“Positive.”
Mega pop. “Oh, okay then.” I didn’t know what else to say, not that I had a chance to think of anything.
“Gotta run. I’ll talk to you later, Kee.” The words came shooting out like bullets from a machine gun, ripping through my brain fog. And before I could blink, he hung up, leaving my lunch hour just as quickly as he’d interrupted it.
Only now I almost wished he hadn’t called at all.
* * *
Armed with a latte, the train ride home wasn’t as bad, nor was assembling a spinach and artichoke lasagna from scratch. Ordering a pizza was more up my alley after a crappy day, but it was my turn to host Thot Thursday as Jorge coined it.
The oven timer sounded just as Lil walked in my front door, her dog Stanley held under one arm and a cake plate displaying the world’s largest cannoli in the other. “How’s it going, gorgeous?” She set Stanley down and strolled over to join me in the kitchen, resting the massive pastry on the counter before pressing a dramatic kiss to each of my cheeks, likely leaving smudges of red lipstick behind.
“Fine,” I answered, grabbing potholders and reaching in the oven to extract my pride and joy - a recipe that scored over a thousand hits on my blog. Just looking at the melted cheese had my mouth watering. “How was your day? Stanley behave?”
The chubby Chihuahua waddled in to join us, red nails clicking on the tile. As usual, they were painted to match Lil’s.
“He’s always an angel!” she gushed, lying through her teeth. Stanley was a hellion, especially if he had a bone. “We walked the Greenway and had ice cream.”
I glanced down at the tan terror, his waistline vanishing by the day. I wasn’t a dog expert, but I was pretty sure Chihuahuas were supposed to have a shape other than round. “Let’s hope he got his steps in.”
She pointed at the fitness tracker on her wrist with a proud grin, the black band blending in with her collection of bangles. “He got at least a thousand in.”
“Who did what?” Jorge’s voice came booming from the front door. He shut it just as loudly behind him, his keys jingling from the clip on his belt. But that was Jorge. Everything about him was loud, from his words to his fashion.
I waved a dismissive hand at him as I carved the lasagna. “Just talking about Stanley.”
“Aw, my meatball!” He rushed in, scooping Stanley to his chest, a grumble sounding the little guy’s displeasure. Jorge’s black button down was soon covered in little hairs courtesy of the pudgy pup.
“How are you?” I asked as I dished everyone’s food, Lil already pouring a glass of white wine for each of us. By the looks of it, I’d be writing my communication patterns essay a little tipsy later that night.
“I had a phone interview for a restaurant in Brooklyn, and the owner was such a sweetheart!”
My heart warmed at his words while my guts twisted, sad to think of him moving away but happy he was making the leap he’d talked about since we’d met. The New York restaurant scene was gaining more than a great manager; they were gaining one of my best friends. “How’d it go?”
“Great! I can start as soon as I find a place. The owner knows some guys in Chelsea that have a room available, so I’m looking into that. I leave tomorrow to meet with them.”
“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!” I plastered the best smile I could muster on my face, knowing I probably looked like a Halloween skeleton.
He ventured closer while kissing Stanley’s forehead, the tapping of his heeled Oxfords echoing. “Don’t give me that voice, girl. I’m not dying. I’ll be a train ride away. You can visit anytime.”
“Be careful what you promise,” I teased, extending a plate to him piled high with lasagna. “I’m like a stray if you feed me.”
“Like I’d mind! You should move down when you finish school! We could be the new bitches on the block!” He winked before strutting to the table, leaving nothing but sass and expensive cologne in his wake.
Psh, I wished. There was no way I could move so far from home. He was a cultured hospitality god with wanderlust. I… wasn’t.
I shook my head, turning to Lil who was already getting her drink on, looking every part the femme fatale she was in her lacy black frock, a ruby pendant hanging from her neck. “I can’t leave my Lil.”
I’d hit the jackpot when I found my apartment, a basement unit in her brownstone. When I met the fine wine as she called herself, I had no idea she’d become such a good friend. But soon after, I found myself drinking wine with the world’s coolest granny in her parlor, and the rest was history.
“Well, you hags better visit and go man-seeing with me.” Jorge sat holding Stanley on his lap like a fat toddler, his stumpy legs sticking straight out.
“Haven’t we done enough of that here?” Anytime we went out it turned into an epic game of man-prowling, Lil schooling us in the sport she could win a hundred gold medals in.
She shot me a dirty look over her wine glass, the rim red from her lips. “No such thing!”
“Uh, yeah, there is.” I appreciated a hot guy as much as the next girl, but staring at them got old and a little creepy, honestly.
“Maybe because you regularly bask in the presence of glory,” Jorge teased. “When you’ve seen the best, you don’t need the rest. How’d last night go, by the way, Keely Casanova?”
“She blew it!” Lil exploded, shuffling over to hand Jorge his wine, her glass already half-empty.
Way to out me, jeez. I’d shot her a text after Ethan left looking for a friend, not a mega phone to spout my problems.
Jorge’s brown eyes almost bulged out of his head, his fork
