Page 92 of Biggest Player
Once we’re inside, seated comfortably in a corner booth near a bright, candy-covered bar—one that serves alcohol, of course—we pass the time waiting for our server by people watching, making up ridiculous backstories for everyone around us.
“See that guy with the man bun? Definitely a secret agent.” Margot is nodding toward a tall, muscular guy with a suspiciously serious expression who’s scrunched at a table with two teenagers, one boy and one girl, both of them ignoring him and playing on their phones. For a man surrounded by ice cream and doughnuts, he sure looks miserable.
“How can he be a secret agent when he’s in here eating ice cream?” I don’t love that theory; it makes no sense. “I was thinking he’s the type of guy that owns his own gym and doubles as a bodyguard on the weekends.”
“You think he’s that girl’s bodyguard? Could be.” She shrugs. “Although he’s probably a single dad, and this is his weekend with the kids, and he’s trying to spend time with them, but they’d rather just play on their phones.”
That was going to be my next guess.
“What are you getting?” I ask her, plucking up a menu and opening it. It’s absurdly oversize, and we laugh as we try to hold them up and read at the same time, laminated pages bumping and making it difficult.
“I feel like I need a map to navigate this thing.” She peeks over the top at me. “It’s gargantuan.”
“Just close your eyes and point,” I suggest. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“Why do I get the feeling that you say that a lot?”
“’Cause I say that a lot?” I laugh. “It only fails me fifty percent of the time.”
When the server comes to take our order, we both opt for the most ridiculous milkshakes on the menu. They’re not cheap, and ordinarily the price tag might make me cringe, but how can anything topped with an entire slice of cheesecake be a bad investment?
Mine? Has a mini doughnut tower precariously perched on top.
In short order both desserts are plopped down in front of us. We stare.
“That looks absolutely ... revolting,” she says, looking from mine to hers to mine. “Seriously. Who came up with this? It’s nonsense! This must weigh at least five pounds!”
I steal a cookie from the side of her glass and pop it in my mouth before she can scold me.
“This is ... wow.” She’s eyeballing her own concoction. “I have no idea how to start eating this.”
There are spoons in a cup holder on the table, and I hand her one, also taking one for myself, plus a half-dozen napkins.
We’re going to need them.
“Epic, isn’t it?” I say, tentatively sipping my milkshake while trying not to topple the doughnuts.
I love how it looks. So fucking cool. “Do you mind if I take a picture before we eat these?”
Margot rolls her eyes but pushes her glass toward mine so I can snap a photo with my phone.
“Are you going to look at that later?” she teases.
“I might.”
She sticks her tongue out at me before plucking a piece of cheesecake off her glass, then taking a careful bite.
“Oh my God, yum.”
“Good?”
She moans. “I was wrong. This might be worth a sugar coma.”
“Told you,” I say smugly, chewing thoughtfully. “I have excellent taste.”
“That’s what they should name this place. Sugar Coma,” she suggests, sucking ice cream through the shake’s blue straw, then forking the cheesecake balanced on top.
Soon we’re both clutching our guts and moaning, leaning back against the seats. Stuffed.
