“Fine,” Lauren huffs. “M-Burger? Is thatunfancyenough for you?”
“Mmm, yummy. Yeah. Perfect. See you there.” I wonder what kind of news she’s got. Maybe she’s pregnant. Oh hell, I’m not ready to be an aunty yet. Or maybe it’s news about her loser cousin. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be good.
When I get there, Lauren is already seated with two meals in front of her. Damn it, I hate when she buys. “Lauren, how much do I owe you?” I ask, exasperated.
“Nothing. I had a coupon.”
“I call bullshit. The Lauren Jacobs-Warner I know doesn’t use coupons.”
“I had a BOGO-meal coupon. I’ll prove it.” She reaches into her eight-hundred-dollar Coach bag and pulls out the other half of her coupon.
“Fine. Whatever. But I buy next time.”
“Sure thing. Eat up before it gets cold.”
Lauren is watching me chow down on the adult grilled cheese sandwich. It’s on M-Burger’ssecretmenu. Bet you didn’t know they had a secret menu. “Damn, so good,” I say with my mouth full of melted cheesy goodness. Lauren sips her drink and swings her crossed leg like she’s trying to keep herself calm. “Okay. Spill,” I say, swallowing my last bite of sandwich.
Lauren sets her cup down and reaches both hands out to grab mine as she leans so far forward her boobs are on the table. I hope she doesn’t get ketchup on that top. It probably cost more than my mortgage payment. “You’ll never guess who I saw last night.”
She’s right. I’ll never guess. She’s a social butterfly. Plus, the kinds of people who run in her circle are pretty important—it could be Brad Pitt for all I know. “I give. Who?”
“Mr. Three o’Clock,” she squeals.
I spit out the drink I just took all over her face and shirt. Dang. I hope it comes out. “Seriously? Where? How? When?Was he alone?” Now it’s me that’s excited. Not that anything is gonna happen with my sexy New Year’s Eve kisser.
“Well, I saw him at Whole Foods, and yes, he was alone,” she says, grabbing the last napkin to wipe her face.
“Which one?” I’m frantic now. I need to calm my ass down.
“The one on West Fullerton.”
“What was he doing there?” She looks at me like I’m dense. “Okay. I know. Getting groceries.”
“Yeah, but that’s not all. He was wearing workout clothes. Running pants and super expensive Mizuno Wave running shoes.”
Like I know what those are. “And?”
“I took a picture.” She smiles smugly.
“Oh, my God. You did not. What if he saw you do that? What if he heard your camera click or something? Jeez.”
“He didn’t. Here, look.”
She holds up a picture of the back of Mr. Three o’Clock, and it’s better than I remember. His hair is messy like he just went for a run. I can see sweat stains on the light gray of his shirt. His face is turned to the side, so I can see his profile. “He’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“He is beautiful. I followed him around the store like a real detective. I think I missed my calling,” she says, sliding her phone back into her purse.
“Send me that pic. I’ll be able to do lots of things with that picture. Hello, new spank-bank fodder.”
“Ooh,girrrrl. TMI.”
I giggle at my best friend.
“So, you know what that means?”
“What?”
“It means, dummy, he lives in my neighborhood.”
