“Pickle of Honor? This needs some explanation.”
“Lia and I are huge Scrabble nerds. We were in a club together in college, and one night, it was just me and her playing, which is usually how the club gathering ended anyway. I was exhausted but needed to beat her at one more game. I had the workings to spell pickle and accidentally spelled it wrong. And of course, I was a cocky son of a bitch back then, especially when Scrabble was involved, so I called out my points like a master, and she pointed at the board, saying I spelled it wrong. It was humiliating, and the name stuck. I’m her pickle.”
She chuckles. “You know, pickle could be thought of as something else.”
I pause and then shake my head. “Trust me, this pickle has never gone there.”
She laughs some more. “Well, I love your friendship. I think it’s sweet. Do you have a lot of close friends? Or just Lia?”
“Well, I used to hang out with my brothers until they got married. That’s put a real damper on our basketball games. I still see them, but it’s more of a group thing, which grants their wives access to my personal business. They can be very needy when it comes to knowing all about my single life and how they can make me . . . un-single. And then there’s my friend Banner, who just started working with us. He’s pretty cool, but he’s seeing this girl Kenzie, well, sort of seeing her. I don’t know where they stand. So he’s occupied with that.” I nod my head slowly. “Looks like I’m at that time in my life where everyone pairs up.”
“I know what you mean,” Birdy says. “When I was with my ex, it was as if everyone was getting married or having kids. We did couple things together, and when we broke up, it was as if no one had time for me.”
“That’s shitty, but I know the feeling.”
“Can’t blame them, though,” she says. “They’re in love after all.”
“I guess so. I think that’s what has put a fire in me to meet someone. I’m not desperate or anything, but I also don’t want to be lonely.”
“I totally get that. I’m the same way. I don’t need someone to be happy, but it’s fun to do things with someone . . . you know, like hiking.” She reaches out and plays with the fabric of my shirt.
“And icing pussies.”
Her smirk is really sexy when she looks up at me. “Exactly. Like icing pussies.”
Taking a risk, I tug on her hand and say, “Come here.” To my luck, she listens and straddles my lap. I lean against the couch cushion so I’m looking up at her. “How was work today?”
“That’s what you’re going to ask me while I’m sitting on your lap?”
“Yeah,” I answer as my hands fall to her thighs. “I have all of my everyday conversations like this. You should see the fistfights I get into with my brothers over who gets to be the bottom and who gets to be the top.”
She lets out a sultry laugh while she draws circles on my chest this time. “Oh, what an image that has formed in my head.”
“We find if we sit on each other’s laps, we can focus on the conversation and block out distractions. I’ve had hour-long conversations on JP’s lap where we’ve brainstormed over our next business venture. If it wasn’t for the obvious HR violation, we would have everyone sit on each other’s laps.”
“You know, maybe you’re onto something. My marketing brain is thinking that you could form some sort of device that prevents pelvis-to-pelvis contact but allows the same position. Oh, and you can add some horse blinders to really keep out the distraction.”
“Wow, Birdy. Wow. That’s positively genius.”
She brushes off her shoulder. “Thank you, but the idea goes to you. I’m just the dream maker.”
“Is that what you call yourself at work?”
“When I strike it big with a huge idea, of course. I quietly print out a certificate of completion with the name dream maker on it. I have a whole folder of them. In my desk drawer.”
“A whole folder would imply that you’re very good at being a dream maker.”
“I am.”
We spend the next hour or so talking about anything and everything, her sitting on my lap, me holding her thighs and not making a move at all. Not one single move.
She tells me about how she loves to go surfing—something I’ve never done in my life—how she is a huge fan of all types of cereal—the more sugar, the better—and how she once had a dog with three legs and said he was the best dog she ever had.
I shared with her my desire to own everyStar Warsbobblehead ever made, how I believe the original bromance of our time is C3PO and R2D2—and she proceeded to tell me she’s only watched the most recent episodes and how she doesn’t get the whole Kylo and Rey fetish. I nearly balked with disappointment.
“Are you thirsty or anything?” Birdy asks.
“Nah, I’m good. I should probably get going, though, because I’m sure you need to wake up early tomorrow.” I rub my hands over her thighs.
