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I give her a brief smile. “Yeah. Why? My lipstick smudged?”
She shakes her head. “No. You seem a little out of breath and shaky.”
She reaches out and places her fingers along the tattoo on my right forearm, the words dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. I know it’s cliché to have an Edgar Allen Poe quote as a tattoo, but when your name is Lenore, well, I’m like this place. I lean into what was given to me.
“You’re cold,” she says to me, snatching her hand back.
“I’m always cold,” I remind her, even though right now I feel kind of flushed on the inside, like my heart is too hot. “And I’m fine. I just had a scare earlier.”
“What scare?” she says loudly, her eyes going wide with excitement. Elle gets so worked up over everything.
“You’re going to say I’m paranoid again.”
“So let me be the judge of that. What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” I tell her, tugging down the sleeve of my yellow plaid shirt so that it covers my arms. “I thought I was being followed.”
“You probably were.”
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know why you insist on walking everywhere,” she says. “Just take an Uber.”
“Elle, I walked all the way up Haight.” Pretty much. “It was busy as anything. I was safe. Besides, Ubers are expensive.”
She rolls her eyes, her green shimmering eyeshadow sparkling. “As if you can’t afford it. Your parents have told you time and time again, they’ll pay for your Ubers until you get a car.”
“Doesn’t mean I feel good about it.”
“Fine. You’re getting the next round.” She taps her black nails against the table, giving me an expectant look. “Since you saved some money by walking.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Better do it before Matt shows up.”
Matt is a friend of ours. If you want to get more specific, he’s my ex-boyfriend. I dated him for a few weeks last summer, totally casual. The sex was okay, and to be honest, the only reason I dated him is because he’s the drummer in a White Zombie cover band, and I thought he was sexy as hell.
But, as is often the case with me, even though I’m attracted to a guy, the sexual experience ended up being lackluster. There was just no…spark. No physical connection. I know I’m probably asking for too much—Elle tells me that as long as I’m getting off I should be satisfied, but it is what it is. For a while there I thought maybe I was a lesbian, but Elle, who’s bisexual, put that to rest pretty quickly. Turns out I exclusively want dick, I’m just picky about said dick, expecting my world to be blown wide open, for the earth to quake every time I have an orgasm.
I blame the monster erotica on my Kindle.
But despite the somewhat awkward hook-ups, it turned out Matt was okay with just being friends and we’re so much more compatible this way. Sometimes I think it’s a shame that we didn’t have the chemistry I needed, but the fact that I got a good friend out of it makes it worthwhile.
“I hope he isn’t bringing his girlfriend,” Elle adds under her breath.
Okay, so maybe there’s a teeny tiny bit of jealousy on my behalf when it comes to his new girlfriend, Beth. I know I’m the one who broke up with him, but I don’t make the rules. She seems nice enough and I definitely don’t want him back, but I guess deep down, the closer he gets to her, the more he might pull away as a friend. See, she doesn’t like me very much. She acts like she’s afraid of me for some reason, and because of that, Elle doesn’t like her either, which makes our hang-outs a lot less fun.
As if on cue, Matt walks in through the door.
Thankfully alone.
I stick my hand out of the curtain and wave him over to us.
“Now you have to buy three drinks,” Elle reminds me. “Should have moved faster.”
Matt stops in front of our table, grinning at us both. “Okay, what are you having?”
I give Elle a triumphant smile. Matt almost always takes care of the bill when he’s here. Though he’s a musician on the side, he’s got a start-up going in Palo Alto with him and some of his friends, an app that tells you what TV show you should stream tonight. It’s only in beta mode at the moment, but he’s rolling in investor money.
“I’ll have a Paloma,” I tell him, looking him up and down. He’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, but his black leather high-tops catch my eye. “New shoes? They look expensive.”
A flush appears across his tanned face. “Yeah,” he says, running his hand through his brown hair. “New Jordans.”
“Jesus, Matt,” Elle says. “Your band know your shoes cost half a grand?”
