Roughly my age, but no more than five years older
Intellectual - GPA higher than 3.0
Makes me feel emotionally and physically supported…against a wall…where he may or may not have my hands held above my head as he nibbles on?—
God, I need to get laid.
I blink away the mental image. It’s been far too long. But sometimes that’s the price you pay when you have your nose in a textbook the majority of the time, and when you finally look up, there’s your best friend. Delaney may be one of my only friends, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s been so incredibly supportive of me, my career goals and therefore my need to study all the time. Sometimes we just hang out at her apartment and do homework. No conversation needed. I almost forget she’s a theatre arts major until she suddenly starts doing a tap dancing routine on the kitchen tiles. We’ve shared so many moments even though we only met a couple years ago. Sometimes you just find your twin flame and you just know, they’re exactly what you need in a person,she’smy person. All the while, even though I haven’t found a romantic partner and she has, she has never made me feel out of the loop or less important than her girlfriend, Ellie. I’ve never met her other than a quick wave on FaceTime, as she currently lives far away, but I know they’ve been talking about one of them moving to the other at some point. I selfishly hope Ellie comes here. I don’t know what I’d do without Delaney.
I remember the first year I met her. Mom wasn’t able to be at home for the holiday break so I went with Delaney to meet her family. They warmly welcomed me into their home duringthe first night of Hanukkah and declared I was family ever since. Delaney, her sister Becca and I stayed up for hours by their fireplace chatting away, stuffing our mouths full of latkes and sufganiyot between sips of wine. The next year they invited me back but demanded my mom come, and that year she could. It was the best holiday celebration we’ve ever had.
“How’s your mom doing by the way? I don’t think I’ve asked in a while,” Delaney asks softly, muting the TV during the advertisement breaks.
“She’s okay,” I reply half-heartedly. “You know it’s just hard because?—”
My phone buzzes in my lap and stops me short. Dominic’s nickname flashes across the notification bar. I hold the phone up to Delaney to read the name and she wiggles her eyebrows at me and shimmies her chest. I burst out laughing and swipe open the message.
Peggy
Hey Hoot, hope I got you at an OK time. This artist type guy (better than Lance) came in the other day and struck up a conversation about the book I was reading (good taste) so I asked if he was single (no mullet). Hoot—while I don’t care about being assumed gay, it looks like I have no game. Anyway, here’s his number. I didn’t want to give your number out to random guys so I figured it’s best if I pass theirs to you. Sorry for the giant text.
Under the text is a new contact for a guy named Clay. I relay the information to Delaney who squeals with delight and peerpressures me into texting Clay immediately, asking him to meet me at a small Italian place, Copertina, that’s near her apartment.
By the end of the night Delaney has made a reservation for me at Copertina under the watchful eye of her shady bouncer friend, Andre, a giant with an affinity for show tune medleys. And I have a date with Clay.
* * *
I brush down the skirt of my champagne coloured satin dress after hopping out of my car in front of Copertina. It’s not especially busy despite the large parking lot, with only a row of black sedans parked towards the back. I clutch my matching purse and try not to break an ankle on the gravel walkway leading up to the entrance. I’m greeted by the tallest and widest man I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a giant black leather coat, black slacks, black sunglasses, and a black button down. Even his slicked back hair is jet black. The man looks like the shadow of a mountain. The only colour on his person is the end of his lit cigarette that dangles haphazardly out of his mouth.
“You Celeste?” he asks, his voice sounding like the gravel I just walked on. I give a small apprehensive nod, really hoping this is Andre. “Good. Your table is in front of Chef Angelo’s window. Enjoy.” He doesn’t smile but holds the door open for me. Right as I pass through the threshold I feel his presence right beside my ear and I freeze at his nearness.
“If you’re uncomfortable with your date or want out, request a Cynar shot,” Andre says.
“What’s a Cynar shot?” I squeak out, even though my gut says not to ask. I turn my head slightly, catching my own scared expression in the reflection of his dark sunglasses.
“It’s got a coppery aftertaste. Much like what that stronzetta will taste if he dishonours you.” He gives me a small nod and what I think is a wink.
I swallow down my hesitation and walk into what is probably a hot spot for a mafia crime syndicate. At least I’m on their good side. Hopefully.
How the fuck does Delaney know these people?
I brush off my nerves and put my happy date face on as the hostess leads me back to the prime table set up for two in front of the giant glass window overseeing the kitchen. I watch half mesmerized, half scared as Chef Angelo shouts orders to his line staff, fire bursts from hot pans, and plates are being passed around in a porcelain dance. If I were any good at cooking I think I might have tried to get into culinary school in another life. Just as I’m about to sit, I hear someone clear their throat from behind me.
“Um, Celeste?” a mellow voice asks. I turn to see a tall man waiting awkwardly.
