When we arrive at my house shortly past nine, the lights are still on inside. I probably look like a scary clown right now, even with my waterproof mascara, and turn to Val. "Can you distract Dad while I clean off this makeup?"

Still holding me close, she nods. "Of course, but you should give Jim more credit. He wants to support you."

"I know," I say in a tired voice, "but Dad and I are so similar. Neither of us is good at talking about our problems."

"Well, maybe one of your should start," she says with a pointed stare toward the house. "Not tonight, but after you get some sleep. At least think about it."

"Okay."

We walk arm-in-arm across the dry grass to the door, and Val steps inside first. "¡Hola, Señor Wankum! ¡Estamos aquí!"

I love Val. No matter what, she has a cheerful disposition and commands the attention of every room. That, and she tolerates my scattered emotions. She's vibrant and beautiful -- someone I strive to be like every day.

Steps echo downstairs at the bottom level of the house, and I take this opportunity to run upstairs. I don't look back when he calls for me; I grab my sleep clothes and undergarments, locking myself in the bathroom faster than you can say "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." Turning on the water, I slowly undress, starting with my little plastic tiara, and I sit on the edge of the tub for the longest time, letting steam fill the small space.

Part of me wants to soak in the bath all night, but Dad will eventually need the toilet, and it would be rude to leave Val downstairs. I can wallow tomorrow. Besides, it will probably take me ten minutes just to scrub Val's warpaint off my face. She's an incredible artist, but she gives beauty a whole new meaning.

Once I'm done and dressed, I go downstairs, where Dad and Val are waiting. Val is bouncing up and down, clapping her hands like it's her birthday instead of mine, squirming like she really needs to pee. Dad on the other hand, is unable to hide his grin as he holds something behind his back.

Despite everything, I grin too, wondering what he has. It's like being a small child again, hoping against everything he got me that Barbie I so desperately wanted. "Okay, what did you get me?" I ask, wondering why they're both smiling wide like creepy dolls in a haunted house.

Dad reveals his hands, as well as a calico kitten with a paper birthday hat over its head. It mewls, pawing at him to set it down, and I make a beeline to him with a squeal. I've never been able to resist animals, and cats are the best companions.

Taking the kitten, I hold her to my chest while hugging Dad. Val joins in, obviously in on the job, and my heart fills to bursting with gratitude and love. "Thank you," I murmur, scratching the kitten behind the ears. "What's her name?"

"Whatever you want it to be. I thought you might like a companion to go with the writing software I downloaded onto your computer this morning when you weren't looking. Val gave me the password."

Of course she did. Normally, I'd protest, but right now, I feel so loved, I can't help reciprocating it without complaint. "You two are the best."

"We know," he says ruffling my damp hair. "Now you have no excuse not to write."

I nod; the words are stuck in my throat, that I did write, that I did query, but I wasn't good enough. I don't want to tell Dad unless I can make him proud of me because it's hard enough being disappointed on my own. I don't want to take that hope away from him, so I don't.

Instead, I say, "Okay. First thing tomorrow."

Val wraps her arm around my waist and pushes me up the stairs, tossing a wave over her shoulder. "I'll make sure she puts that software to use, Jim."

She's actually leading me away so I can decompress, and I love her for it. "Night, Dad."

"Night, Princess. Happy birthday."

When we reach my room, Val closes the door, and it's the first time I've taken a real breath all night. Setting the cat on the floor, I flop onto my bed, only for the silly animal to claw at the corner of my blanket hanging off the side. She mewls and attempts to climb, only to get her claws stuck in the fabric and cry some more. Val scoops her up with a laugh before lying next to me. I snuggle close and rest my head on her shoulder as she strokes my arm. "Do you want to talk about it, pequeña?"

I shrug. "What's to say? Everything I do fails. I didn't want to tell Dad because he's been pushing so much, but my book was rejected."

"I didn't know you queried," she whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "I thought you were still on Wattpad."

"Oh, I am," I say through a yawn. "I'd never abandon my writing friends or my fun stories, but I thought I'd try. I got the rejection a couple of days ago."

The part that stings the most is all of my readers are so supportive, telling me to go for traditional publishing. Their belief builds me up on a platform where visibility is next to impossible at times. Querying is a whole separate league I don't seem to be ready for, despite knowing rejections are part of the process.

"And then tonight happened," Val adds, cutting into my thoughts. "Oh, You are having a bad week."

"Try a bad year," I correct. "Blake was the doctor from the Urgent Care. That's why I was weird tonight. When his friend called me out, he just confirmed all the bad things I already think about myself."

"¡A joder con ellos! That's what I say. Too many curves? Que se joden. Haters wanna hate? ¡A la mierda con ellos! Now, you say it."

I giggle, because we both know I have the worst gringa accent, but it's fun swearing in Spanish. "A joder con ellos," I murmur, struggling to remember four simple words. No one ever taught me the swear words, but I always know when Val is telling people to fuck off.

She shifts so she's sitting up and kicks off her shoes so she can cross her legs. With a saucy grin, she says in a loud voice, "Say it like you mean it. ¡A joder con ellos!"

I sit up and shush her. I don't need los abuelos next door complaining to my dad about Val's foul mouth. They're so old, they'll probably wash her mouth out with soap. Then they'll feed us. "Shhhh! We have neighbors, you potty-mouth. I don't need a lecture about dropping the F bomb into the night."

Val responds with a brazen kiss on my mouth before slipping off the bed and crossing the room to open my window. I scramble off the bed to stop her, but I'm too late as she happily shouts, "Yo! ¡Esos hombres del bar apestan! ¡Que se jodan!"

Oh my God, she's crazy — Val is everything I'm definitely not, but she gives no shits when someone shouts back, "¡Estàs borracha!"

She flips the bird with a giggle and shouts back, "¡Vete a la mierda!" Then she closes the window and pulls me onto the bed with her, moving the cat so we don't squish her. We dissolve into laughter until we're both clutching the stitches in our sides.

When we can breathe again, Val watches me with a smirk and devilish eyes. "You know, Blake couldn't stop staring at you, even when you left. He looked ready to cut Brett."

Was that his name? And wouldn't that be something? I can see the headlines now: Bad Boy Doctor Goes to Jail For Cutting. Blake wouldn't look good in orange, and the image makes me snort. "I probably had something on my dress. I'm hopeless."

"Mm-mm." She shakes her head and smirks. "He was into you. I can tell."

I don't want to encourage her, so I nod along. Sure, I still have his number from when he texted me all those weeks ago, but he's probably long forgotten mine and deleted it by now. "If you say so. I was there and available. And like his friend said, I'm not in their league."

The nurse in the hospital said girls constantly chased his money. Blake's clothes came with designer labels. Everything about him screamed expensive. If he was anything like the Wattpad men, he probably had a mansion somewhere in the Foothills, complete with a pool and workout room, because you know, that's what all bad boys have. That, and fourteeen bedrooms, ten bathrooms, and a social life filled with parties no normal person has time for.

Val sighs and grabs my face with her hands, squishing my cheeks until I feel like a caricature. "You are in his league. Just like you're good enough to find the right agent for your writing. You're a god damned queen and the best friend anyone could ever ask for. The only one who doesn't believe that is you."

I wrap my arms around her waist, and she releases me so she can return the gesture, suffocating me with her ample chest. I motorboat my face into it and she shoves me away with a giggle. I stick my tongue out as I move off the bed to cross my room and open the door. The last thing I need is the kitten peeing everywhere because she decided to use my clothes as a litterbox.

Then I remove my phone from of my purse so I can charge it, when I notice several notifications on my screen. I unlock it, and by some insane miracle, Blake kept my number.

I place the device on the charger and turn to Val. "So are you staying, or do you have to work tomorrow?" I don't want her to know Blake is texting me — not yet. I want to see what he said so I can process my feelings alone before I mention it.

Val stretches her arms high over her head with a loud yawn. "Ugh, I have go in at ten, so I should probably go home. Will you be okay?"

I nod, already feeling a million times better. No one can cheer me up like Val. "Yeah. Thank you for taking me out. I really did have fun."

Val picks up her shoes and stands up, reaching for me one more time. She rubs my shoulder and releases a contented sigh. "I had fun too. Get some sleep, find another agent for your story, and don't worry about those guys. If Blake is right for you, you'll see him again."

Sooner than you think, chica.

"I love you, Val."

"Love you too, angelita."

She blows me a kiss and exits the room. I run to my window and open it again, waving at her as she steps outside and gets into her car she'd left parked in our driveway. The moment she leaves, I slam the window shut and jump onto the bed, snatching my phone off the nightstand.

"Okay, Bad Boy Doctor, let's see what you have to say for yourself."

I tap on the message icon and read the text, noting he sent these a little over an hour ago:

'Is this still Kelly's number?'

A few minutes later:

'Well, if it isn't, I apologize in advance. Kelly, I'm sorry for what Brett said in the bar. I don't think you're out of my league and it was a shitty thing for him to say.

I don't know why you thought I was married, and I wanted to explain that I'm not, nor have I ever been. I was caught off guard when you said that and I didn't know how to respond before everything went to shit.

I was thrilled when I saw you at the bar. You're not my patient anymore and I wanted to ask if you're seeing anyone. I'm really sorry for hurting your feelings.'

It's such a sweet message, and my heart melts at the kind words. I don't know if I can believe him though. People say things all the time that they don't mean, and what if he's looking for an easy lay? I'd be setting myself up to get hurt. Still, I can't help feeling I should find out if his words are genuine.

I type back, hoping he's not asleep already. It's 10:00 on a Friday night, but who knows? Maybe he goes to bed early.

'Hi, Blake. This is still my number. Don't worry about tonight. Even if Brett is a shithead, he's probably right about looking for someone else. I'm quiet and boring, and I'm not good at doing the social thing. Thank you for apologizing though. :)'

I hit send before I can stop myself, and my heart races, falling into my butt. I don't know how or if he'll respond, and the waiting makes my stomach churn.

I'm wondering if he'll call me crazy or blow me off completely, even though I pretty much invited him to, when my phone pings with an incoming message. I bite my lip and peep through one eye, expecting the worst.

'Oh thnk gif. I WA's about to feel rlly stupid if this WA's someone else's number. Look I don't mind quit. Yore shy. I get out but u still want a chance yo explain myself.'

The hell? Is he drunk? It takes me a minute to realize what he's saying, but I can't stifle the giggles as I try to figure out what the hell that mess was. It's like a friend of mine in Discord, whose phone tends to have a mind of its own.

A new text follows. 'OMG, my phone hates me. Autocorrect keeps changing my words to something wise.'

'WISE.'

'JESUS, ELSE!'

Leaning forward, I bury my face into my pillow, chortling in a very unladylike fashion. I don't want to risk waking Dad in case he's asleep, but this masterpiece of text is gold. I'm sure anyone can relate to sending the odd embarassing message.

He doesn't seem scared enough to run though, and soon, he follows up with, 'Can I take you out to lunch tomorrow? I want to apologize I'm person and make up for running your birthday. If you decide you don't want to see me I'll leave you alone.'

At least this text was more legible than the last. I wonder if all his messages are like this. His first seemed so normal. Shaking as I press my lips together to contain my laugh, I reply, 'Okay. Just lunch though.'

'Great! I'll text you tomorrow and pick you up around noon.'

I shake my head and lean into my pillows, wondering if I'm about to get lucky, or if I've just made a huge mistake. Either way, I have a date with my fantasy bad boy doctor.

Glossary:

"¡Hola, Señor Wankum! ¡Estamos aquí!" -- "Hello, Mr. Wankum! We're here!"

Pequeña -- Feminine form of 'little one.'

¡A joder con ellos! / ¡A la mierda con ellos! / Que se joden -- F* them!

Los abuelos -- the grandparents

¡Esos hombres del bar apestan! ¡Que se jodan! -- Those men at the bar suck! F* them!

"¡Estàs borracha!" -- "You're drunk!"

"¡Vete a la mierda!" -- "F* off!"

**Please bear in mind this is Mexican Spanish. The dialects will vary based on location and nationality, so not all phrases are equal. And though I'm bilingual, I run this through friends who speak Mexican Spanish to ensure accuracy.