“It does,” I answer.
“Listen, I don’t want to nag–”
“Then don’t,” I say. “I’ll fast the day before. And whatever isn’t perfect can be edited out. That’s what airbrush and Photoshop and all that shit is for anyways, right?”
“Sure…” he says, sipping on a shot of vodka while staring jealously at the old-fashioned Liza slides in front of me.
“I mean, why the hell do we even bother, honestly?” I ask, swirling the glass before taking a sip. It tastes like Christmas. It tastes like sex and broken rules and driving with the windowsdown and pancakes at 2am. It tastes like freedom. And I needed it.
Cal is still staring at me, half worried and half amused. “Once you’re done having sex with your drink, you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asks.
Liza laughs as she wipes down the bar in front of us.
“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” I say.
“Really?” Liza asks. “I thought you’d never pop the question.”
Cal laughs and I shoot Liza a look that says fuck off and you’re funny all at the same time.
“You’re not serious,” Cal says. “What do you think, Liza? You think he’s serious?”
I pull a small velvet box out of my pocket and pop the lid, revealing a glistening ring.
“That looks pretty serious,” Liza says. Then she picks it up for a closer look. Meanwhile, I turn my attention back to my gaping friend.
“You’re really going for it,” he says.
“I am,” I nod, taking another sip and sucking my teeth as the menacing liquid pours down my throat, leaving a beautiful trail of fire in its wake.
“So what made your foot hit the gas?” he asks, and my brow furrows as I look over at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Seriously, Zane. This is a whopper. I can practically see my reflection in it. Good Lord,” Liza says, holding the ring up in the light as she poses in all its facets.
“Simple,” I answer. “I love her. And she’s given me no reason not to.”
“You mean aside from being a paparazzi photographer?” Liza asks casually as she hands me the ring back. I snap the box shut and shove it back in my pocket.
“That’s not who she is,” I say.
“She’s not hot tub rafter girl?” Cal jokes.
“I mean, she is. But the whole tabloid photographer, it’s not who she is. She’s an artist, and she’s smart and passionate and real and…”
“Okay, okay, we get the picture,” Cal says. “You love her.”
“I do.”
“Then I suppose you should marry her,” he adds.
“I’m going to. Thank you,” I say, taking another sip. “Not that I was looking for your permission. But I was hoping you’d be the best man.”
“Look at you pre-selecting the wedding party before you’ve even popped the question,” Liza teases.
“You know, she’s right, bro,” Cal chimes in. “How do you know she’s going to say yes?”
I throw both of them a look to kill and start to hop off my chair. “You know what? Screw both of you.”
