Before, I hadn’t wanted to believe he was that selfish. A part of me hoped he was just getting his ducks in a row before he pitched the idea to Charlie and me. But if a real estate agent was involved... then he obviously didn’t think he needed us.
The actual nerve of that man.
I was so glad I already had plans with Claire scheduled. She would know what to do.
Also, if I didn’t get my ass in gear now, I was going to be late, which would mean I would be really late since she would most definitely get to the restaurant fifteen minutes early.
Forty minutes later, I’d scrubbed the bar clean and changed into a slinky, black velvet dress that was low cut over my chest and high cut over my thighs. I’d paired it with fishnet stockings, combat boots, and my favorite leather jacket I’d painted big purple flowers on the back. It was edgy and sexy, and I loved the way I looked.
My hair was up for the night in a big messy bun of dark hair. And I’d done my eye makeup extra smoky. I had a real problem with dressing to fit my mood. When I was happy, I was all florals and pastels. When I was in full-on serious business mode, I went with sleek lines and jewel tones. And when I was pissed off or moody, it was all goth for me.
Thankfully, I’d packed in anticipation of being pissed off because my current frame of mind would not have suffered through anything but black on black on black.
Just as I predicted, Claire was already seated at the restaurant by the time I got there. We’d spent a lot of our Sunday nights recently trying out up-and-coming places. Tonight’s hot spot was a new tapas place close to Duke called Mimi’s. They were known for their pork belly banh mi and kung pao cauliflower, and I couldn’t wait to try everything. They also supposedly had great cocktails—but I was less enthusiastic they would live up to my standards.
Claire stood and squeezed me in a quick hug. “Hey, I just sat down.”
Which was code that she’d been waiting at least ten minutes but didn’t want me to feel bad. Everyone needed a Type A friend. They kept us organized and in line and reminded us about all the adult stuff we would naturally put off until it was too late—making a will, for example, paying our taxes, scheduling mammograms, etc. But those Type A’s needed us too. To remind them that being on time for everything did not win them any prizes and sometimes it was better to just say fuck it and do whatever we wanted.
It wasn’t just our personalities though. Our styles couldn’t be more different. I was a strange mix of boho and edgy where Claire was all buttoned-up ex-kindergarten teacher. Tonight, she’d made a valiant effort to look our age in a short yellow and black plaid skirt a la Clueless, black tights, leather mules, and a loose black off-the-shoulder sweater. Her auburn hair was straightened perfectly, and she wore a coordinating headband. She was absolutely stunning. But she was also very modest.
The truth was, Claire came from money, and it was obvious.
Next to her, I looked like the lead singer in a grunge band. We couldn’t be more opposite. But that was basically what made our friendship so dang special.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I huffed without acknowledging what she’d said. I was too worked up to feel bad for making her wait. “I was just at the bar taking some pics for socials this week, and the phone rang. Nobody else was there, so I answered it. And guess who it was?”
She sort of blinked at me. “Like on a real phone?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “On the cordless.”
She looked genuinely befuddled. “The cordless phone?”
“Yeah,” I repeated. “It’s our business phone. We keep it for the bar.”
“You pay for that?”
“Yeah,” I said for the third time. “It’s just so we don’t get constant calls to our cells.”
“Huh.”
“Anyway, it was a real estate agent calling for Will. Can you believe that? A real estate agent!”
Finally, she looked appropriately scandalized. “No! You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
A server swung by the table to take our drink order. “Hi, my name is James, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”
Remembering we were here to actually eat and drink, I grabbed the cocktail menu and quickly scanned it, searching for the first whiskey drink I could find. “I’ll do the cinnamon, maple whiskey thing,” I told him, avoiding the name I couldn’t pronounce.
Claire said, “I’ll do the same thing.”
The server pressed buttons on his iPad and then said, “Do you need a couple more minutes before you want to order? Or I can put that in now if you know what you want.”
I looked at Claire. This was her job. I ordered the drinks, and she handled the food. Bartender and chef besties.
She smiled at James, and it had a sort of evil villain look to it. Yes, she knew what we wanted. Was James ready for this? She sucked in a quick breath and then launched into her assault on the menu. In thirty to forty-five minutes, we would be able to weigh Mimi’s worthiness as a new Durham hot spot to the nth degree. Knowing Claire, I already expected to find it sorely lacking. But it was going to be a fun judging process anyway.
