Free Selfie by Amy Lane Page B

to pick your fuckin’ people! Wasn’t that one of my caveats? Wasn’t it? That question did not come up—”
    “Easy, Jilly,” I said, a reluctant smile on my face. “We all survived.”
    You would have thought I dropped a bomb.
    Or a psycho teleporting cow.
    Their dismay was a hair away from comic, and I pushed it over the edge with a laugh I didn’t feel. “People, he’s going to get mentioned—around me even. Trying to pretend he never existed is only going to make more moments like this.”
    Simon smiled, revealing laugh grooves. “Fair enough. We won’t treat his name like a box full of plague.” He sobered. “I worked with Vinnie, you know?”
    I hadn’t. “No,” I said, keeping my smile if it killed me. “Which gig?”
    “ Comet’s Tail— you remember, the space opera one for SyFy?”
    “Oh yeah!” I remembered—Vinnie had worked that gig for five years as a guest spot—maybe two or three episodes a year. He’d fit it in between film jobs because he enjoyed the cast so much. “He loved your show!” Another memory—Vinnie gushing about Simon this and Simon that—and how Simon was quietly out, but he wasn’t a big enough name for it to attract attention. “He couldn’t stop talking about you!”
    I’d been horribly jealous. Hellishly jealous. Vinnie had been fresh out of rehab when he first worked that job, and the things he’d said during detox had hurt me so bad. I’d gotten over it—but yeah. Not a good time.
    But meeting Simon now, a small part of my faith was restored.
    “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “He was the greatest guy. When I first met him I was going through a breakup. He listened one afternoon—you know, just let me dump on him because he was there. Gave the best advice. Told me that a good relationship isn’t built on the flash-in-the-pan sex, but on the hand-holding that comes after it—I actually Googled it to see if it was one of his lines, but nope. He really meant that.”
    I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to cry. He’d been talking about me then— me— and he’d thought we were good. Even then, when I wasn’t so sure myself, he’d believed in us.
    Cry. I really wanted to cry.
    “Yeah,” I said, “Vinnie was usually sincere. I’m glad you’ve got good memories of him.”
    “I don’t know how you hang out with those people, Vinnie. They’re horrible and shrill, and they make my head hurt.”
    “ They give two million dollars a year to animal charities. Seriously, Connor—there has got to be a heart of gold somewhere in all that pony shit, you know?”
    “Well, most of them were about how much fun you guys had. He was your brother, man—don’t think I don’t know you’re hurting.”
    For the love of hell. Could this nice man stop talking to me? I was going to wave my hand and say something about shows and going on when Noah came up behind him, tripped, and spilled just a few drops of coffee on his sleeve.
    “Oh my God! I’m sorry, sir! I’m so sorry, Mr. Conklin— I didn’t mean to— Are you okay?”
    Conklin checked his arm and grimaced. “Yeah, but geez, Noah—you usually move like you’re on ice—when’d you get so clumsy?”
    “Sorry, sir—the carpet caught my shoe just right. Here’s your coffee, Mr. Montgomery.” He held a napkin and was wiping the top off as he handed me the large, lidded paper coffee cup. “Would you like a pastry?” He also gave me a chocolate croissant, and I took them both from him gratefully, even though I wasn’t particularly hungry.
    He’d gotten Conklin away from that conversation—I’d eat sawdust if he gave that to me in a cup.
    “Thanks, Noah.” I took a sip from the coffee, and it was . . . perfect. “Oh wow—did you have to get the degree to learn how to make this, or are you just a natural?”
    Noah’s grin popped out—the lethal one that made the angels sing and my stomach do backflips. “I waited tables at a deli while I was getting through school,” he said proudly.