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“Oh, it’s possible,” she piped.
I sighed. “Jasmine, he’s in the middle of a crisis. The puppy will help. It’s no more than that. Maybe I’m just a little curious because, after a month of living next to him, he’s still a complete mystery.” Aside from the attraction I had for him, he was off-limits in every way. Emotionally unavailable and temperamental were far from on my wish list.
“I’m a little attracted to him. But you know crazy attracts crazy.”
“You aren’t crazy,” she said sharply. “You’re just a nervous nelly.”
“I left New York and my career because I had a brush with death and now I have an instilled fear of dying. There’s a big difference between having a breakdown in Target over the pillow selection and cracking up on my level.”
Jasmine jerked out of her chair. “You ass. I’ll have you know that breakdown was legit.”
“If you say so.”
“Target is the mecca of indecisiveness I’ll have you know. That breakdown on sheet sets was well warranted.”
“Forgive me, I forgot it was sheets. I appreciate you trying to relate, but a breakdown about bed sheets pales in comparison.”
“You haven’t had an episode in a few months though, right?”
“Yeah,” I said thoughtfully. “It’s been a little over a month, but that’s a very long time for me.” I looked her over. “Sorry, I’m sure it was traumatizing for you in Target. I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I’m tired. I’m sure your breakdown was legit.”
“It wasn’t legit, it was PMS.” She yawned. “I’m exhausted. I got no sleep because of Chris. He’s a sea captain and has a hooked penis.”
I swallowed down my latte with a chuckle. “Oh? Do tell.”
“And the man’s got a thing for Mexican women.”
“Please tell me you didn’t—”
“Oh, yes I did. Last night I was Maria Valdez. I even went as far as reciting some old high school Spanish.” She waggled her brows.
“That’s wrong on so many levels.” I shook my head. “Seriously, you spend half your time correcting people on your ethnicity and you mean to tell me you changed it for curvy cocked Chris?”
Jasmine wrinkled her nose. “Don’t say cock, that’s gross.”
“And penis is clinical,” I chided.
“Dick?” She offered as a middle ground.
That time I wrinkled my nose. “Better, but to me, that describes more of a type of personality than the actual body part.”
Loud laughter erupted from the door as Toby, our water deliveryman, stood holding our weekly five gallons on his shoulder. “Never a dull moment in here, huh ladies?”
Jasmine didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, Toby, what do you call your penis in the heat of the moment?”
I choked on a bite of bagel as he shook his head to ward off her question and switched the water bottles out.
I spoke up glaring at Jasmine. “Sorry Toby, I apologize on her behalf. She was raised by Mrs. Valdez, who ran a brothel in Mexico.”
“Har, har,” Jasmine snapped before narrowing her eyes at me. “And as far as that story goes, I grew up with my aunt in California who lived just over the border.” Jasmine walked over to where Toby stood and I cringed. “I’m serious. Toby, are you married?” Toby turned to us with his hands on his hips. He was stocky and a little taller than Jasmine but not by much. He had a teddy bear’s build and thick sandy blond hair. One side of his mouth lifted. “Married, no. And you r
eally want to know?”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Water cooler talk.” Toby and I shook our heads fighting a laugh before he assessed Jasmine with a thorough once-over. “Depends.”
“On?” Jasmine’s voice was syrupy sweet, and I rolled my eyes at her as she looked on at Toby unashamed and entertained.
“On how dirty the sex is,” Toby replied boldly.
