Page 76 of Digging Up Love
“Maybe not. But he’s the first guy to see the real me. Thewholeme,” she said. “That’s a big deal. Not all of us are heartbreakers when we come out of the womb.”
“A backhanded compliment, but yeah, I do have an innate talent.” Simone pressed a flat hand to the ponytail she’d slicked back into a pouf. “So when do I get to meet this guy?”
Alisha stopped the knife with her index finger. “Never?”
“Come on, girl. It’s time to try something new. Your old MO wasnotworking.” She reached across and jabbed Alisha’s wrist with each word. “Let me meet him.” Hiking up one shoulder, she said, “Who knows, maybe I’ll hate him, and you’ll have a reason to kick him to the curb.”
Why didn’t that sound appealing? By all rights, this was the point when she should’ve been begging for an out, not burrowing down deeper into what might be a deluded daydream.
“What happens if you decide to see this through?” Simone asked. “Planning to abandon your beloved Hawksburg for a man?”
The perfect opportunity to come clean. Air out her lie and tell her sister about her yearning to set up a life here, in the city.
Her phone buzzed. Once. Twice.
Simone lifted her palms. “You can get that.”
Telling herself that particular conversation could wait—after all, it had waited seven years—she tugged her phone out of her purse. Opened the text.
A picture of Quentin with glasses on and an unbuttoned white dress shirt greeted her. The lenses accentuated the green flecks in his eyes, and a hint of a smile played at the corners of his parted lips. A flash of pecs and way-too-perfect six-pack was visible above the waistband of his jeans. She bit her lip.
“OMG, did he just sext you?”
Alisha clapped the phone to her chest, as good as clutching pearls. “No!”
“Yeah, right.” Simone tilted her head sideways, gold hoops catching the light. “You’re guilty as all get-out. What did he send you, a dick pic?”
The waitress sailed up to the table with a wide smile. Alisha slumped down in her seat, resisting the urge to continue the slide until she was hidden underneath the table. “What can I get for you ladies?”
How about two eggs with a side of mortification?
“I’ll have an egg white spinach omelet,” Simone said, holding loosely clasped hands by her cheek, her upturned face a ringer for a baroque saint. “But better bring my sister a smoothie, because she’s sothirsty.” She dropped the pose and planted her fingertips on the edge of the table, locking eyes with Alisha.
The waitress’s lips quirked up, and Alisha shot daggers at her sister. “Um, actually, I’ll have the raspberry cheesecake–stuffed french toast. Thanks.” She kicked Simone’s skinny shin.
“Sounds perfect—it’ll be right out for you.” The waitress grabbed the menus and departed.
“I don’t know how we share the same genes.”
Simone snickered. “Since the picture is supposedly PG ...”
“How do you even know thereisa picture?”
“Are you going to share it or leave it to my imagination?”
With a petty smirk, Alisha said, “I’ll take door number two.”
“Oh, girl, c’mon.”
“Nuh-uh, nope. You took the wrong approach.” Alisha kept the phone pressed to her chest. “Maybe one day you’ll learn: shock and awe can’t win every campaign.”
“Fine, I won’t push it, on the grounds you at least ask him if we can hang out tomorrow before you leave.”
“Sure,” Alisha mumbled absently, tipping her phone out for another peek.
Quentin:
Is this appropriate docent attire?
