Compared to most eligible women in the city, I’m doing pretty damn well.
I remember an old saying my mom shared with me when I was job-hunting the summer after my freshman year of college: “Fake it ‘til you make it.” She convinced me to dress more professionally and less like a broke intern, stating if I wanted to be considered for advancement I should dress like I was already there. It was an interesting observation, and one that has helped me well in the corporate world.
I wrap the memory of my mother around me before bravely heading out to meet Carla. We haven’t seen each other since Thursday evening at the coffee shop. We ended things okay that day, but I’m not so sure where we stand. It’s like there’s an undercurrent between us that wasn’t there before.
I step into a cozy eatery near Macy’s, the smell of the fresh breads and soups wafting up to tempt me.
“Over here!” Carla waves to me from a tiny bistro table in the corner. I navigate through the packed establishment, grateful when I see she’s ordered two soups.
We kiss and hug, the tension from our last meeting melting away in the joy of being together.
“Thanks for ordering for me.” We settle at the table and I toss my loose curls over one shoulder. “What’s the soup special today?”
“Bean with ham, is that okay?”
“Ahh…” I dip in a plastic spoon and stir the thick concoction. “It’s perfect. Smells good.”
Carla nods, her gaze going to my hair. “I like the curls. Did you do it yourself?”
I smile, forcing myself not to preen under her notice. “Yeah. Hot curlers. Took about thirty or forty minutes this morning.” I shrug, trying to downplay the adventure of my struggles with the piping hot, ceramic finger-torturing devices.
She takes a spoonful of soup and nods. “You did a great job. It’s very flattering. You should style it like that more often.”
I rather like the look of the sexy curls myself; maybe I will drag out those painful coils again and attempt to master them. “Thanks,” I say, sitting up a little straighter in my chair. “So…what did you do this weekend?” I’m not sure how many details I want to share with Carla regarding my Saturday night, but I definitely want to tell her I saw Tony.
An open expression of excitement crosses my friend’s face. “I went out with one of the guys from the speed dating event.”
I track back in my mind, wondering if I told her about the guy I thought looked like a predator. “Which one?”
“Michael—the guy in the sport coat with the killer smile.” She smoothes her tightly-fitting shirt over her cropped yoga pants.
I nod, understanding whom she means. He didn’t make it to my table before I left. “Good for you. How did it go?”
“We had a nice dinner in Little Italy, talked for hours.” She gazes past me and out the window. “We’ll see how it goes.”
“Hmm…you’ve got that look.”
“What look?” she says.
“It’s kind of melancholy. Like you’re happy, but with a touch of sadness.”
She props an elbow on the table and stirs her soup. “Damn, girlfriend. Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”
“Did something feel off?”
“Nothing jumped out at me, just an impression I had.” She catches the eye of a man at a nearby table and smiles at him, seemingly unaware her actions are a blatant invitation for him to approach her.
I reach across the table and touch her arm, drawing her attention back to me. “Aren’t you the one always telling me to trust my instincts?”
She smiles to lessen the seriousness. “Nothing like that, not like I wasn’t safe or anything. More like he was more interested in his own good looks and who noticed him than he was in me.”
I suppress a smile. This could be why she and I clashed the other day, too. Carla is used to being the center of attention and attracting male eyes. Sounds like she went out with the male equivalent of herself.
“Was he constantly smoothing his shirt and smiling at strangers the next table over?” I keep my voice as level as possible and raise one eyebrow. “I don’t think I know anyone who acts like that.”
Carla laughs, a full-bodied sound that turns more interested men our way. “Good point! I have no room to talk. But seriously, I don’t act like that on a date. He just gave off the player vibe.” She picks up her spoon. “It didn’t sit right with me.”
I eat soup and think about how Tony acted with me. I can’t help but wonder if he would treat me differently in public than he did in private. He’s been a perfect gentleman, so far. My face heats as I remember him touching himself, the naked desire on his face as he looked down at me. Well…at least until I told him to come. After that, his eyes closed briefly in rapturous delight as he shot ribbons of—