Page 8 of Unexpected Pickle
I shake my head. “Are all the gigs like this?”
“No. Normally there are no humans involved in the work I get for Jeannie. But this one is aimed at alpha wannabes.”
“Is the company even legit?”
“Pickle Media vets them pretty well.”
“Was this one of your cousin’s gigs?”
“Yeah, Rhett sent it over from the Miami office.”
We arrive at the Hearty Bean and sit in the back corner. I pull the menus from under the napkin holder. It’s a casual place. I realize I’m ravenous.
“I’m serious about you not going back there today,” Max says. “I’ve done a lot of work with Jeannie, and I know her moods. She got called out today, and it’s going to take a night’s sleep before it stops festering.”
“But the director was the asshole.”
“Doesn’t matter. Jeannie is a perfectionist of the highest order. She’s going to stew on this for a while.”
“And I can’t help?” I want to, imagining drawing her against me, her head on my shoulder.
Max shakes his head. “What happens when you put water on a grease fire?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Don’t find out. Do not go up there until tomorrow.”
I study the menu. “Fine.”
“Did you make any headway?”
This is a better tack. “We talked. I got her to smile. Did you know she has dimples?”
He sits back. “No.”
“So I really did something.”
“You did.”
“Should I ask her out tomorrow? What do you think I should try? Dinner? Theater? Dancing?” I’m eager to move forward. I’ve been taking it slow for months.
Before he can answer, the server arrives. We both order piles of salad, no dressing, topped with grilled hormone-free chicken, no sauce. It’s nice to not have my meal scorned by people who think salads belong to women or some such rubbish. Eating withnon-fighters can be a lesson in restraint at their deprecating comments.
When he’s gone, Max shoves our menus back in their place. “I don’t think you should ask her out at all.”
Wait. What? “Why not?”
“She’ll say no. She shoots down everybody.”
“But the dimples!”
He runs the back of his hand along his jaw. “I don’t think that’s enough, and if she says no, it’s game over. All she’ll ever say after that is, ‘I already told you no. Respect my boundaries.’”
“Does she not date at all?”
“She used to. Not lately, though. She might be going through something.”
“Like what?”
