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Her eyes flare and I chuckle. Natalie is competitive.
"I'll cut their eyes out with my nails if they look at him."
"I bet he's gay," I say, killing her vibe.
"Probably is. It’s so unfair." She pouts for a moment. "All the hot guys who can dress better than me are always gay and taken. Always. They're scooped up real quick. I need a gay best friend. No strings attached, a guy I can gossip with and shop with and hang out with all the time."
"When you find him, tell him it's a package deal, because I want one too," I say.
"Only because I love you will I do that. You know girls never share when they get one." She smiles. "So…" Her voice trails off.
"No," I say immediately, and put my coffee down. I know the scheming look in her eyes.
"But it's your twenty-first birthday in two weeks and I want to take you out."
"I'm sure I have to work."
She levels a stare at me. "I know you don't. I already checked your calendar. You have Mom duty this weekend, but your birthday weekend is wide open," she announces and smiles.
"I'm going to see Grammy."
Natalie isn't impressed and gives me a droll stare. I can't help but laugh again. All we ever do is laugh.
"All weekend long? Stop lying. See her during the day, and then you’re mine that Saturday night. We won't hit the clubs until at least ten, then you'll have Sunday to recuperate. If you want to spend all day with her, fine, but at night you're mine, and I'm taking you out. And before you say anything else to find a way out of it, I'm paying for everything and dressing you up." She smiles.
I groan in protest. "Nat, I don't want to."
"That's too bad. You live in the greatest city in the world. You don't have a boyfriend, and you're turning twenty-one. We're going out," she states firmly, not taking no for an answer.
"I need a boyfriend."
"You don't have time for a boyfriend," she counters.
"True, but after a night of drinking, I'm going to wish I had one."
"Then hook up with a rando in a bathroom and move on."
I tip my cup toward her. Wouldn't be my first time. "Not a bad idea."
"So it's a deal?" she asks, and I don’t miss the eager tone in her voice.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
I lick my lips and look out the window toward the hustle and bustle of the busy street. I glance back at her. "Only if I can wear those heels from last night. Then I'm game."
Her eyes light up. "Deal. You can have them if you want."
A laugh escapes me, and I look out the window again.
"What do you think she does for a living?" I ask, pointing to a bystander on her phone. She’s dressed in a business skirt past her knees with a matching blazer.
This is a game we came up with. We people-watch and try to guess what they do for a living.
"She's new to the city or else she wouldn’t be looking up at the sign like she's reading a language she doesn't understand. She probably tells people she's in marketing, but she's really a temp, like a receptionist for a small business that's going to crumble next month and she doesn't know it."
I nod, and she says, "Your turn. What about him?" She points to a guy in line for coffee.
