I do my best to ignore all thoughts about Lorenzo, the dating app, and my daunting future. It takes a few glasses of wine, but now that I’ve got a good buzz going, I’m no longer worried about anything but what song Willow wants to play next. Or I wasn’t until someone knocks on Willow’s front door. “Who’s that?” I ask, my brows rising at the sound of the heavy pounding. She gets up from the couch and checks the peephole. “Shit!” “What?” I ask. “It’s Lorenzo,” she whisper-shouts.
