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Chrissy, her cute looking Joe in tow. She winks as she leads him into the other room. Since she’s my best friend, I have to make up an alternate universe for her to be living in, so I imagine she’s celebrating her engagement. We’ve been partying all evening, and once we decide to part ways, she gives me a wink good-night, letting me know that she’s happy.
    But then reality sneaks back in. No matter how good of a storyteller I am, I know the truth. Chrissy isn’t happy. She may be a great actress, but she’s miserable as fuck, I know that. I’ve heard her cry at night. Sure, she has the occasional good day, but what about the nights where she has to suck off some guy old enough to be her father? What about the night when one of the guys decides to blacken up her eye? Those are the nights that I hate this life. The nights that only affirm that this isn’t the life for me, for us . . . or anyone for that matter.
    Saturdays are always hellaciously busy. Running party after party, I’m not able to sit down until close to one a.m. When my rear-end hits the chair and I’m finally able to take a breath, the noises start to make themselves heard. The house is filled with moans, and putrid skin slapping.
    My skin crawls with pure and utter disgust. With my heart racing and the bile churning in my stomach, I can’t grab my headphones fast enough. Placing the earbuds in, I click my iPod, bringing it to life and letting the music take me away, closing my eyes, focusing on the beat, letting it transport me someplace else. Just like a good book does.
    Just as I feel my muscles relax, I see his face. There, without any warning, is Emerson, standing in front of me with that damn smile and those fuckin’ dimples.
    Shocked as to why I’m seeing him, I gasp, opening my eyes and removing my earbuds just as quickly. Chrissy leans against the doorframe, a shit-eating grin across her face. “Good dream?” she asks, plopping down in the chair next to me.
    “No, you just scared me.”
    “Bullshit.” Chrissy opens my drawer, scouring it for something to drink.
    I slam it shut. “You cleaned house the other night. Remember?”
    “Get some more.”
    One of the girls I don’t know is hovering at the window. I stand and start toward, continuing to talk at Chrissy. “You make better money than me, and you’re the one who drinks the shit. Buy it yourself.”
    “Whoa, someone’s got their panties in a twist.” Chrissy laughs and lights up a smoke. “What’s his name?”
    I glare at her, only half listening to the girl telling me what she needs for paperwork. After asking her to repeat herself, twice, I take my time gathering the necessary things, mainly because I want to avoid Chrissy. It pisses me off that she’s able to get such a good read on me. Hell, she probably knows my feelings better than I do. Still stewing in silence, I type up the girl’s shit and give it to her before turning back to Chrissy. “Fuck you,” I bite out.
    She giggles, knowing that she’s gotten under my skin. She has a way of doing that, and I both hate and love her for it—now being one of the times I hate her for it. After running the transaction, I sit back down, pretending not to notice Chrissy waggling her eyebrows at me. “So are you going to tell me about him?” she asks. “You meet some fancy college boy already?”
    Shaking my head, I sigh. “It’s no one. Just some guy in my bookkeeping class. I was thinking about him, when clearly I shouldn’t be.”
    “Why shouldn’t you?” she asks, suddenly serious. Chrissy knows all about my demons and hates them just as much as I do. Bottom line, she wants me to be happy, just like I want her to be.
    Wrinkles creasing my forehead, I look at her. It doesn’t make sense. Isn’t it obvious? “What do you mean, why shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t be thinking about anything but getting myself straightened out. There’s no time to be thinking about some guy I barely know.”
    “Just because