Patricia glanced at her phone, softening as she saw who was calling before answering. On the other end, a girl’s bright, cheerful voice rang out.
“I’m in Riverdale! Let’s get dinner!”
“Are you coming to my place?” Patricia asked, her voice gentle and warm.
“Seriously? The mere thought of Oliver’s presence in your room disgusts me. Meet me out. I’ll text you the address.”
She checked the address, then called for Marian to help her get ready to go out.
By the time Patricia arrived, the place was buzzing. It was right in the middle of dinner rush. At seven-thirty, the restaurant was packed.
Chelsea barely ever got the chance to go out, so there was no way Patricia would miss it.
They squeezed into a cozy booth at the Japanese place, heads together as they eyed the menu.
“How’s Jackson working out for you?” Chelsea asked after handing their order to the waiter, settling in for a chat.
“He’s doing fine,” Patricia replied, taking a sip of water. The warm light overhead made her features look especially soft.
“My dad keeps bragging about him,” Chelsea said, shaking her head dramatically. “He went on and on—I almost thought he wanted Jackson as a son-in-law. Thank God he’s just your bodyguard.”
“Not your type?” Patricia grinned.
“He is, but shat’s the point of that? The guy’s like a block of wood,” Chelsea muttered. “I already spend all day in the lab with lifeless specimens. If I’m gonna date, I want someone who’s got a sharp tongue, soft heart, and won’t be shy about calling me ‘babe’.”
People are rebels at heart.
The ones who look sweet usually have a streak of rebellion. The ones who seem wild? Sometimes, they’re secretly old-fashioned.
Chelsea definitely belonged to the first group.
She was always busy; it was rare for the two of them to catch up.
After some quick updates, Chelsea’s eyes landed on Patricia’s legs. “So, about that medical group abroad I told you about—have you decided?”



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