I wasn’t the best bridge player on a good day, but I was usually at least a reliable partner who could follow Leigh’s cues. We’d met at a book club at the library and I’d agreed to start learning bridge to be her partner when her husband passed. We now had a monthly bridge club with two other women at the retirement community where she lived. Some months, they were the only people outside of the scene I socialized with. They were elderly and thus invisible to most of society, but they’d managed to find power in that as they’d shed the layers of societal expectation. I wanted to be just like them when I grew up.
When we lost our third hand in a row, Leigh said, “I think we’ll call it a day since you two are mopping the floor with us. I’ll make drinks. Everyone’s usual?” There were nods all around the table.
I took the opportunity to finally read the article.
The only picture they’d released was a grainy shot of Alex with his arms wrapped around me, demonstrating how to swing the club. They’d captured the moment he nuzzled my neck. Even from a distance, you could see how our bodies were molded together. No one would look at that image and know we were faking it.
They’d also gotten ahold of a picture of him with his fist wrapped around my ponytail and…shit, it looked hot.
I scrolled to the comments to see how people were reacting. Far from thinking it was a publicity stunt, people were alarmingly engaged in the narrative of him with someone so scandalous. I could only smile at the vitriol being spilled by some of his fans because their man might be off the market.
There were several comments saying I looked like a witch, something I chose to take as a compliment. Many saying I wasn’t hot enough for him. Probably objectively true. Lots of them making fun of me for wearing that outfit to Level Golf. Fair, but not entirely my fault. It was bizarre to me that all of these people had enough energy to find reasons to hate me when they’d never met me.
Then there were the people who were excited about me, equally strange that these strangers were so invested in me from one tiny video and some gossip on the internet. Predictably, many of the comments referenced stepping on them. At this rate, I’d be putting “Step on me” on my gravestone.
I texted back,You’re a pro at posing for the camera. Asha happy with it?
She is. I may have gotten a lecture about sticking my hands up skirts on a first date, but she pulled those pictures.
I was about to respond when ellipses appeared.
This one is my favorite…
He sent a picture that showed us sitting together with my feet on his lap and his hands rubbing my calf. I looked ready to melt with pleasure, eyes locked on his. I had lady wood all over again just looking at it.
I typed,My body language isn’t giving away that I’m faking it this time…
Oh, it’s giving you away, sweetheart.
I refused to take that bait. I put my phone down and glanced up to find Leigh trying to hand me a glass of scotch.
She looked shrewdly down at my phone. “What are you smiling about?”
“A girl can’t be happy?” I smiled and raised an eyebrow in challenge.
“You know what I mean. What’s with…” She waved her hand in a circle indicating my face. “The glowy happy thing. Who are you so busy texting you can’t even figure out what suit we’re bidding?”
“No one special.”
She blinked at me disbelievingly. “Uh-huh…”
I took my drink and we moved through to the living room with the others. We clinked our glasses together, two with scotch and two with iced tea.
“How’s work, Elena?” Jane asked. They all knew what I did and were always eager to hear tidbits from the dungeon.
“Work is good. Busy as always. What’s new with you guys?”
Margo said, “Ellie had the baby and everyone is doing well, so I’m finally a great-grandma. I’ve never felt so inadequate about my inability to knit. Aren’t great-grandmas legally required to knit or something?”
Leigh laughed. “Just buy something on Etsy and they’ll assume you made it. That’s what I do.”
I tried to stay engaged in the conversation, but I kept thinking about Alex’s last text. I grappled for maturity, but couldn’t help retaliating. What was it about him that made me want to misbehave?
I texted back,They were blue.
Would he figure out I was talking about my panties from the night before? My heart raced nervously like I had never sent a boy a naughty message before. Not at all like I was an elite sex worker. There was a minute-long pause before another message appeared:Like my balls.
I smirked, but left it at that. This was going to quickly devolve into sexting and I wasn’t going there. I focused on what Jane was saying.
