“Yeah.”
I swallowed down the pit of envy making its way up my throat, threatening to seep out in the form of words I didn’t want to say. If there had been a spare plot nearby, I have no doubt I would have happily hurled myself into it. So much for taking chances. “With who?”
“Jim. He asked me to meet him for a drink.”
“Jim.” I nodded and gnawed down on my lip, willing my shoulders to shrug. “Going for a drink with Jim. That’s…good. I guess. I mean—have fun with that. Your date with Jim.”
* * * *
I fucking hated Connie O’Reilly.