After several hours of boring investment business, my mind returns to Lola. Those eyes of hers held such sorrow, not like the times before. She seemed less than hopeful about her date later with her shithead of a boyfriend.
What a self-righteous asshole. He fans my anger, something fierce. How could he make her cook on their anniversary? And then invite that wretched friend to boot.
I know Lola didn’t tell me everything. I can only imagine why, and I’m heartbroken for her. I’ll never press; I’m sure she gets enough of that from others. But I do want her to open up to me at some point.
With a loud ring, my thoughts about her become a reality. I stare at my cell phone, seeing Lola’s name bold and bright. The anxiety I feel has my hands shaking to answer.
“Hello, Sweet Lola,” I say, try
