“Actually, she’s not the girl for me.” The whiskey was now having an unexpected effect. Rather than calming me, it was acting like a truth serum.
“Oh yeah.” Peter looked up. “You’d throw her out of bed, I’m sure.”
I took a big swig of my beer and looked toward him, taking in his scrawny frame, wire-rim glasses, and unkempt brown hair. “She may prefer you, big guy!”
He ran a hand through his hair and jutted his hip out. “You know what, you may be right.” He proceeded to sashay around the table as if I’d said he thought he was funny.
“I got next,” I hollered and settled onto a stool to wait. “Who the hell are you playing, anyway?”
“I’m warming up, letting my shooting arm get ready.”
“This isn’t basketball, Pete. You know that, right?”
He ignored me.
“Can I get you guys anything?”
A scantily clad waitress with long red hair sidled up next to Adam. He was the good-looking one of our gang. By day, he was a lawyer at one of the studios, and by night he was our resident manwhore.
His words, not mine. Seriously.
“Wings, mild with bleu cheese, coupla orders, doll,” Peter yelled.
The ginger glared at him.
“Ignore him, honey.” Adam stood close to her, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair as he winked at her. “We’ll have some wings, please, and how about another bucket of beers?”
“Anything for you,” she said, swinging her hips from side to side as she headed back to the kitchen.
“Guess who’s going home with her tonight?” Adam asked us, then turned both of his thumbs toward his cashmere-clad chest and declared, “This dude.”
His eyes damn near sparkled at the prospect, and I wondered what it felt like to have women be such an easy conquest for you.
Once the waitress was out of sight, Adam turned his gaze back on me. “So, if a Hollywood superstar isn’t enough for you, does that mean you met someone else? A better woman?”
“Nah. Thought I might have, but nope.”
“Interesting. I notice your hair’s all styled. Was she there tonight?”
“Adam, what are we ... two girls trading secrets over coffee? Shut the fuck up and get ready to play pool. Hopefully the funny guy is almost warmed up.”
He held his palms up in the air in mock surrender. “Okay, tough guy. Don’t shoot me for asking.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Shut the fuck up.”
I didn’t need any crap from Mr. Wonderful. All I wanted to do was eat some wings (because I was still hungry), play pool, and forget about earlier.
I wasn’t having much success, though. The reel of Charli running out on me was stuck on replay in my head.
