Chapter 8
Mila
“Dang it,they forgot to put nuts in my noodles!” Lainey pouts as she stares into the Chinese take-out box.
“I think I have some cashews in the pantry,” I say. She hops off the couch, container in one hand and chopsticks in the other.
“You are the best,” she says. “Pan fried noodles are so plain without nuts.”
“As are most things in life,” I say, and she laughs. She’s already two glasses into the boxed wine she brought over. It’s a Thursday, and Lainey and I both have Thursdays off. For one, it tends to be one of the slower days at the Cockpit, and we both work weekends, so it’s kind of like our Sunday. As usual, she is ready to party.
“Alright,” she says, padding back over to the couch. “We got noodleswithnuts; we’ve got boxed wine.”
“Only the best,” I say.
“We’ve got Bridgerton Season Four.”
“All cued up,” I say, pointing at the TV with the remote.
“And we have ice cream in the freezer for when the noodles are gone.”
“Nuts and all,” I say with a firm nod, and she smiles, stuffing noodles into her mouth. Then she narrows her eyes at me.
“Why aren’t you drinking?” she asks with a full mouth.
“I’m strangely not in the mood,” I tell her, and her eyes narrow further.
“Since when are you not into wine? I know we can’t afford the good stuff, but after the first two glasses you feel good enough not to care,” she giggles.
“I don’t know. I’ve just felt a little off recently, but I’m fine,” I say.
“You promise?” she asks.
“Pinky swear,” I tell her, and that seems to be a good enough answer because Lainey grabs the remote and presses play. By the end of episode one, we’ve destroyed the Chinese food. And by the end of episode two, we’ve dug our way halfway through the quart of Rocky Road ice cream.
Lainey presses pause on the remote and gets up from the couch with a grunt. “Why can’t we find men like that?” she asks as she walks into the kitchen with her wineglass.
“Men like what? The Bridgerton's?” I ask.
“Yeah! I mean they’re handsome, rich, witty, and every one of them is all about pleasing the woman,” she says as she squeezes another glass of wine from the box.
“They’re also fictional,” I say, licking my spoon before closing the container. I could eat the whole thing, but I probablyshouldn’t. Niko isn’t a fan of anyone over a size eight at his bar. Thanks to my inherited hips, I am on the verge of breaching that line.
“Still. Real men could learn from fictional men,” she says.
“Yeah…but at the end of the day, most average guys don’t. They definitely don’t look like them either,” I sigh, and then stop as my brain rephrases that.Mostmen don’t look like fictional men. Tall, built, handsome, with brooding eyes and grins that hint at a dormant playfulness, suggesting that they are capable of feelings like joy and love.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Lainey smiles mischievously with her lips pressed to the rim of her glass mid-sip.
“Thinking about who?” I ask.
“The Duke,” she says with an eye roll. “No. Your boss. You’re thinking about Dominic.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but suddenly realize that I can’t; not with Lainey. She’s been my best friend since I moved to LA. My parents had recently died, and I was broke. Turns out they were upside down in debt and not hanging off the top rung of the upper middle class. My dreams of being a dance major at UC-Berkeley had just been crushed, and I was truly on my own. Until I met Lainey, a community college dropout turned waitress who loved me before she knew me. She took me into her life and showed me the ropes of navigating Los Angeles penniless. I guess that is why I’m incapable of lying to her; she’s already seen every side of me there is to see.
“I…maybe…” I say as my defense mode melts into a sheepish smile. “But what’s new? I’ve had a crush on him since I took thejob as hismaid,” I say the last word with some spice. I prefer the term housekeeper, but Dominic has always referred to me as the maid.
“What’s new is he saved you from an altercation at the fight ring and then gave you a ride home in his Benz,” she says.
