I shrugged. “I’ve been reading mafia novels.”
Addison rolled her eyes. “You’reso weird. No reading tonight, though. We’re gonna go out and make sure you forget all about that sleazy boss. Which reminds me, I finally figured out a way to deal with my own sleaze problem.”
Because Addison was gorgeous and at least a dozen tax brackets above the average working guy, she was often hit on by greasy gold-diggers who wanted to get their hands on her daddy’s money. Yes, male gold-diggerswere a real problem for her and, just like their female counterparts, they had no shame. Many of our conversations had been interrupted by men, shirts open to their waists to thrust their ripped chests into Addison’s face like she was some kind of bitch in heat who wouldn’t be able to stop herself from rolling over and showing her hoo-ha at their manliness.
Right. But no matter how many cheesypick-up lines they tried to sell to Addison, they couldn’t seem to buy a clue that jobless, pretty-boy scrubs weren’t her type. And sometimes the overly-confident jerks were really hard to deflect, forcing Addison to get creative.
The last time we’d gone out some douchebag who oiled his chest—not kidding, he was shiny and reeked of baby oil—wearing an open blazer and skinny jeans wouldn’t leaveour table, insisting she give him her number. Seeing no way out of it, she scrawled a random number on a napkin and handed it over. He took two steps away from our table, called the number, then turned to freak out on Addison for throwing him fake digits. As if his pretty face and stacked body entitled him to her number.
“Good. What’s the plan?” I asked.
She grinned. “This time I’ll use areal fake number.”
“Come again?”
“Well, I added another phone line to my plan, so I just need to record a voice mail for my fake name, and bam! Problem solved.”
I scratched my head. “So you’re paying another monthly line fee to give guys a fake number?”
She nodded, still grinning. “Genius, right?”
I was thinking more along the lines of expensive and unnecessary, but I could see where it wouldbe useful. “You sticking with the name Lynda?” I asked.
Both Addison and Asher called all their navigation systems Lynda. I’d made the mistake of asking why once, and had gotten some long, drawn-out answer that boiled down to neither of them knowing. It was just something they did. So when Addison gave out a fake name, she used Lynda. Using her navigation system’s name was her way of tellingpeople to get lost, and writing Lynda with aYinstead of anIwas like telling them to get lost with a flourish on the tail. Which pretty much summed up why she was my best friend.
“Of course,” she said, grabbing her phone. “Then whenever we’re having a crap-lousy day, we can dial in and listen to the messages. It’ll be like our own little reality show. We’ll call itClueless Scrubs.”
Despitemy own crap-lousy day, I couldn’t help but laugh as Addison set up an extra-breathy message on her new voice mail. “You know...” I grinned. “If your dad ever cuts you off, I think you could have a real future as one of those phone sex operators.”
She threw her phone at me. Then, knowing exactly what I needed, my bestie clapped her hands together and said, “All right, let’s get this party started.”
We drank mimosas for breakfast.
