Page 19 of Heart to Heart
“Not with that attitude, you’re not.”
I rolled my eyes, batting his arm playfully as Kiki came up behind me and threw her arms around my shoulder. The sudden shift in my weight distribution made me lose my footing, and Ihad to take evasive action by steadying myself on a table before I went ass over applecart onto the floor.
“You sure you haven’t already started drinking?” Ethan asked, amused.
“Not a drop. Avery is just getting a literal crash course in heel-walking.”
“Why can’t she just wear flats?” he asked, just as perplexed as I had been when Kiki shoved the offensive footwear into my arms and ushered me to the checkout. I imagined she was probably giving Ethan the same look that screamedAre you an idiot?she had given me. The resignation on his face confirmed my suspicion.
“I’ll tell you why our Avery isn’t wearing flats, for it would be a crime with these legs.” Kiki gestured down the length of my gams, and, strangely, I was kind of okay with the objectification. “Besides, we’re playing to win. To bring home that ‘W’—or at least runner-up. Either way, flats are for quitters.”
“Did you follow any of that?” I asked Ethan.
“Not a word.”
“Okay,” Kiki clapped her hands together and gestured to the bar, where Lauren and Gretta, mutual acquaintances of ours from our study group, were seated, “enough lollygagging. Let’s give Avery a night she’ll hopefully forget.”
I glanced back at Ethan, who seemed sympathetic to my plight. He would stay sober. He always did when he knew Kiki and I were drinking. It was almost enough to make that time he ate the chalupa I’d been saving in the refrigerator a forgivable offense. Almost.
Kiki latched onto my hand and pulled me to the bar; a tacky faux metallic structure that was designed to resemble a bear trap. Blue LED lights lined its perimeter. It really was a disaster. But aesthetics meant nothing after a few drinks.
“Keep them coming for this one all night.” Kiki gestured to me as she flagged down the bartender on duty, a tall drink of water with sandy blond hair who was no older than we were. He nodded at Kiki and glanced over at me, recognition dawning on his face.
Which was strange because I didn’t have a clue who he was.
His eyes trailed down to my sash as though its presence confirmed his suspicions. “I know you.” He smiled, all perfect, straight, white teeth, complete with dimples. This man would have been the result if Ryan Reynolds and Ryan Gosling had hooked up and had a love child. Never mind the impossibility of it all. And if it hadn’t been for my nether regions being on fire, I may have felt something when he smiled at me. Concerned, I found myself wondering whether a normal feeling would be possible down there again. For now, I’d just have to settle for the flutter in my stomach, telling me my sex drive hadn’t completely died. “Cookie Monster, right?”
“I beg your pardon?” Confused, my eyes flickered to Kiki seated on a stool next to me. She avoided eye contact with me, kind of like our old Labrador Retriever used to do whenever we’d come home and the trashcan had been knocked over and rummaged through. Kiki was a guilty Labrador Retriever.
The blond bartender picked up his phone and scrolled through it, quickly finding what he was searching for. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
“I know someone who’s not getting a tip,” Kiki muttered under her breath.
My eyes widened, and I felt my face begin to burn more than my unmentionables as I took in the image on the phone that most definitely was, in fact, me—in an oversized, very blue, very much Cookie Monster onesie.
“Kiki, what is this? Why am I staring at this?”
“Oh, I, uh, meant to tell you…after you arrived in Los Angeles.Heart to Heartpublished photos of this season’s contestants on their website yesterday.”
I closed my eyes, rubbing my temples. My Brazilian situation was now the least of my concerns.
“It’s a cute picture of you,” Kiki said, shrugging. “Who knows, maybe Tristan has a Sesame Street fetish. You could be the Bert to his Ernie.”
If thoughts could kill, I would soon be arrested for Kiki’s murder.
“Or the Grouch to his Oscar,” she muttered. “Look, hardly anyone pays attention to their website. Maybe ten—fifteen million people or so.”
“Oh my God,” I moaned, glancing back at the bartender, still dutifully awaiting our orders. “A shot, please. Surprise me. And for the love of all that is holy, keep them coming—” I glanced at him, gesturing for him to fill in the blank.
“Ryan.”
“—Ryan.”Of course, it was Ryan. “Please keep them coming, Ryan.”
He smiled, that sweltering smile that surely served him well in the lady department. “You got it.” He winked as he turned to inspect the wares sitting on glass shelves behind him.
“That picture isn’t that bad.” Lauren, already three sheets to the wind, leaned in closer to Kiki and me. She was on the stool to my right and was already too close for comfort as it was, but now she was close enough to where I could smell the wine on her breath. “You look adorable. So much better than those pretty, polished bitches, with their perfect hair, their perfect teeth, their perfect eyebrows, their perfect…”
“Okay, Lauren, she gets it,” Gretta interceded, pulling our mutual study partner away from my personal space. A curly-haired savior, she was. She turned to me after wrangling herfriend and smiled. “I think your photo sets you apart from the pack. You’re unique. Memorable.”
