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We’re silent as we make our way the last few blocks to Slim’s. The sidewalk starts to fill up the closer we get to campus, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find our old hangout not as packed as expected. Of course, it’s still a little early for the late night drinking scene. As we enter, Cricket makes a beeline for an open pub table in the corner, smiling when she scores us a great table.
“Nice,” I say as I slide onto the chair across from her.
“Right?” she replies, reaching for the menu in the middle of the table. “We used to never get an open table right away.”
I glance over to the left, spying the familiar board on the wall, and smile. “And so close to our dart board,” I state.
Cricket groans and shakes her head. “Of course. I haven’t had anything to drink yet to willing subject myself to that humiliation a second time.”
Just then, a waitress arrives at our table and sets two pub napkins down in front of us. She’s young, probably barely a day over twenty-one, and offers us a warm smile. “Let me guess, here for the alumni reunion?”
“Do we look that out of place here?” Cricket asks with a laugh.
“No, of course not,” she backpedals. “We’ve had a few tables in tonight talking about the reunion.”
Cricket seems appeased by her reply and gives her a smile. “I’ll have a Stella draft and mozzarella sticks.”
“I’ll have the same, plus an order of onion rings,” I add, sticking my menu back in the holder in the middle of the table as the waitress heads off to place our order.
“Not planning on kissing anyone tonight, I see,” Cricket says casually as she returns her menu to the stand.
My brain, of course, goes straight to kissing her. Our lips locked, the sweet taste of her skin against mine. The slide of my tongue along the seam of her lips, begging for entrance. And my hands, oh the things I could do with my hands while my lips are busy. But I won’t do them. Ican’tdo them. None of the dirty things my mind conjures up.
“No, no kissing tonight,” I reply, clearing my throat as I go. It feels thick and scratchy, like I swallowed gravel.
Our beers are delivered a few moments later, our waitress assuring us our food will be out shortly. I glance around, anxious and nervous at the same time to spy someone I know. Like Danny, who made it clear he’s going out tonight. This was one of our hangouts back in the day, and all I can do is pray he decided to venture to one of the other places we used to hang at.
I take a long pull from my glass, watching Cricket do the same out of my peripheral vision. She sets her glass down and licks the beer froth off her top lip, and I have to close my eyes before I do something really stupid like climb over the table and ravish that sweet mouth.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat and glancing around the pub. “How exactly did you move from behind the camera to in front of it? You always hated being center attention in school.”
Cricket glances down and starts ripping apart the corner of her napkin. “Funny story,” she says, fidgeting more than usual. She doesn’t continue right away, so I take another drink of my beer and wait her out. “I was a production director for the morning and noon newscast. It didn’t take me too long to move up from assistant to director. I had always loved that aspect in school. I wanted to produce the news, you know?”
She glances over at me, as if seeking verification, so I nod in return. Cricket was brilliant behind the camera, in the production room. She knew which angles to hit, where to make edits to optimize airtime, and was always exact in her timing. But she’s beautiful, and even back in school, the instructor was always trying to get her in front of the camera.
“Well, about four years ago, our morning co-host quit. No notice, just walked in and said she was done. Turns out she was offered a position over at a station in LA, like most do. We’re the small station, so many use us as a stepping stone or a resume builder.” Cricket stops tearing apart her napkin and glances over at me.
“Anyway, the GM came to me and asked for a favor. He wanted me to co-host until they found a replacement. A week or two tops.” She takes another long drink from her glass, her eyes still locked on mine.
“And let me guess, a week or two tops is well past.”
“He had no intention of finding a replacement. He wanted me for on-air pretty much from the moment I started a decade ago. Well, once he had me there, it was harder for me to step back. There was no co-host replacement in sight, and they promoted one of my assistants to fill my spot.”
“That sucks, Crick. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs as our food is delivered. The fried mozzarella sticks are still steaming, which makes my mouth water. “I’ll bring you both another round. Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asks.
“No, thank you,” Cricket replies, as I give a quick shake of my head.
My friend smothers her first mozzarella stick with marinara sauce and brings it up to her mouth. “No reason for you to apologize. It’s not a horrible gig, and the money is definitely better.” She eats half the cheese stick in one bite, double dipping in her sauce for the second bite. “Plus, last I was told, our ratings are so good the competition has been knocking on my door.”
I have an onion ring halfway to my mouth when I consider her statement. “The competition, as in…”
“Yep. Apparently, they think Danny and I ‘would make a great team.’” She uses air quotes and rolls her eyes, sighing dramatically.
My stomach lurches at the thought of Cricket and Danny together again. Jealousy? Hell yes, it is. I’ve never really been jealous of Danny. He was more athletic and had an easier time talking to girls, but I never held it against him, mostly because he was my friend and I didn’t really want the attention like he did.
Our waitress delivers two more draft beers and leaves us to eat and visit. I notice it’s starting to get a little louder in here, and I find myself leaning forward to hear her talk. With each inch I move in her direction, I can smell the fruitiness of her shampoo and the cleanliness of her body wash. It’s intoxicating.
