Free Tonic by Staci Hart

temple, wearing long sleeved button down white satin pajamas. She blinked at me and yawned.
    “Nice jammies. Not a princess, huh?”
    She made a face at me.  
    I approached her, meeting her at the foot of the stairs. “Made you some tea. Was just coming up to check on you.”
    She smiled, but it was small, more closed than it had been before she’d gone up. “Thanks,” she said as she took the mug.  
    “So, Roxy came home just now and tried to mace me.”
    Her eyes flew wide. “Oh, my God. I forgot to call her and tell her. I’m so sorry.”
    “No worries, no harm done.”
    “Good,” she said. We stood in silence for a moment.  
    “So, I should probably be going,” I said just as she said, “Well, thanks a lot for your help today.”
    We both chuckled.  
    “I’m heading out. Let me know if you need anything, okay? You have my number.”
    “Thanks, Joel.”
    I smiled. “Sure thing. Glad you’re feeling better.” I turned to go, but stopped. “Oh, mind if I borrow Persuasion ? I started reading it and thought, if it was okay, that I could hang on to it for a couple of days.”
    She didn’t mask her surprise. “Yeah, of course,” she said, disbelieving.  
    “Thanks.” I made my way into the living room, grabbed the book from the couch, and walked back by. “See you tomorrow,” I said as I passed her, reaching for the door.
    “Bye.” The word was unsure, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I pulled open the door and stepped into the New York dusk. Because I had a feeling that single word meant I actually had a chance.

    Annika
    Joel disappeared with the click of the front door, and when I stepped around the banister, I was met with Roxy’s smirk, which was practically accusing.  
    I wrapped my free hand around the warm mug and narrowed my eyes as I headed for the couch. “Don’t.”
    “Don’t what?” she feigned innocence.
    “Don’t start.”
    “So I shouldn’t ask any questions about Tattoo Tommy and the Bearded Gun Show that just happened?”
    I sat down and propped my feet on the coffee table. “I had a concussion, and he wouldn’t leave until you were home.”
    “Chivalrous,” she said as she sat down next to me. “Who is he?”
    “One of the shop owners. Hairy.”
    Her face lit up. “Wait, that was Hairy? I pictured some balding guy with a ponytail and beer gut.”
    “Nope, and that somehow makes it that much harder to hate him.”
    “So is he the older brother or younger?”
    “Older.”
    “Is his brother as hot as he is?”
    “If you think hairy, bearded, pushy scoundrels are hot, then yeah.”
    She snorted. “Scoundrel. You’ve got to read something that takes place past the 19 th century. Does he have a girlfriend?”
    I glared at her, wondering why the thought made me want to pull her hair. “Who, Joel?”  
    Roxy laughed. “No, the brother. Joel’s clearly already spoken for.”
    I frowned. “Shep has a girlfriend, yeah. And what do you mean spoken for?”
    “God, for a smart person, you’re really dense. Why didn’t you tell me you had a thing for him?”
    I huffed like a teapot. “I don’t have a ‘thing’ for him, Roxy.”
    “Right, and having kids doesn’t ruin your boobs.” She gestured to her rack to illustrate.  
    “You’re one hundred percent wrong, Rox. I’m sure he’s a nice enough guy, but he’s not my type.”
    “Exactly, which is what you need. Your type is boring. Safe.”
    “What’s wrong with making safe choices? I don’t have a single thing in common with Joel Anderson.”
    “Since when does that matter? I saw you looking at him, and I saw him looking at you — you practically set the curtains on fire. So don’t tell me you’re not into him because it’s a goddamn lie.”
    I felt heat crawl up my neck and across my cheeks. “Would I bang him? Yes, I would. But I’m not going to because A: I’m his producer,” I ticked off on my fingers, “B: I’m not interested in a relationship with him, C: I’m