Page 21 of Betting Blind
Once we’re safely inside, I follow her blurry silhouette until it disappears into her master bedroom. We’re both a little tipsy and high on adrenaline from tonight’s events. Shaking my head to clear my vision, I swing the duffle bag that’s slung over my shoulder up onto the couch.
Jules’s apartment is big enough for a small family. Her cream couches are luxuriously soft, and the silver pillows adorning them give the space that cosmopolitan pop. A white faux-fur lamp as tall as I am stands to the right, warming the room with a soft, yellow glow, and behind me is a massive glass entertainment center. There are two large cabinets surrounding her big-screen TV on each side before meeting the flat top that pieces the massive structure together.
Her kitchen is white with matching white granite that has little pieces of sparkling glass in it, and it wraps almost all the way around.
To put it frankly, the place is a dream.
My tired eyes stare back at me in the rectangle mirror, and I try not to groan at the bags that have already begun dragging my face into a frown. I return to sifting around my bag until I find the most comfortable outfit that I own. Slipping out the fuzzy pink material of my footed pajamas, I hear Juliana’s voice cut across the apartment. “What do you think?” she asks, pointing to her matching purple pjs.
“Aw, you kept them?”
“Of course I did, silly! I would never throw away a gift you gave me.” She’s got a skip in her step as she makes her way over to the pantry and pulls out some popcorn.
That was a fun Christmas. The two of us had our present exchange in the middle of her apartment floor back when she first moved here. We tore the wrapping paper off the boxes in a hurry, and we both laughed at the sight. She had gotten me the pink pajamas I’m wearing now, and I had gotten her a matching purple pair. She knows me better than I know myself most days.
I quickly change while Juliana turns her Bluetooth speaker on and starts shaking her ass to the rhythm of OMC’s “How Bizarre.” I stumble my way onto the couch to sing along and cue Jules to chime in every few lines. Before long, I’m getting dizzy and collapse on the cushions, out of breath. The light buzzing under my skin is followed by a welcome rush of happiness. Tonight was about more than impressing Tank. I’m thankful to have earned his respect, but a tiny part of me wanted to prove to Jack and Derrick that I’m more than the ditzy blonde they once perceived me to be.
I can only hope I was successful.
The sudden weight of a thirteen-pound feline crushes my chest, and a burst of air is forced from my lungs. Oscar, Juliana’s black-and-white cat, offers a friendly meow in greeting. He kneads his paws back and forth underneath my collarbones, and his bright yellow eyes assure me he’s heard better singing from his alleyway friends.
“I’ll be taking no judgments from someone who poops in a box, thank you very much.” He jumps onto the floor with a thud, scurrying away when Jules makes a running leap onto the couch next to me, spilling a generous amount of the popcorn onto the floor.
She wiggles her brows at me before leaning over the arm of the couch we are snuggled up on. “I took the liberty of getting us some wine.” She comes back up with her hand wrapped around the neck of a giant bottle of cabernet.
When she starts to tear at the foil with her teeth, I swat her away so she doesn’t break a tooth. I reach out my hand, and she fishes around in her pocket for a moment before she places a corkscrew in my open palm. We don’t bother with wine glasses because we are respectable ladies, obviously.
“Cheers!” I take a huge gulp that burns all the way down to my belly where José Cuervo is having afiesta.
She eyes me. “Wine and tequila are not friends,señorita.”
“Well, tonight, they arebestfriends.” I hide a grimace when the two begin to tango, hijacking my bloodstream and making my head swim.
We pass the bottle back and forth a few times, and at some point, Oscar moves to lay his fat body across my feet. I reach down to lift him up onto my lap and trace the outline of his chest markings with my finger. The pattern on his chest resembles a white bow tie against his black fur, and I vividly remember when I saw him for the first time. He was a tiny little thing.
After watching one of those commercials with the lady and the sad-eyed animals, paired with that tragic song playing in the background, we were sold. It took one tear-filled look at each other and we jumped into my car and went straight to the nearest shelter. I wanted a dog, she wanted a cat, and that is how we ended up with Gordy and Oscar.
I don’t know what I would do without the three of them in my life.
Juliana swivels her body toward me with her legs crisscross-applesauce on the couch. “You truly were incredible tonight.”
I play with a stray lock of hair, staring at our images in her gaudy entertainment center. “Yeah, well, I lost.”
Her reflection pins me with her gaze. “I’m serious, Cassidy. It doesn’t matter that you lost. You stood your ground and showed that big oaf that you meant business.” After snagging the bottle for another sip, she takes a large pull and follows it up with a hiccup. “I was one more curled lip away from showing him how this Latina throws down.” Her accent grows thicker with each word.
My cheeks heat and I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol or her compliment. “I guess it did feel pretty good to stand up for myself. Working with those guys has certainly been an experience. It’s strange, but I feel like I belong there with them. We’re this weird little dysfunctional family and I love it.”
She raises a single brow. “I know Jack noticed your badassery.”
Thoughts of the sexy bartender tumble through my tipsy brain. “The way he looked at me tonight…” I pause. “He’s impossible to read. It’s frustrating not knowing where we stand.”
I pick at Oscar’s fur absently, wondering what I’m doing wrong. I’m not exactly experienced in the dating world, but I’m not an idiot, either. Something is shifting between us, but I’m just not sure which direction we’re heading.
“Classic.”
I turn my head toward her as she takes another gulp of wine. Her hair is in a messy top bun, matching mine, and she’s traded her contacts for thick-framed glasses because she doesn’t like it when her eyes get dry at night. “What do you mean?”
“It’s obvious he’s into you. He’s got that bad boy thing; you’ve got that girl-next-door allure.” I roll my eyes. “You’re living in a romance novel!”
