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It’s annoying enough that I have to make sort of nice with him for the rest of the season. I don’t want to find out that he dresses up like a baby or only dines on endangered species.
Shelby shrugs. “No really good goss that I know of. They dated for a long time. I think Lexi wanted something more permanent and maybe she started saying as much towards the end. And then suddenly they were splitsville.”
“What a jerk. Men,” I say, shaking my head in disgust.
“Yeah, he’s an ass. Lexi’s actually a pretty nice person.” Shelly waves at the bartender, a handsome, dark-skinned man with a goatee and a silver ring in his eyebrow. “Can you make me a Gin Rickey, and get my friend an espresso martini?” she calls out.
“You got it, gorgeous.”
She winks at him. “Thanks, babe.”
As he walks off, she adds, “What an ass.”
“Really?” I say, surprised. “He seemed nice.”
“No, I mean what an ass. Check it out.” She’s openly ogling him.
“Shelby. Shame on you, objectifying a person like that.” I can’t resist a peek. “You’re not wrong, though. He must do so many squats.” My butt cheeks ache in sympathy at the thought.
“Hey, are you Shelby?TheShelby?” A tall, slender waitress pauses by the bar. Her jet-black hair is styled in two space buns with a zig-zag part, and a silver stud winks from her nose.
“I am.” Shelby flashes a big, warm smile. She is thirty now, and her modeling gigs have been drying up for a few years, so she’s ended up moving into photography. People still recognize her all the time, though; she’s been onVoguecovers and Times Square billboards.
“Ooh, I can’t wait to tell my roommate I met you. Can I get your autograph?” the waitress grabs a napkin from the bar and holds it out to her.
Shelby scribbles her autograph with a flourish, adds a heart at the end, and hands it over.
“Thank you sooo much. I love your work; you’re such a classic.” The waitress scampers off.
“Classic.” Shelby winces. “Ouchie.”
“Right there with you,” I sympathize. “What is she, like five? She’s not old enough to be working here. Go home and watch Cocomelon, you infant you,” I say to the waitress’s retreating back.
Shelby is doing something with her phone.
“Are you calling someone?” I raise my voice over the blaring noise of “Empires” by Electric Swing Circus. “My God, this place is so retro-hip, it’s circled back on itself, and I can’t tell if it’s stylish or passé.”
“Best not to overthink it. This is New York. The fastest way to date yourself is to try to be up to date. And I’m sending myself a reminder to schedule some botox.”
“Oh, come on.” I protest. Shelby is an absolute goddess.
“Anyway, back to Mason. You’ve got to survive eight weeks of Mason. Maybe he won’t be all that bad?”
The handsome bartender sets down Shelby’s drink in front of her. “Here you go, hotness,” he says to her. He hands me the espresso martini, but his focus is still on Shelby.
“Aww, I bet you say that to all the girls,” she twinkles back.
“Only the hot ones.” He winks and glides away down the bar.
“He is getting such a big tip.” Shelby grins at me. “Wait, did that sound dirty? I hope?”
“It sounds like you need to slip him ... your number. And that was meant to sound dirty.” I smile at her and savor a deliciously sweet sip. “As for Mason, he is all that bad. When I met with him yesterday, he was an ass, trying to sarcastically flirt with me and just generally being a jerk.”
Shelby takes a sip of her drink. “Hmm.”
I look at her suspiciously. “What do you mean by hmm?”
“Are you sure the flirting was sarcastic?”
