Thirty
“Yep. Okay. TMI right there.”
Jed and I are sitting in McDonalds. He’s halfway through a mouthful of Big Mac.
I have a strong coffee … and an Oreo McFlurry.
There’s no way Jed would let me order an ordinary breakfast. I’m glad. Jed Food seems to be helping soothe my savaged soul and, since living on alfalfa and lean chicken breast for the year I was with Viggo, my body is giving me a high five for all the bad fats and carbohydrates. Sadly, however, one McFlurry can’t take the pain away entirely. Thinking about my first kiss with Viggo has made my chest go all funny. There are pinpricks at the back of my eyes.
I don’t reply to Jed, just shovel another heaped spoonful in my mouth and shrug.
“Sorry,” he says after a moment. “I guess that was a difficult memory to relive.”
“Yup,”
