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The blare of a horn shoots into my ears. I drop the phone and it clatters right in the slot between my seat and the center console. “Shit,” I mutter, looking up to see that the light has changed to green. I step on the gas and rev through the intersection.
The phone and Kira’s response (or lack thereof) will have to wait.
* * *
Once I getto Rietta’s, it takes me forever to fish my phone out of the thin sliver of space. Damn my muscular forearms. In most circumstances, I love how my engineering work has left me with a toned physique I don’t have to work too hard for. However, in times like these, muscles are a nuisance.
Finally, I grab it and check my phone. No response from Kira. What the hell?
I shake it off. I’ll give her shit for it when I see her.
I head into Rietta’s. It’s an authentic taco place, not one of those trendy bullshit restaurants that’s not even owned by people with Mexican heritage. The plates are plastic, the horchata is fresh, and tacos are three dollars apiece (fuck inflation), which means I can order a platter full and be set for the rest of the day.
When I walk in, I’m greeted by a young hostess with full apple cheeks and jet black hair in two plaits over her shoulders. “One for lunch?”
“I’m actually meeting some people. Two girls,” I say and then curse myself.They’re not girls. They’re women. “One blonde, one brunette.” This sounds like the beginning of a porno.
The hostess frowns. “I’m not sure we have anyone like that seated right now.”
“Is it okay if I just go take a look?” I say, pointing through the doorway to the dining room.
She smiles and nods. “Please, be my guest.”
“Thanks.”
I walk into the dining room which is decorated for Christmas, Mexico style. Poinsettias in every corner, papel picado in red and green along the walls, not to mention the very conspicuous nativity scene lining the front of the stage they use for late night mariachi. I scan the room for any sign of Kira and Dana, but the hostess was right. There are no two women here on their–
I stop in my tracks when my eyes land on a blonde sitting near the window with a cup of horchata half drunk in front of her. It’s Dana. And she’s alone, at a table set for two.
Suddenly, it all comes together.
“Kira, you little imp,” I mutter to myself and smile. My feelings for Dana are obvious to everyone but Dana herself. And I’m glad for it. The Solace sisters make great wing women.
Dana’s eyes land on me and she waves, that signature glowing smile spreading across her lips.
“Just you?” I say on approach, though I’m celebrating inside.
Dana rolls her eyes and dunks her straw into the horchata, stirring the cinnamon up that’s collected on the bottom. “Kira had a work thing come up.”
I bet she did.
“Orlie is working her like a dog. I can’t stand it,” Dana mutters. “Anyway, are you just going to stand there?”
I laugh, shrug off my light jacket, and drop into my chair. “No, I’m starving.”
“Good, I’ve already ordered,” Dana says and then smiles, clasping her hands under her chin. “Hope that’s okay.”
Any good friend would know your order at a restaurant you go to regularly. And yet, Dana ordering on my behalf gives me a feeling of electricity in my chest.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Drew. It’s just lunch.
“Better than okay. Perfect.”
Subtle isnotmy middle name…
3
DANA
