She wiggles her eyebrows. “It’s growing on you now, isn’t it? Aren’t you glad I wore the turtleneck?”
“Couldn’t be more pleased. What’s cleavage when you can stare at a statement necklace all night?”
Affirmed, she slaps the table. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Drawing attention from the other diners from her loud proclamation, she catches the suit staring at her and twiddles her fingers at him . . . obnoxiously. “Ahoy, Jackie Boy.”
I watch the exchange. The suit doesn’t look pleased with Noely’s antics but not in an annoyed way. He’s . . . angry, like he can’t believe she’s on a date with someone else.
Jealousy.
That’s what it is. It’s evident in the way his jaw clenches tightly together and how his brow is knitted together, or from the death glare he’s giving me.
Despite Noely’s attempt to say hi, he doesn’t say anything, but instead turns away, back to his date.
“Well,” she huffs.
“That was rude,” I finish for her.
“You’re telling me.” She leans her chin into her propped-up palm. “God, technology has really desensitized us. If I sent him a text message with a waving emoji, I bet he would reply with a smiley face.”
“He doesn’t seem like a smiley face guy.” Not even in the slightest. The dude has some serious alpha-male tendencies going on.
“Yeah, he doesn’t, does he?”
“More like”—I rub a hand across my chin—“a dress shoe. That’s what he would send. Two dress shoes because three is preposterous and one is inexcusable.” I think Noely’s crazy is rubbing off on me.
“God, you’re so right. He would send me a freaking dress shoe as a hello. And here I am, sending him the cha-cha girl in her red dress freaking ole-ing around his ass and he sends me a dress shoe.”
Fuck, she’s funny.
“Men.” I roll my eyes and take a sip of my water. “Not me though, I wouldn’t send you a dress shoe.”
“No? What would you send me? Wait.” She holds up her hand. “Let me guess.” She taps her chin with her finger, probably mentally scrolling through the many emoji options. “Hmm . . . well, not knowing you all too well, I’m thinking you’d send me the dragon and cucumber.”
“What?” Where the hell did she come up with that? A question follows my laughter. “Dragon and cucumber? Where did you even come up with those?”
She flits her hand in the air. “They just came to me. I’m right, aren’t I? You would totally send me the dragon and cucumber emojis.”
“What does that even mean if I sent those to you?” Cucumber could be something sexual, but dragon? Is it supposed to mean fire-spitting penis? Fuck, I sure as hell hope not.
She shrugs. “Some hockey code I would figure out two months from now and then laugh my ass off.”
Maybe it is fire-spitting penis. Maybe some kind of code for a venereal infection. Yeah, I would so not send her the cucumber and dragon emojis.
Wanting to make it clear, in case she knows some kind of hidden meaning, I say, “There is no dragon and cucumber hockey code, I can promise you that.”
“Okay, then what would you send me?”
“I feel a little inferior after the dragon and cucumber mention, but I would send you the wilting rose.” Just off the top of my head.
“Wow.” She sits back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Well, that’s freaking depressing. Uh, thanks for my wilting flower.”
“And then I would follow it up with a candle, a clock, and a baguette.” See if she can get this. I will be impressed if she did, also slightly disappointed if she doesn’t. To any fan, it would be a slam dunk.
“Eh?” I can see her little drunken mind trying to figure what those emojis mean. It’s cute.
“Guess you’re not one to communicate in emojis, because any pro would know I’m trying to say Beauty and the Beast, meaning,hey come on over and snuggle with me while we watch the movie.” I shake my head. “I thought you were better than that, Noely.”
