1
WINNIE
“Are you just going to watch him like a creep, or are you going to go ask him out?”
I elbow Carolina, and she squawks. We duck behind the counter when The Guy looks in our direction.
“Girls don’t ask guys out. Girls who look like me, especially, don’t ask guys who look like him out.” I peek over the counter.
Carolina whispers over my shoulder, “I think he’d be into it. I bet he has some sort of domination ki—”
“Shhh!” I can feel his gray eyes staring at the top of my head.
“If you have a crush on a guy, just shoot your shot.”
“Crushes? Please. I experience catastrophic devotion and yearning so intense it makes me sick.” I try to scoot down more.
“You’re ovulating. Go get laid, girl.”
“Or, I don’t know, it could be carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“I think your dog would have croaked, then. And she looks fine.”
Fidget looks up balefully, panting, fogging up the cone around her head.
“Actually, she looks hungry.” Carolina scratches Fidget’s shaved belly.
“Don’t feed her. She’s on a diet.”
The Guy idly scrolls through his phone as he waits in line. Gosh, he’s got nice hands.
“Honestly, though, if I’m paying the vet thousands of dollars for emergency surgery, I also don’t want him to fat-shame my dog.” I duck when he looks up from his phone.
“I’d eat a sock, too, if someone was forcing me to eat lettuce, cottage cheese and poached chicken.” Carolina coos to Fidget then sneaks her a treat.
I peer over the counter again. “It’s like I’m a teenager again, lusting over the unattainable star hockey player at school who only has eyes for my younger sister.”
“We’re decentering your sister. Do your tapping exercises.”
I ignore her and stare. “He’s so dreamy.”
“He’s blond. Let’s lower that pedestal you’re putting him on just a smidge.”
“Yeah, we should.” I swoon. “Because he’s so tall and so nicely proportioned. He doesn’t look like an asparagus.”
“Yikes, are we circling back to theVeggieTalesfan fiction that got us kicked out of Vacation Bible School the summer of sixth grade?”
“I stand by that fan fiction.”
He’s got one muscular arm draped casually on the back of one of the twenty-two-year-olds’ chairs as he flirts with her while she shows him the photos she took on her phone.
“He does this every day. He comes in here just to flirt with those influencers.” I scowl.
“The influencers provide free marketing. Be nice,” Carolina reminds me.
“But at what cost?” I glower. “I bet one of them marries him.”
“Eeh.” My friend’s nose scrunches. “He doesn’t look like the marrying type. One of them’s for sure going to fake a pregnancy and try to blackmail him.”
