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“Quite honestly, how dare he? He’s always wanted to marry me off to some oil baron, but how could I be married off now? My hair has practically flattened from that strange earpiece they make me wear to answer the phone, and they run me ragged, what with having two visitors every morning. Who would want to marry me now?”
“Trade me.”
She gasps. “I’d rather be a forest ranger in the Namibian Desert than do what you do.”
“Pretty sure the Namibian Desert doesn’t have a forest, Jeanette,” Isla points out.
But she merely grins. “Guess I’ll just have to do nothing when I get there.”
I roll my eyes at her overdramatic ass, and dinner is a delight that falls on Jeanette’s tab. One of the perks of having a super-rich friend. One of the downfalls occurs once we hit Craft.
I don’t see it coming at first, and I blame that one for the second round of shots. By the time I’m into a Midori sour, Jeanette has already hit on four people and somehow returned with six phone numbers. Jeanette math. Me, Isla, and Olive ignore guys for the dartboard. It’s a little dicey, being that we’re all buzzed and throwing sharp objects, but it could be worse. There’s a new axe-throwing bar that just opened up on the other side of town.
Jeanette declares, “If you three don’t start smiling at some of these guys, you’ll end up old cat ladies, like my Aunt Matilda.”
Olive laughs. “Oh no! Not Aunt Matilda!”
We’ve heard the stories for years and could recite them almost as well as Jeanette. “All she had was her cats and her roommate, Jill, and when Aunt Matilda died when Jill was visiting her brother—"
“The cats ate her,” we finish in unison, followed by a round of laughter.
“Well, they did!”
Olive throws her arm around Jeanette. “You can’t keep letting fear of Aunt Matilda’s life make you jump into bad choices.”
“And you three can’t let fear of bad choices stop you from making fun ones. Don’t you remember sex? How long has it been for you?”
Olive sighs. “Three months, give or take. Isla?”
She has to chug her beer to answer honestly. “Eight—no—ten months. Aria?”
What comes out of me cannot qualify as a sigh. More of a depressed moan, really. “Does a drunken feel-up in a custodial closet during my internship count as sex?”
“No!” Jeanette says.
“Wait—over the clothes or under?” Isla asks.
“Over.”
“Then no, definitely not.”
I sigh. “Three years.”
“What!” They shout together.
Jeanette takes control from there. “We have to get you laid, stat. Look around. What do you like?”
“Nothing. I can go years without it. I don’t need it all the time like some sex-crazed—
“Like me?” she asks a little too sharply.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
But she shrugs. “I prefer sex-positive, but I’ll take sex-crazed.”
“Anyway, I’m not like that. I mean, sex is…fine, I guess. It’s just not a priority right now.”
She grins and glances around the bar. “What you need is a guy who—it isguys, right?”
