Page 12 of The Love Losers

Is ladies’ night at the Peanut Bar a go?

It’s on for Wednesday, or so Dom said when he texted at four in the morning. He claims he thinks best when he has the munchies.

You’re coming, aren’t you?

You know you want to bask in the brilliance of my idea.

I’m interested in seeing what Dom considers fancy.

And I’m interested in hearing how your fancy lunch “appointment” goes.

You’re one of those people who holds up traffic so you can get a look at an accident, aren’t you?

Confirmed rubbernecker.

Text me updates.

No.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Conversation with Anthony, Friday morning

Jake made a logo for The Peanut Bar.

Wait. Is it actually called The Peanut Bar, or are we making assumptions?

It doesn’t have a name. I’ve asked the owner. He liked the “mystique” of going nameless.

Well, I’ve officially named it. **Sends picture.**

A dancing peanut. The Planters people might take umbrage, but it fits.

Do they teach anachronistic words in prep schools?

Yes. Do you feel like a god for naming the bar?

Yes. I have it on good authority that I’m a goddess. Dom told me so. He’s having something made with the logo as a giveaway.

Are you going to advise him on what to get?

I think it’ll be more fun if it’s a delightful surprise.

“That Anthony is quite a handsome boy,” Joy tells me on Saturday afternoon as I park outside the house where we’reholding the circus-themed tea. My friend is delightful, always, and as wholesome-looking as one of those sketches of puritans you’d find in a history book. Not that I bothered much with my history textbooks. My lovely roommate is not wholesome, thank God. And right now, she’s giving me a crafty look. “And he hasbeautifulhands. Did you notice them?”

I imagine how Anthony would react if he were a fly on the wall…and nearly pee myself laughing.

“You’re laughing because you’ve noticed,” she says, giving me one of her significant looks. “You know what they say about men with big hands.”

“That they have big cocks?”

She swats my arm. “You’re getting your appendages confused. That’s feet. Men with big hands have bighearts.”

“You just made that up,” I say, rolling my eyes. Joy has a habit of making up idioms and folk wisdom to fit whatever point she’s trying to make.

Blame my big mouth, but I told her all about my evening with Anthony after I got home on Wednesday night. She was still awake, because she likes to commune with the full moon once a month.

Wednesday’s moon was as full as my brother Seamus’s ass when he mooned my first date out of the living room window my Sophomore year of high school.

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