Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 4: A New Adult Romantic Comedy by Adele Huxley, Savan Robbins Page B

can’t get laid, you can’t get laid. You have to stop this whole thing with Zach.”
    I thought I sensed an opportunity to convince her things were actually okay. “It’s not even like we’re in a relationship. Sometimes you get an itch that needs to be scratched and that’s just what we’re doing right now. No strings, just sex with someone who respects and cares about me. That’s it. You should be happy I’m having the best sex of my life, regardless of who it’s with. I’m enjoying myself and so is he. The end.”
    Apparently she didn’t see the chance to reconcile. “You do realize when most people feel an itch, it means they have an STD? Put some fucking ointment on that shit and stop fucking your best friend. Can’t you see he cares about you? Why the hell would you choose Zach if you’re doing this whole thing just to find someone else to have sex with? That’s crazy, selfish and fucked up. You’re using him and that’s foul as hell. The only thing that’s gonna come from this is hurt. I’m not interested in being stuck in the middle as you two try to put the pieces back together. Because it will fall apart, you know that right? That’s exactly what’s going to happen, Talia.”
    I stared at her, blinking in disbelief. “You know what? I can’t. I’m done with this shit.”
     
    A few moments later, I stood in my room seething.
    I’ve never felt simultaneously right and wrong. I guess I’d been so wrapped up in the excitement of hooking up with Zach, of finally getting laid, I hadn’t thought what Anette might actually think. And then sending that blog post… maybe on a subconscious level, I wanted to get caught. It wasn’t like me to hide things from my friends like that.
    At the same time, I was an adult. I could screw and write and do whatever the hell I wanted without checking in with another human being. The fact she felt entitled to that pissed me off each time I thought about it.
    I don’t want to hear, talk to, see, or even be in the same apartment as her, I thought.
    “Fuck it,” I muttered when I finally made up my mind. I checked the time and figured he wouldn’t mind me showing up unannounced at any hour.
    I stormed into the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush, slamming the door behind me. Anette stepped from the kitchen into the living room just as I was about to reach for the front doorknob.
    “We need to talk about this,” she started. Her attempt at playing peacemaker was too little, too late.
    I clenched my teeth. “You’ve made yourself abundantly clear.”
    “I’m only looking out for you. I don’t want you to…” She trailed off, a realization holding her tongue. She glanced at my hand, then the door, and put it together. “You were going to go up there, weren’t you?”
    “No,” I said, turning to face her. “I am going up there.”
    She pressed her lips together and looked to the ceiling. “You are just a seven-layer-dip of stubborn, aren’t you?”
    “Ha!”
    She shook her head and stomped into the kitchen, rifling through a drawer before banging it shut. Snip. Snipsnipsnip. With a pair of scissors raised above her head and pointed at me, she cut the air.
    “What the hell are you doing?” I sneered.
    “Cutting the strings. That way you can’t use them to find me when you want to come crawling back.”
    “Good!”
    “Good.”
    I couldn’t believe how much I hated her in that moment. It was like a pod-person had taken over my best friend’s body.
    I wrenched the door open and heard her call out. “Tell your little fuck buddy I said, ‘What’s up?’”
    I slammed the front door and plodded barefoot up the stairs. I imagined stomping on Anette’s smug face with each footfall. Still fired up, I pounded my fist on Zach’s door. A moment later, he flung it open, looking panicked and half-awake.
    “Wha-what’s wrong?” he blinked, wiping his face with his palm. He held a sheet around his waist and looked up and down the