Page 17 of Love Without Demands

“If you say man clit, I’m going to throw my shoe at you,” I warned.

“Please do. Those taupeBouvierbooties are fucking fabulous, babe.”

“They are, aren’t they?” I asked with a grin, lifting my right foot and tilting it to get the full effect of the suede in the dim light.

“Utterly divine. When are you going to introduce me to that fine-ass piece you work for? He could invite me to his home to redecorate, and I’d suggest we start in his bedroom. Then I’d—”

“Jesus,” Nic groaned, “don’t get started on your Auburn Bouvier fantasies again. The man is not gay. Besides, Lehra hasn’t told us her sexiest name yet.”

Then both looked expectantly at me, and I blurted out, “Cruz.”

Cue the record scratch…

Fuck. Where did that come from?

Nicolette nodded, and Artie fake-fanned himself. “Hells bells, that is a hot one. I need me a Cruz in my life.”

Downing the rest of my minty martini in one gulp, I changed the subject before I could think too much about what I said. And why I said it.

“Nic, how is work going for you?”

Her sigh was long-suffering and dramatic. “I love my work, but I’m sick to death of my boss. Joyce is so unimaginative and set in her ways. She never lets me stretch my wings and develop new products.”

“That’s a shame,” Artie replied. “You’re a brilliant biochemist, Nic. Why did they hire you if they just want the same old shit day after day?”

“No clue, but Joyce turned down my idea for a men’s line of cosmetics last week.”

“Oooh, intriguing,” Artie said, drumming his fingertips against his dark-red beard. “Tell me more.”

Nicolette expounded on her idea and the reasoning behind it as we listened. It did sound like an untapped market. My sweet—and slightly nerdy—friend had two doctorate degrees and was the smartest person I knew. Like seriously genius-level smart.

“Anyway, I just wish I could work somewhere else.”

“What about Hale Cosmetics?” Artie asked. “They seem to be a very forward-thinking company.”

“They are, but their headquarters is in Houston.”

“I’ll come visit you if you move to Texas. I’m not a country boy by any means,” Artie began, wagging one finger in the air, “but Wrangler butts are fine as hell. They have entire Instagram pages dedicated to showing the virtue of cowboy asses in those jeans.”

I laughed even as my stomach knotted at the thought of one of my friends leaving New York. These two were my lifeline, and I would be so lonely without them.

“I’ll think about it,” Nicolette said thoughtfully. “Hale really is a much better company than Aquarius Cosmetics.”

I forced a placid smile on my face and signaled for another round of drinks as I felt Artie’s astute gaze on the side of my face. “Why do you look constipated, baby girl?”

“I don’t look constipated,” I argued, putting indignation into my tone.

“You look like you haven’t dropped a poo in two weeks. You always get that look when you’re making yourself smile.”

Rolling my eyes, I sighed, “Fine, I was getting a tad melancholy at the thought of Nic leaving.” I reached across the table and grasped her thin hand. “But I would support you a million percent. I only want you to be happy.”

“Thanks,” she replied, squeezing my hand. “I don’t want to leave, but I actually dread going to work every morning, and Ishouldn’t. I love biochem and cosmetics, so this should be my dream job.”

“You’re right,” I said, internally scolding myself for being selfish. “You deserve to be happy as a clam.”

“Speaking of clams,” Artie broke in, staring at the food menu. “Should we split an order of fried clams? Their dill tartar sauce here is the bomb.”

And just like that, the subject of Nicolette leaving was put aside.

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