Page 31 of Just Joshing
"Wait- what?" She tilted her head a little. "Yes or no, Josh?"
I can't. She needs to be wooed. To… fuck.
"Yes," I stood abruptly, unreasonably agitated. "You look… real nice. Let's go."
"You're coming?"
"Sure," I shrugged, reaching for her coat. "Call it research."
She groaned, slipping her arms in as I held it open for her. I tried not to notice how her hair brushed my fingers or the intoxicating smell of her perfume.
Jesucristo, you're an idiota. Pull it together man.
She placed a hand on my chest, halting me. "You can come on one proviso."
I raised an eyebrow.
"You do not mention me in this retelling." She quirked a smile. "Particularly if any of this makes it into your script."
"You got it, Pecas." I lied, knowing this would just be the start.
Chapter Seven
Molly
Josh followed me into the dimly lit bar. I tried not to notice how good his hand felt as it rested on my lower back.
His lips brushed the shell of my ear, "registration is that way."
He guided me across the room to a small table tucked against the bar.
"Hello Speedy Singles!" The preppy young woman beamed at us. "I'm Loretta Nales, your host for tonight. You can call me Lolly." She winked for some unknown reason. "Names?"
"Oh, he isn't joining." I corrected, "just me."
The woman eyed Josh, a predatory smile curving her red painted lips. "Do you want to be? We've got a spare spot, last minute drop out."
Josh glanced at me. I gave him wide eyes, telepathically screaming 'hell no'. He turned back to the woman. "Sounds good, where do I sign up?"
She handed him a clipboard with another wink. "Fill out the questionnaire and include your banking details on the second page. We're starting in ten minutes so feel free to grab a drink and mingle beforehand."
She turned away, welcoming her next victims.
Little Miss Molly wished she'd never met Lolly, as I ordered a whisky dry.
Josh settled on the chair beside me, murmuring as he scribbled answers.
"What the fuck kind of question is this?" He muttered, tapping his pen against the line. "Describe your perfect date? Jesucristo, what are you meant to say besides get laid?"
I snorted, whisky burning my nostrils.
"What about this one?" He lifted the clipboard, reciting, "if you were trapped on a deserted island what three things would you take?" He looked up at me. "As if you wouldn't take a form of transportation off the damn island."
I pointed at him, yelling, "exactly! That is exactly what I put."
He held up a hand, and I high-fived it with a satisfying smack.
"That's because we're both sensible and made of awesome." He looked back at the clipboard muttering, "¿Quién escribe esta mierda?"
