“You have issues. I think you need to invest in some new hobbies now you’re single,” I deadpan as I reach for the bottle of champagne and share the remaining liquid between our glasses.
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you don’t people watch.”
Sure, I do. It’s what I used to do in the military, and I was damn good at it.
“Not really.” I shrug.
“Try it. Pick a couple and tell me their story.”
No,” I say flatly.
“Why?”
“Because it’s fucking weird,” I whisper hiss.
“Oh, don’t be such a bore. Live a little. I’ll pick.” She extends her neck and looks around the room. I eyeroll her and finish my glass. Shit, I really need to slow down the drinking. We've already done a bottle, and we haven't had dinner yet.
“Okay, them.” She points to a couple sitting in a booth a few tables away.
“Don’t point. It’s rude,” I scold, gently shoving her hand down.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she mocks and her words stir something to life in me, and I awkwardly shuffle in my seat.
Deciding to humor her, I go along with this ridiculous game because what the hell else do I have to do with my evening? I let out an irritated breath. “Which couple?”
She tilts her head to the left. “Two tables over. The woman with the red hair, navy dress and the guy in the blue jumper and the skirted egg.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Skirted egg?”
She points to her head. “Bald on top, hair around the edge, a skirted egg.”
I bark out a laugh, drawing attention to us, and I try and disguise my outburst with a cough.
“Come on, tell me their names and what they do,” she encourages.
I focus on my poor, unsuspecting victims of this ridiculous game and really look at them. Watching people, learning their behavior patterns and movements is not new to me, but I’m here to appease Noelle.
I watch the older couple as the man scrolls mindlessly on his phone, and the woman pushes her dessert around her plate in silence.
“Any time this side of Christmas, Beckett. I’m not getting any younger,” she demands, tapping the table with her palm.
“Okay, okay, I’m observing.” I clear my throat and lean over the table so I’m closer. She meets me halfway and I lower my voice and give her my observations. “They are married.” She nods in agreement, not looking at me, but at them. “She’s been a stay at home mom all their married life, and now their kids have flown the nest and now it’s just the two of them.”
“Yes, good, good,” Noelle praises, and it gives me the confidence to continue her game.
“Her name is Alice, he’s Ted. He works in sales, ignores his wife and spends the weekends at the golf course.”
“Yes. So typical of a Ted,” Noelle says, her tone excited.
“They haven't had sex in months, and she resents him because she had to give up her career as a florist to support his dreams, but he failed and lost all their savings.”
“Perfect, absolutely perfect. Well done.” She raises her hand as if waiting for a high five. I lightly tap her hand, and she wastes no time selecting another couple for our weird little game. “Okay, those two at the bar. Dude with the glasses and the grey shirt.”
I spot the guy, and for some odd reason I am now invested in this.
“Okay, Stanley. He’s a teacher, coaches softball on the weekends, but every second Friday, he meets his buddies and he tells his girlfriend, Zoe, that he’s playing fantasy baseball, when he’s really part of a historical reenactment group, but he can’t tell her because he knows that men in costumes give her the ick.”
Her eyes catch mine, and I can’t help but smile, watching her whole face light up. She really is beautiful in an effortless sort of way.
