Free The Break-Up Psychic by Emily Hemmer Page A

you.”
    “An opportunity? To do what? Audition for a job at Hooters?” I ask.
    “It’s an opportunity to show Tim what he’s missing out on, Miss Funny-Pants. I saw him at City Hall when I was registering our booth for the festival. Apparently his booth is just two down from ours. He told me he’s been trying to call you, asked what you were up to and such.”
    Brook and Amber turn intent eyes on me, attempting to gauge my reaction to the news that Tim’s been making inquiries. I’m trying really hard to look nonchalant over this announcement. “Oh yeah? So what’d you tell him?”
    A smile of conspiratorial splendor washes over Brook’s face. “I told him you were like a whole new woman, out-and-about on the town with some new man. I placed special emphasis on the new man part.”
    “Brook! Why’d you tell him that?”
    Brook sashays her way around the counter and packs the porno uniforms back into their bags, stuffing them below the register and out of sight. “I told him that so he’d be jealous. I thought you might thank me for making him suffer a bit but I see now I have been sorely mistaken,” she huffs.
    “He’s suffering?” I ask. “I mean, not that I care.”
    “Uh huh, sure thing, hon.”
    “I don’t! I’m just curious is all. I mean, did he seem upset?” I ask, pretending to read a descriptive label on the back of a hand cream.
    “I wouldn’t say he’s crying himself to sleep at night but when I mentioned you were hanging out with a new stud, he got pretty riled up. Wanted to know his name and how serious the two of you were. I told him it was all a big mystery but that you seemed real satisfied . He didn’t like that part at all.” Brook’s obvious pleasure over her pot-stirring is evident across her face.
    So, that’s why he called me. He thinks I’m out with a new man and he’s suddenly jealous. What a pig. “Yeah, I bet he didn’t. But there’s a flaw in this plan of yours, Brook. I don’t have a new man,” I point out, trying hard not to think about Sam.
    “Well, that’s easy enough to fix. Remember my cousin’s kid?”
    “Celery?” Amber asks, bored.
    “It’s Ellery, Miss No-Help-At-All. There’s no C in his name,” Brook says, hand on hip. “Ellery is just dying to meet you, Ellie!” she says, turning to me. “I’ve already told him all about you and,” she pulls a small, folded piece of paper from between her ample breasts, “I’ve got his number right here.”
    I take the paper, warm from being wedged between Brook’s triple D’s all morning, and examine the number. My psychic alarm bells begin to stir. Am I really ready to begin dating again? This Ellery could be another in a long line of frogs, but he could also be wielded like a sword to make Tim suffer. As an added bonus he seems to meet all of my new criteria for men. He doesn’t sound very exciting, he’s obviously not overly successful and with a name like Ellery, how cute can he be?
    “Alright, you win.” I sigh. “But if this ends badly, I’m going to have Amber make you into a voodoo doll.”
    Amber grins at both of us, reaching for her measuring tape.

    The diner is packed for lunch so I have to make do and squeeze in between two roughnecks at the counter. The thing about oil workers is that no matter how hard they try, they can’t ever get their hands to look truly clean. The man on my right passes me a menu. His fingernails are rimmed black from a hard morning’s work. I smile my thank you to him but he’s uninterested, turning his attention back to his half-eaten chicken fried steak.
    “How ya ’ doin ’, darlin ’?” asks a husky voiced old woman in a waitress’ uniform.
    “Hi, good, thanks,” I say, looking up and reading her name tag. It says Peg.
    “What can I get for ya ?” she asks, pencil and paper poised in worn looking hands.
    “I’d like a Coke and the turkey club on whole wheat, please.”
    “Coke and a turkey club, you got it.”
    As Peg moves to the