Page 23 of Infatuation

“Well, I used all caps for the word VAGINA because that word is most definitely all-caps worthy. How it spiraled out of control from there, I have no idea. I think we should STOP. So, hey, PG. I’M IN THE MOOD TO CELEBRATE!” Josh’s last text says. “Let me take you to my favorite restaurant in Seattle. They make the best MARTINIS in the city. You’ll SCREAM WITH PLEASURE. Oh, and you’ll like the MARTINIS, too. Snicker.”

My stomach somersaults. Oh my God. Of all the nights for Josh Faraday to ask me out. This can’t be happening.

“And for you, miss?” the waiter asks.

I look up from my phone. The waiter is looking at me, his eyebrows raised. My eyes drift to Cameron’s face. He’s looking at me expectantly.

“What would you like to drink, miss?” the waiter prompts.

“Uh. Yes. Thank you.” I clear my throat. “A dirty martini, Grey Goose, two olives, please. Thank you.”

“Great. I’ll get your drinks and come back for your food order.”

“Thanks,” Cameron says.

The waiter walks away and Cameron picks up his menu again.

“What are you drinking?” I ask. “I didn’t hear your order.”

“Just water. I don’t drink,” he says.

“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t realize. I can cancel my martini if—”

He laughs. “No worries. I’m used to it.”

“You don’t drink because you’re sober, or . . .?”

“I don’t drink during the season.”

I’m relieved. “How long is the season?”

“Including spring training and post-season, if you’re lucky, about eight months.”

What the fuck? The guy doesn’t drink for eight months of the year? “Good lord,” I say. “No drinking for eight whole months? It’s like you’re pregnant once a year.” I shudder with mock horror. Or maybe it’s just straight-up horror, actually. That sounds like a fate worse than death to me.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Do you get weird cravings, too—like for pickles and ice cream?”

He laughs. “Thankfully, no.”

“I really wouldn’t knock drinking as part of a healthy lifestyle,” I say. “Vodka comes from potatoes. Potatoes are vegetables. Hence, vodka is a vegetable.” I snort.

Cameron grins politely, but he doesn’t laugh. He looks back down at his menu. “I’m thinking the surf and turf. You?”

Ooph. Brutal. Where’s our chemistry? Is it hanging out with Waldo? I feel like I’m pulling teeth here. Surely, Cameron must feel the same way. “Yeah, surf and turf sounds good,” I say. Oh my God, my phone is calling to me like a siren. I’ve got to respond to Josh’s invitation. “Hey, you know what, Cameron? I’m so sorry, but I just need to finish something . . .” I motion to my phone. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”

“Okay,” he says tentatively.

“Sarah again,” I say.

“Oh, yeah, take your time.” By the compassionate tone of his voice, it’s obvious he thinks being there for my best-friend-Sarah-who-was-stabbed-in-a-bathroom is something admirable. And, bitch that I am, I’m happy to let him think it if it means I can get away with texting Josh for a little bit longer.

“I’ll just be a minute. And then I’m all yours.”

He flashes me a beaming smile. “I like the sound of that.”

“I’m really sorry, PB,” I text to Josh quickly, my heart pounding. “I’d love to celebrate your freedom with you with the best martini in Seattle, but I just sat down for dinner. Can I take a rain check?”

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