Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
“The Nordstrom Rack gift card didn’t suck last year,” she said.
See?
Totally uninspired.
“Ugh. Don’t remind me,” I groaned.
She held up her right index finger toward me, on which was a slim, gold band fashioned with a teeny evil-eye, which had a little baby sapphire embedded in it, sitting midi on it.
“I got this midi-ring with that gift card,” she reminded me. “And this midi-ring is da bomb. I love this midi-ring.”
“I should have just bought you that ring.”
“You did, in a way.” She studied me a sec before she said, “You are so weird about gifts.”
“You’re my bestie!” I cried. “It has to be perfect.”
“You dragged me to seven stores before you found that tie-dyed bandana for Tito last year. And he wears it once a week.”
We both looked to Tito.
Tito was now staring out the massive, restaurant-wide side window that had an impressive view of Lucia’s planter-boxed herb garden, beyond which was an unimpressive view of the parking lot (though, Tito had planted multiple palo verde trees in the lot for shade and aesthetic purposes, so it was a nicer parking lot than most). He was doing this in an absent way where I wondered if he might be asleep sitting up.
I wondered that a lot.
I looked back to Luna. “He’s just being nice.”
“Whatever,” she replied. “Tell me about Captain America.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered as it hit me.
“What?” she asked.
“That must be why he’s called Cap. He looks like Captain America.”
“He’s called Cap?”
“Yeah.”
“Then…duh.”
I was totally off my game last night if it took me this long to figure it out.
I shook off that thought and told her, “I’m glad you brought him up, because we have a lot to talk about with that guy.”
“And I’ll repeat…duh.” She circled a be-ringed hand (that midi-ring wasn’t the only ring on it, there had to be twelve other little rings adorning her fingers—regular, thumb, pinkie and midi). “Hit me,” she invited.
“First, he’s kind of a jerk,” I began, and she tipped her head to the side.
“This isn’t starting great,” she pointed out.
“Though, he’s hot,” I said.
“I hate to admit this, but I could get over ‘kind of a jerk’ when a man is that hot. Because he’s so hot, he’s scary hot. He’s ignore-red-flags hot. He’s entertain-thoughts-of-baby-daddy-even-if-you’re-not-ready-to-push-one-out hot. He’s—”
I cut her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I spent hours in his company. It was far from sunshine and roses and intense conversation that hint at a lifetime of shared intimacy, and still, I thought he was going to kiss me when he left, and when he didn’t, I was disappointed.”
Her brows shot up in surprise. “You didn’t have sex with him?”
“We were kinda busy saving Elsie Fay, and then I had some work to do defending my Citadel.”
Her expression instantly grew soft with understanding and concern.
She knew all about my Citadel and why I’d built it, one of only three living beings who did (outside my dad). The other two were Jessie and Harlow, who both also worked at SC and were honored members of our posse.
I waved my hand between us and warned, “I’m not going there.”
“Okay,” she said gently.
I had to navigate us around her gently, pronto. Luna’s gently always got to me.
So I did.
“Now, he says we’re going out tonight, and I don’t know if I should, harking back to that kind of a jerk part. But also, if I do, he said to dress nice, and I don’t have anything to wear.”
One of her eyes squinted in incredulity at that statement.
She explained this reaction by saying, “Raye, you have so many clothes, some of them are at my house.”
“Luna, he looks like Captain America.”
“I get your point,” she mumbled.
“And between now and tonight, I don’t have time to walk ten dogs and feed seven cats to pump up my clothing budget, but I need to find the perfect outfit.”
“So, you’re going.”
“Luna, he looks like Captain America,” I repeated.
“Gotcha,” she replied. “Late lunch, we’ll hit up Tuesday Morning.”
“I’m not sorting through the wares of Tuesday Morning for this date. It has to be The Rack.”
“Okay then, late lunch, we’ll hit up Nordstrom Rack.”
“What if they don’t have anything?”
“Then wear that off-the-shoulder black thing.”
“That’s too dressy.”
“Then wear that satin skirt with an oversize tee knotted at the waist.”
“Too casual.”
“Then wear your billowy white poplin skirt and a white racerback tank with some sexy sandals. The nude ones with the thick straps and that big buckle at the side of the ankle.”
I grabbed hold of her and shook her, crying, “Oh my God, that’s it!”
“Are we still going to The Rack?”
“Totally.”
She grinned.
I smiled.
“Is someone gonna serve me, or what?”
We both turned to see Byron standing on the other side of the bar.
Byron was a regular. He came in every day. He was a computer programmer. Or an app designer. Or an internationally hunted hacker who didn’t actually look like the man in front of us, because he was wearing an expertly crafted plastic face in order to evade Interpol. I didn’t know what he did. I just knew he did it on a laptop and had a mess of floppy sandy-brown hair that fell over bright eyes due to the fact that he was always ludicrously caffeinated. He also had a crush on Lucia, even though she had three kids and a husband who would cave in his face if he knew that fact.