The Checklist Addie Woolridge (pocket ebook reader TXT) 📖

the pitcher and pouring some directly into Mike’s beer glass. Noticing Mike blanch at the combination of Roller-Whatever and beer foam, Neale added, “You won’t be able to taste beer anymore. Trust me.”

The clean freak in Dylan gagged as Mike shrugged and picked up the glass, eyeing it dubiously before taking a sip and wincing. “Oof. I won’t be able to taste anything after that.”

“It grows on you,” Neale said.

“Does it? Because I’m not convinced,” Mike said, sucking air in through his teeth. He set the glass down. “So, Stacy, what’s new? I hear you may be going back to school?”

“Yes,” Stacy said, straightening up in the booth, her posture implying seriousness. “I want to be the kind of person dentists look at and go, What do you think? You know what I mean?”

“Makes perfect sense,” Mike said, taking another tentative sip of his drink, this time without choking. “So what goes into this program? More clinical work, I assume.”

If it was possible, Stacy perked up even more. “Yes. It is a lot of clinical work; basically you become a dental therapist. I want to continue working with children.” Stacy drained her glass, looking over the rim of it as she smiled. “Dylan is actually writing my character reference.”

“Sure am,” Dylan said, feeling her gut drop a fraction of an inch. She still hadn’t looked at the paperwork Stacy had given her, but it would go on the top of tomorrow’s to-do list.

“Glasses are empty,” Neale announced, as if it were new information to everyone at the table. “Dylan, there is a little left in the pitcher; why don’t you finish that? Stacy and I can get more.” She began pushing at Stacy’s thigh for her to let her out of the booth, like Stacy was also a Delacroix sister. Which, in a way, she was.

“Oh. Right. Okay,” Stacy said, grabbing her purse and jumping off the bench.

“Be right back,” Neale said, bouncing down the vinyl seating after Stacy.

“Do they need another pitcher?” Dylan frowned as the pair giggled their way to the bar, each of them occasionally looking back at the two they had left behind.

“Do either of them have to drive anywhere?” Mike asked, looking over his shoulder.

“No. They don’t. Let them have all the disgusting liquor they want, I guess.”

“God, it’s gross, right? I was worried I was the only person who thought so.”

“So gross. But it’s on sale, which makes it seem like a lot better deal than it is.” Dylan shrugged one shoulder. Her skin prickled where Mike’s glance landed, and she forced herself to stop noticing the sensation.

“Sometimes cheap is just cheap. When a drink tastes like this, I’m not sure free would be considered a good deal.”

“Ugh, and they are bringing more. We need a plant or something to dump it into,” Dylan said, then added, “The floor is pretty sticky; maybe we put it there.”

“This doesn’t seem like the kind of place where you need to be concerned about safety,” Mike laughed, poking at a hole in the duct tape patching the booth.

“Tell me, how’s building the experiential-learning room going?” Dylan said, feeling herself relax at last.

Mike sighed heavily, leaning his full weight against the booth. “My vision has stalled.”

“Stalled how?” Dylan asked. Placing her elbow on what looked like a clean patch of table, she rested her head on her hand and leaned toward him. Mike had a gravitational pull that was difficult to resist. Worse, she wondered if she even cared to fight gravity when Mike pulled himself out of his slump and turned to face her. She stopped short. Mike was a bad idea. Gravity or no, he was still a Robinson.

“I’m having trouble finding funding. Even with that stock-gift guy you connected me to. The problem is, our donor base is too small to take advantage of something like that. You may have noticed that Crescent’s pockets aren’t exactly deep.” Mike’s smile barely masked the sting of his honesty. “We’ve gotten a couple big meetings. No bites yet. Lots of ‘Let me know if you secure some funding; then I’ll pitch in.’ Which is another way of saying no.”

Dylan laughed, leaning in a fraction of an inch closer. “How are you pitching this to people?”

“Mostly with a lot of enthusiasm and crappy drawings that an intern put together. Another issue is that I’m asking people to imagine a thing that doesn’t exist. I just—” Mike stopped short and cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked out the window.

Glancing over her shoulder, Dylan sat up quickly. Stacy and Neale were on the other side of the glass, looking like two dogs caught chewing on a shoe. The pair had been huddled together, trying to sneak back to the Delacroix house, when Mike had noticed them. For a moment the four of them blinked at each other. Then Stacy waved, causing the duo to devolve into a fit of laughter as Neale pulled out her phone and texted someone.

“What the hell?” Turning to face them fully, Dylan threw up her hands as Mike began to laugh behind her. Neale held up her phone and untangled her arm from Stacy’s just as Dylan’s phone buzzed.

You too were good without us, so we leave. Can you bring me coat home?

Suppressing the urge to laugh at her sister’s drunk typos, Dylan looked up to find Neale gesturing to the coat on the other side of the bench. She had just enough time to give the pair a dirty look before Mike stood up and snatched the coat up, putting his considerable wingspan to good use, then gave Neale a thumbs-up. Looking down, Dylan typed out a message and pointed to her phone.

Real smooth. Assholes

Neale smirked and showed the message to Stacy, who doubled over with a fresh fit of laughter. Waving her thanks, Neale pulled Stacy upright and began to strut away, her head held too high to be considered sober or respectable.

“Guess they aren’t bringing those