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Her thick blonde hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off her high cheekbones and lovely green eyes. She’s much shorter than me, so when we stand together it makes me look like a giant. I’m glad I’m sitting down right now.
“What was that all about?” she asks suspiciously with her hand on her hip.
The hostess approaches us. “Your table’s ready,” she says, and leads us over to a booth near the bar.
“He was telling me about a band that plays on the weekend at theTap Room,” I tell her as we take our seats.
“He was flirting with you,” she retorts and picks up her menu.
“He was not,” I reply, hiding behind my own menu.
“Of course, he was.” She pushes my menu down. “Why wouldn’t he? Look at you. Even in that band t-shirt, you’re gorgeous,” Georgie says. “And you’re successful,” she adds.
“Why is everyone obsessed with my t-shirt today?” I ask, disgruntled. “And men don’t care about accomplishments. They care about waist and bra size.”
“Not true,” she says, shaking her menu. “And you have nothing to worry about in that department.” She looks at me pointedly.
“Oh yeah? Who’s the flavor of the week for Dr. Stickuphisass?” I ask, referring to Georgie’s boss at the veterinary office she works at. “Did she cure cancer, win a Nobel peace prize?” I smirk, knowing I’m right.
“He doesn’t count,” she grumbles. “And I didn’t say anything was wrong with your shirt. You look cute in it,” she replies.
“I wear high heels and skirts all week,” I say, feeling the need to defend my attire. “I get home, and all I want to do is wear something comfortable. What’s wrong with that?” I ask her.
“Nothing’s wrong with that,” Georgie says, sincerely. “Look at me,” she motions to her attire, “scrubs are oh so sexy, aren’t they?”
Then she lifts her foot up. “And of course, don’t forget the crocs.”
I laugh. “At least your work clothes are comfortable. Can you see Glen’s face if I showed up at work in jeans and a t-shirt?”
“I think he would pass out,” Georgie says, “and not because he’s a tight ass, but because he’s never seen you in casual clothes before.”
“Not true. Remember that time we had a team building event at the golf club?” I remind her. “I wore a golf shirt and khakis.”
Georgie belts out a laugh while I look across the room to the bartender. He’s chatting with a pretty college age girl who took my seat, leaning onto the bar with the same sexy, bashful smile he gave me.
“Look,” I motion for Georgie to turn around, “how easily I’m replaced.” I raise an eyebrow.
Georgie scoffs.
“You’re just mad that he proved my point.” I pull my menu back up.
“He’s a bartender. Short attention span,” she says. “What about any of the guys at work?”
“I’m not looking to date anyone. I’m busy. I don’t have time for anything other than work and Noelle.”
“Noelle’s going to fly the coop soon, and then what are you gonna do? Sit at home with your 80s movies?” she asks accusatorially.
“Hey!” I scold her. “I still have a whole year left with her.”
I pick up my menu, and before Georgie can comment, the waitress approaches our table to take our order. I’ve had a rough week, and clearly the alcohol hasn’t taken off the edge, so I order carbs in the form of a creamy pasta dish.
“Can we get a nice bottle of Moscato?” Georgie asks the waitress, and I raise an eyebrow because she usually snubs her nose at my unsophisticated taste for sweet wines.
“It’s hot as fuck outside, and besides, it’s your birthday,” she says, placing her forearms on the table.
“Oh, it’s your birthday?” the waitress asks excitedly.
“If you sing to me, I will stab someone with a fork,” I warn, picking up the utensil from the table.
