Page 60 of Curveball
“Oh, my God, those shoesare cute,” I say of the strappy summer sandals she’s matched with a short boat-neck dress as I approach her and give her a squeeze. The woman’s legs are enviable. “Your feet are a little caszh today, Ms Patel. Good for you.”
“Whatever.” She blows off my comment with a sassy grin.
“Right, whatever. I bet the rest of your closet is in an uproar about now.Oh, no, what’s the lady doing? Are we going sporty this season?”
The green shoes are a diversion from her usual, classic style, all dresses and matching heels, and I’ll get to the reason for this unexpected departure. I’ve got plenty to unpack as well, once we’re seated. And I want to hear all the tea about her new client. The guy who’s actually not that new to her. At all.
“You’re such a dork.” She laughs and kicks out her leg to give her ankle a twirl. “I love the color.”
With that, she flings open the door and I brace myself to be accosted by the intense décor of shocking pink and brilliant turquoise. How can a personnotbe happy in an environmentas cheerful as this? Plus, there’s the added bonus that men out trolling for a hookup usually steer clear.
The hostess leads us to a booth along the wall—bright blue vinyl seats and a table of pink patterned Formica—and we each slide in and grab the drink menus in one smooth motion.
“I called Sara to see if she could join us, but she’s not back from Maui yet. She said to give you a hug though, so that back there—she flicks her thumb over her shoulder—that was from her.”
“What I wouldn’t give for two weeks on a tropical island with my two best friends,” I lament.
Priya nods her enthusiastic agreement. “You’ve got that right.”
It seems so long ago that I moved to Nashville and met Priya and Sara, and even though they’re both several years younger, we’ve become fast friends. We’ve all had big changes in our lives since then, and even though we’re on our group chat daily, we rarely get together more than a couple of times a month.
After a few minutes of perusing the menu and debating our options, I peer over the top of the laminated menu when a man’s voice comes from my side.
“You beautiful ladies ready to order?”
The request comes from our server, a guy I didn’t notice walking up to our table, and someone I don’t recognize. He’s on-brand for this establishment, dressed in white jeans and a neon pink polo with a flamingo-shaped name tag that says Ben.
“Hey, Ben, you new here?” Priya asks, and my eyebrows shoot up. Not only is her comment forward, it’s so out of character, I gawk at her.
“What?” she demands of me when she notices my expression. I merely spread my hands wide with a grin. Girl’s allowed to flirt a little, and I’m here for the show.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ben stoically responds to her original question, and doesn’t offer any personal commentary. “What are we drinking?”
The atmosphere of this place usually demands something fruity and frothy, but tonight, I don’t feel any of that. Not fruity; definitely not frothy. Tonight, I’m going hard-core.
“Jack and Diet Coke,” I say, as close as I can manage to hard drinking, and Priya orders our usual piña colada, then looks at me with her eyebrows raised.
Ben makes note of our orders, his attention focused on his tablet, and once he determines we’re not also ordering appetizers, he gives us the rote, “Your orders will be out soon,” and takes off across the room.
“You’re drinking whiskey on a school night?” The incredulity in Priya’s question makes it seem as if she’s never seen me drink anything stronger than the piña colada she ordered. Fair, though. It has been a while.
“I am,” I say. “And we’ll dive into the reason for that in just a minute. But first, can I please point out . . . you just got ma’amed,” I tease. “You want to tell me what Flirty Priya was all about?”
“Not flirting. Just . . . okay, I was flirting. And I’m bad at it. Really bad.”
“And this was brought on by?—”
“Fucking Big Ego,” she snarls. And the tea is spilled.
So, Oscar again. The fans call him Big O because of his superior play on the ice. We’re not that nice.
“What’s he want now?”
“He thinks we should get back together.”
My jaw drops.
“And you need to practice flirting, becausewhy?”
