I secretly admire that.
Out of all the skills I’ve honed in my life,thatisn’t one of them.
I, however, have never had a cavity, so maybe that balances the shit out?
“And now that we’re talking about gettin’ it,” she segues without missing a beat, “how was the wedding? Beautiful? Long? End with you doing the animal kingdom a solid by saving a horse and ridin’ another stallion instead?”
My free hand tucks itself into the pocket of my loose-fitting, maroon scrubs at the same time I announce, “Technically,there was no wedding.”
“What?”
“She ran away.”
“What the hell do you mean she ran away?” Rhonnie doesn’t actually wait for me to explain. “Like hooked up with the priest, take off to Mexico, smuggle themselves onto a cruise boat to The Bahamas where they start their new lives selling coconut water out of actual coconuts, never showed up?”
“Not quite.”
“Too bad,” Rhonnie disappointedly sighs. “I wouldloveto hear about some real-lifeDoncella en la Nocheshit.”
Thatwasa good episode.
And I totally didn’t see them running into the priest’sfirst wifewho he thought had died, which was why he became a priest to begin with!
Gahhhhh, I love good television.
Almost more than a great seasonal cold brew.
“I guess in a way it kinda was that type of drama?” Having a small sip precedes me explaining, “This was the fifth time in three years she’d left a dude at the alterhencewhy Aly brought me and Kira instead of Lionel whorefusedto attend anymore ‘En Vogue inspired’ weddings.”
The music reference prompts her to smirk. “You aretoo youngto be makin’ that reference, and I amtoo oldto be jealous of some heifer I don’t know being engaged a literal handful of times when I can’t even getone.”
“First off, I’m not that young-”
“Gurl, I watch soaps that are older than you.”
“And second,” my lips curl upward, “there’s nothing wrong with wanting a bit of romance for yourself.”
At least not according to Kira who interrogated me around Aly’s snores regarding my interactions with tall, delicious, and southern during our drive back to Highland.
It was…uncomfortable.
She basically hung onto my every word, which never happens.
Okay.
Notnever,but rarely.
Usually only when I’m talking about whatever athlete came into the office for the day, and she feels like trying to guess who it was since I take patient confidentiality quite seriously.
Especially considering most of my clients are famous in their respective sports.
She swooned and gasped and gushed and then slapped me in the arm for not giving the guy my phone number despite the factshewas the one who made that shit impossible to do.
And to make everything worse?
I didn’t even get his last name.
Just his first.
