“Why? Because of Mr. Whips and Chains?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.
“Him and the fact that there’s a lot we don’t know about Drake’s situation.”
“Bullshit. Drake was the best guy you’ve ever met. Hands down. He puts Whips and Chains to shame, girl.”
“But he might not be in the position to get involved right now. Even if his divorce is in the works, he might not be emotionally ready to get involved.”
“I mentioned your name. He seemed very excited to hear about you.”
The room was filling with the smell of toasted garlic. Salivating, I pulled a plate out of the cupboard. Then I opened the cream cheese container. Empty. “I’m not going to chase him down. No.”
“I suggested you two should get together and have coffee, and he said he’d love it.”
“Stop it.”
“I don’t like Shane.” I could hear her sneer.
“You don’t have to. I do.” I returned to the refrigerator, digging around for more cream cheese. The toaster popped.
“He’s going to hurt you.”
“That’s for me to decide.”
Silence. “Drake won’t ever talk about sharing you with his friends.”
“Stop it.” I threw the empty container into the garbage. “I said, I’m happy with Shane. Discussion over.”
“Fine.” More silence. “You know, I’m just trying to help.”
“I know. Thanks. Now, I need to jump in the shower and get going. I’ll talk to you later.”
“What’s on the agenda today?”
Scowling, I stared at the dry bagel in the toaster. “I need to get some groceries. Then, I’m not sure.”
“Want some company?”
“Sure.”
“See you in a few.”
“Bye.” I tossed my phone onto the counter and tried to eat my cream-cheese-less bagel. After a few bites, I gave up and scampered into the shower. I steamed and loofah-ed and shaved and soaped myself to silky smooth cleanliness. Then, wearing one towel around my body, another on my head, I went into the kitchen to get the coffeemaker going. I was slurping my first mouthful when a knock at the door signaled Jill’s arrival. I let her in, and she went right to the coffeepot, chattering on and on about how great Drake looked and how happy he seemed to be when they talked about me.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I made a zipping motion across my lips. “I don’t want to talk about Drake anymore.”
“What would it hurt to have coffee?” Jill asked as she grabbed a cup with one hand, the pot with the other.
“What would be the point?” I countered.
She filled her cup and set down the pot. “Catching up with an old friend?”
Standing next to her, my butt leaned against the counter, I asked over the rim of my cup, “Again, what would be the point? I’m...seeing someone.”
“But haven’t you been asking yourself what if?”
“Not recently, no.”
“Ah, so Mr. Whips and Chains has made you forget all about him.” Jill sighed and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Bristol. You and I both know this thing with Shane isn’t forever. You’re having your fun. He’s having his. Sooner or later you’ll get tired of being tied up and spanked, and he’ll move on to the next sexy bimbo with great latex.”
I felt my nose wrinkling. “You’re so calloused.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“I believe there’s more between Shane and me than whips and safewords. And I want to give whatever that is a fair chance. I can’t do that if I’m seeing other men.”
“I think you’re making a mistake.”
“It’s my life. My mistake.”
“Fair enough.”
“Now, can we move on? I’d like to get my shopping done early. Then, maybe we can do something fun. We haven’t gone biking in a while. It’s free. I’m broke.”
Jill grimaced. “No leads on a job yet?”
“Nothing.”
“Wow. I wish I could help.”
“No worries. I’ll find something.”
I was a damn good liar. Damn good.
* * * * *
That night, Jill and I hobbled into the new restaurant on Ford Avenue, Delo’s. Thanks to our afternoon activities, which included a three hour bike excursion, our legs were as limp as overcooked pasta. As we entered, we found out Delo’s was a nice restaurant, the kind of place people like Shane would dine at. Not an underpaid secretary on a counting-every-penny tight budget.
“I’m thinking we should go somewhere else,” I whispered as the hostess, dressed in a black skirt and jacket and white shirt, eyeballed us.
“No, we’re staying.”
“But—“
“My treat.”
“But—“
“No arguments,” Jill snapped.
“But—“
“Shhh!” She shushed me, grinning. “How many times have you bought me dinner?”
“A few,” I answered. That was a lie. We both knew it. But I didn’t like to rub things in people’s faces, especially Jill’s. She was my best friend, and I was hers. She’d hit a rough patch a while back when she was in law school. I was glad to be able to help her through it. If the tables had been turned (hopefully that wouldn’t be happening now) I knew she would’ve done the same for me.
“It’s my turn to pay you back,” Jill whispered as she gave me a don’t-argue-with-me squint.
The hostess stepped up, and, walking a little shakily, we followed her. My gaze meandered through the restaurant’s chic interior. The tables were widely spaced apart, covered with crisp white tablecloths. The chairs, also white, had very high backs that provided a small measure of privacy for diners. But as we moved through the space to our table, I could still see many men, all decked in full business dress, including ties, and women in dresses.
The hostess stopped at a table near the back of the open space. “Is this okay?” she asked.
“It’s fine,” Jill said as she grabbed the back of one of the chairs. “Thank you.”
“Your server will be with you shortly.” The hostess scurried back to her station while Jill and I took our seats.
I scanned the area. “No menus.”
“The server will probably bring them. Or he might have to recite the menu. I had lunch at a place this week that had no printed menu. The wait staff had to recite it for every customer.”