Or assuming you were a dude.
Or buying you a massive guinea pig enclosure, but not thinking about how you’d have to put the damn thing together.
Honestly, no. I don’t have any masks with you. You’re a rare exception to my everyday life, Audrey. You’ve become a genuine friend.
Me
Thank you. That makes me happy.
And I didn’t mind putting together the enclosure. Which they still love, by the way.
But I’m cool if we do away with the puking mask. That was kinda gross.
QB
Dammit. There goes my plans for our next outing.
“Aud, if you don’t get some actual booze here, I’m never coming over again,” Chelsea calls from the kitchen.
“There are two bottles of wine in the back of the fridge,” I respond. Squeaks ensue as I continue to clean out the pig enclosure. “Frank, you need to stop kicking your poo everywhere. It’s disgusting, and Flash keeps eating it.”
I finally named the pigs when I realized I wouldn’t give them up for adoption. Frank is mostly white with brown and black splotches. Norm is all white. Jax was right, he’s feral for strawberries and looks like a murderer after finishing one. Desmond is fluffier, and mostly brown, while Burt is almost completely black. Finally, Bill is light brown with black ears.
Five boy guinea pigs. Honestly, I lucked out. A mixture would have made me separate them to ensure they weren’t constantly making little piggies. As cute as that would be, I don’t have the time or the desire to add to the guinea pig population.
I’ll admit, I set up a camera to figure out which one was kicking the poop out. Frank legitimately looked directly at the camera, turned around, and started kicking. I fear he’s the ringleader. He may also be my favorite.
“Oh, it’s the good Chardonnay! I forgot you had them. You sure you’re okay if we drink these?” Chelsea asks.
“Yeah. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve saved them this long.” I bought one bottle after opening my clinic, with the thought that I’d celebrate when I’d accrued one hundred clients. But when I flew past that number, I couldn’t seem to open the bottle. The second one was a gift from a client, after her beloved dog passedaway. I’d gone to her house to be with her family as the dog was euthanized. Her two children have special needs, and saying goodbye in a stark veterinary clinic would have been incredibly difficult for them to comprehend. I didn’t mind the change in procedure, and may offer it in the future if needed.
After handing me a glass of wine, Chelsea plops down on the couch, giving me an expectant look. “So. Tell me about the quarterback.”
Without maintaining eye contact, I say, “There’s nothing to tell. We’re planning an event together. He’s a nice guy. That’s all.”
Chelsea is silent for a minute, before she bursts into laughter. “You are so full of shit.”
“What? I am not. Nothing is happening with him.”
“But you want something to happen, don’t you? He’s a cutie.”
“You’re not much help, you know. You’re attracted to everyone.”
“No, I’m not. Just because I comment that someone is cute doesn’t mean that I’m automatically attracted to them. I can look at someone and recognize societal standards of beauty. Your quarterback is hot. And I’ll have you know I’ve only ever really felt attraction to a man a couple of times. Then when the dick gets involved …” she shudders. “Hard pass. I prefer the V.”
I can’t help but giggle. “I know you aren’t attracted to everyone. And I know Jamie is quite handsome. But he’s shown absolutely no interest in me whatsoever. I’m sure he can have his pick of any woman in the world, so it’s hardly likely he’d choose me.”
Chelsea sits up straight as I take a sip of wine, her face defiant and angry. “And why the hell not? Why wouldn’t an NFL quarterback want to be with my amazing best friend? You’re gorgeous. And smart. You’re insanely talented, and you havesuch a big heart. You’re a fucking catch, Aud. I really wish you could see that.”
I sigh. “It’s not that I think I’m unworthy of him. I like to say I’m realistic, but I can see how that could be perceived as pessimistic. But look at every NFL quarterback out there. Not one of them has a curvy woman. I bet a good chunk of them are models and influencers. Comparatively speaking, I’m quite different.”
I’m a fairly confident woman. No, I’m not a sample size. Far from it, in fact. But I like my curves. And while there may be a pudgy layer between my skin and muscular system, I’m actually in fairly good shape. And I refuse to starve myself to please someone else, so a man better take it or leave it.
“Okay,” Chelsea says. “I’m going to word this differently. Areyouattracted to him?”
“Well, I mean, attraction is such a broad term, and we’re essentially colleagues —” I stammer, until Chelsea holds up a hand.
“Nope. I don’t need to know all the reasons you’ve convinced yourself that you can’t find him hot. Answer the question, Aud. Are you attracted to him?”
