessly. Avery was the dreamy romantic in our group. “But really,
why wouldn’t you do it?”
    I shrugged,
pretending cluelessness—no use arguing anymore with demented people—picked up
my drink, downed the rest of my tequila, and handed Kara my empty glass.  
    Fresh drinks in hand
and plates loaded, we soon settled at the table before exchanging cash for
chips, and the gambling commenced. Sadly, the pestering continued. To the
point, I kept stuffing my face and downing tequila like a co-ed let loose at
spring break in Cancun. Perhaps the tequila consumption led to my downfall. Or
perhaps it was the conniving, dirty faces when I came back from the bathroom
somewhere toward the end of the poker-slash-Mexican-fiesta.
    Three hours, two
enchiladas, half a bowl of bean dip, and who the hell could count how many
margaritas later, I decided that my three aces were taking the pot. So I raised
it, pushing a stack in the middle of the table.
    After flicking her
cards and regarding the pile nervously, Kara not only raised my stack, she
added another as tall.
    I didn’t have enough
to match.
    She glanced at the
pitiful amount of chips next to me. “How about we raise the stakes another
way?”
    Both having already
folded, Jules and Avery watched us like it was high noon in some dusty Western
town and Kara and I were about to pull out pistols from our pants.
    My mouth curled at my
roommate. I wasn’t inebriated enough to not realize her point—the Reese
thing—or how she was using my fierce competitive streak against me.
    This was serious
poker. We sat around guzzling liquor, stuffing our faces, and gossiping, but
the gambling remained serious.
    However, I had three
aces. How many times do you get three aces in five-card stud? Like never. The
statistics of it were on my side.
    “Okay, fine,” I
said. “If I win, you’ll drop it and never bring it up again. In fact, you’ll
cease all Reese attacks.”
    She drummed her
fingers on the table, critically contemplating the pile in the middle of the
table. “All right then. What have you got?”
    I triumphantly
slapped my three aces down. Kara blinked at them before leisurely fanning out a
full house.
    Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. Son of
a bitch! I stared at that
full house, and bean dip mixed with tequila threatened to escape from my
stomach and spew into Kara’s face.
    Avery gave Kara a
high five. Jules cackled in glee.
    Holy shit.
    We took our poker
very serious, and the betting outside of money was just as serious. Avery once
had to go with Jules to a weekend-long dog wedding after losing. Kara had had
to clean our bathroom for a month after losing to me. I’d lost to Avery once
and had to pick up her dry cleaning for a month.
    Holy double shit.
    The room spun a bit,
and it wasn’t from all of the tequila.
    I was probably going
to Puerto