“Youdosuck,” I tell Luke. “But Liam doesn’t. And neither do I.”
“You two suck at picking women,” Luke jabs.
“Touché,” I say, because he’s right about that. Trish cheated on me, and Liam’s ex treated him horribly. Luke, on the other hand, lost a good thing when Meg left him.
“Whatever,” Luke says. “At least I’m working on myself.”
“By bingeing Ted Talks?” Liam razzes.
“At least I do something besides go to the gym.”
I know Luke’s comment is a jab at both Liam and me, seeing that we spend twice the amount of time weightlifting than he does, but my thoughts are pulled out of the conversation as soon as I lay eyes on the beachside Coffee Loft. Am I really about to do this? Walk into a place and survey the stock like it’s some sort of meat market?
Nearly a year ago, Kirsten offered me a drink from this place, mentioning that her sister owned it. I grin as I recall the way she tore off the lid and dumped it out when I declined the offer. I told Parker she was a freak, which makes me smile again. And then frown as I remind myself what she’s going through.
I can’t help but wonder if she’ll be here tonight; it’s her sister’s place, after all. I’m not sure how I feel about the idea. Kirsten’s been distant lately. I get the sense she’s avoiding me. Maybe it’s because I remind her of the way her life was ripped into shreds. Maybe it’s because I made fun of Greg a few too many times, picking on his cartoonish appearance. She was married to him once, after all.
Or maybe it’s me. I feel bad for the night I told Kirsten never to voice her suspicions again unless she caught the two of them together naked. Fast forward a few months of me turning a blind eye to Trish’s behavior, and Kirsten and I both catch the two half-naked together.
The singles meetup isn’t in the Coffee Loft’s main shop, which is large, rather spacious, and filled with customers young and old. Our meetup is in a nearby hi-roof train car not far from the shore. From the outside, the cab looks like a typical train car, rustic metal painted a pale, grayish blue. Inside, it looks like a laidback coffee house with furniture tucked against the edges and corners. Loveseats, beanbags, and barstools.
There’s a coffee bar in the corner. A serve yourself station with more than just sugar and cream. It’s intimidating enough that I take mine black and walk the length of the train car, eyeing the albums hanging on the wall.
“Beau,” Liam says as he heads my way with a rebellious-looking woman on his arm. “This is a friend of mine, Chantel. Chantel, this is Beau. He’s new to the club, so be gentle.”
Chantel grins wryly and reaches out to shake my hand. “Soyou’rethe one she was asking about.” She hands me a sheet of paper and motions for me to pick a pen from the solo cup she’s holding.
I do, ready to see who’s been asking about me, when Chantel points at a square on my paper. Along the top, the wordsGet to Know Bingoare printed in bold. Below that, small boxes hold phrases that, at this point, make no sense. Chantel is pointing to one that reads,‘has a piercing someplace that’s hidden.’
“You can go ahead and mark that one off sinceIhave such a piercing. Now,” she says as she gives a paper to my brothers in turn, “go mingle and mark off more squares. Whoever gets a Bingo gets a prize. Oh, and it has to be a different woman for each box.”
Ah, there’s a bit of instruction in the upper corner.“Find someone who…”I glance at the other boxes.Is vegetarian or vegan. Still drives a minivan.That one makes me chuckle. It assumes that most of us here have, at one point, owned one. I actually might have if Trish weren’t so dead-set against them. But I didn’t argue when she refused. I considered myself lucky.Yeah, not so much.
“Would you look at that, there’s a blank one,” I hear a familiar voice say. I glance up to see none other than Kirsten Hill holding a Bingo sheet beside me.
“So this is what we’ve been reduced to,” I say to her. “Get to Know Bingo.” I have a blank one, too, so I use the plane of my thigh as a table and write in a prompt. “This is going to be a hard one to find, don’t you think?” I finish scribbling it in and then show her. “Find someone who…” I start, then grin as she reads the rest aloud.
“Who has projectile-vomited on an innocent woodland creature.” Kirsten swats my arm and laughs.
I lift my pen ceremonially, ex out the box, and say, “check.”
“Oh yeah?” Kirsten begins scribbling on her own page. “Find someone who…”
“Whose ex is sleeping with your ex.” I scratch my chin and look around the room. “Good luck findingthat.”
“Ha, ha,” she says and crosses that prompt off her own list. “Well,” she says with a sigh, “since I doubt you have the same shoe size as me, and I don’t think you own more than two cats, I should probably keep on mingling, I guess.”
She looks pretty tonight. Her strawberry-blonde hair has grown out over the months. I think she usually wears it straight, but tonight, it’s wavy. And the reddish tone accents the pink in her cheeks.
Warmth stirs low in my belly. “Good luck,” I tell her.
During the next hour, I mingle like I was born to mingle. I’m one of the Wheaton brothers, after all, and we have an image to maintain. Besides, it’s like being at a high school reunion, in a way. Most people remember or at least know of you, if they don’t know you, they know of your family, and you’re all close to the same age.
It’s not until I watch Kirsten talk to the other guys that a knot of something unpleasant weasels its way into my night the way somebody has slipped brandy into the coffee brew. She’s funny, flirty, and rather confident, it seems. I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does. She’s not flirty like that withme. Of course, we were both married when we first met.
Oh no, Luke’s heading over to get in on the action. Everyone wants a piece of the new girl, huh? I had assumed that’s why the women were all over me tonight—I’m the new guy; it’s how it always was back in the day.
I glance down at my page to see that I’ve crossed off quite a few. Izzy, the giggly, rather loud brunette from Alabama, has eaten crawdads before—check. Micky, the skinny blonde who keeps bathing in disinfectant—she’s vegetarian—check. Jessica, who my brothers refer to as Jessica Rabbit, claimed I checked off one of her boxes—has kissable lips. She’s hot, flirtatious, and, in my estimation, interested in me. But since she reminds me too much of Trish, I asked her if she had any grandchildren yet since that would check off a box as well.
