Page 35 of Role Play
chapter 10
Forrest
I’m at least eight inches taller than Sora, so naturally my stride outraces her. But at the present moment, she’s also moving so slowly I have to practically walk backward to pace with her as we make our way to the Upper West Side on foot.
The night air has cooled considerably since we left the wedding, and the streetlights cast long shadows across the sidewalk. My dress shoes click in a steady rhythm against the pavement, a stark contrast to her wayward shuffling.
I wanted to hail a cab, but Sora insisted on walking to try and sober up.Good luck. She’s pipsqueak-sized and consumed enough edibles to sedate a rhino. She’s going to be high until spring. Her eyes are glassy, reflecting the neon signs we pass, and every few steps she stumbles slightly, like she’s walking on a moving ship instead of solid ground.
“So, did we learn our lesson about taking candy from a stranger?” I ask, weaving my fingers between her dainty digits.
Her hand is cold against mine, and I can feel her pulse thumping in her wrist. I’m holding her hand half out of protection, as we approach a burly homeless man planted on thesidewalk ahead, but also partly to drag her along. If she doesn’t pick up the pace, we might as well sleep on the streets tonight. The homeless guy eyes us as we pass, the stench of cheap liquor and unwashed clothes hitting my nostrils.
“Wasn’t a stranger. It was my best friend,” she defends, her voice slightly slurred.
“Your best friend drugged you?”
She exaggerates a long sigh, her breath visible in the cool night air. “I think she wanted me to lighten up.Oh!” she suddenly exclaims, pointing across the street. “Bingo. Pretzel cart.” She halts, pulls her hand from mine, and looks up at me with big, doe eyes. The streetlight catches the remnants of glitter from her makeup, making her skin shimmer.
“You want a pretzel?” I ask, amused by the sudden desperation in her eyes.
“No, Forrest, Ineeda pretzel.” She puts both hands against her stomach like she’s dying of hunger.
I take a few steps into the street like I’m testing the structural integrity of the road. My eyes scan for cars, spotting only a parked cab several blocks away. Safe from oncoming traffic, I gesture Sora across. “All right, cookie girl. Let’s go handle your munchies.”
“Oh, a cookie sounds good too,” she mutters as she shuffles past me in a hurry, the fabric of her dress brushing against my leg. Sure, to get home she’s moving like molasses, but she’ll sprint to carbohydrates.
“Well, don’t you two look nice,” the cart owner says as we approach, his thick mustache bouncing as he speaks. The steam from his cart warms the air around us, a welcome relief from the chill. I was expecting stale, grayish, day-old soft pretzels but all his inventory looks freshly baked. The smell of warm butter and soft bread swells all around the sidewalk, making my own stomach rumble. He even has elevator music playing from hiscart’s speakers that are hooked up to his phone. It’s quite the sophisticated pretzel cart. “Heading home after a nice night out? Yous look dressed for a ball.”
“A wedding at The Plaza,” I confirm before holding up two fingers. “Two, please. One cinnamon sugar, and one plain.” I glance at Sora, who is frozen in place, nearly salivating over the illustrated image of the giant salt-crusted pretzel on the side of the cart. Her eyes are so wide she looks like she’s in a trance.
“I gotta sit,” Sora abruptly announces, then makes a beeline to a nearby bus bench. The metal bench creaks as she drops onto it, her dress bunching up around her. After paying for our food, I make my way to her side, holding out both pretzel options. The warmth bleeding through the thin paper wrapping heats my palms.
“Salted or cinnamon sugar?”
Her grabby hands gravitate to the salted one, her fingers brushing against mine. A huge chunk is in her mouth before I have the chance to offer her the toxic cheese sauce crap that goes perfectly with a warm, soft pretzel. The sound of her enthusiastic chewing fills the quiet night. “Oh my god,I love you.”
“That good, huh?” I unwrap the plastic seal on the cheese sauce and set it by her leg before taking a seat next to her. The bench is cold through my pants. The night air is beyond crisp. I’ve offered Sora my coat several times, but she refused to take it. I’m not sure if she was worried about me getting chilly, or the cannabis is keeping her toasty.
I take a big bite out of the cinnamon sugar pretzel, remembering how hungry I actually am. Sweet crystals stick to my lips as I chew. Rotating my wrist, I point my food toward Sora. “Want a bite of this one?”
She answers by leaning over and taking a chomp out of the side, cinnamon sugar dusting her lips. “Panty-droppingdelicious,” she mumbles between her slow chewing, crumbs falling to her lap.
I let free a rumbly laugh that echoes in the empty street. “You’re easy to satisfy.”
She quirks her brow, showing me a suggestive grin. “When it comes to food, sure.”
Her response, teeming with innuendo, makes my stomach twist in intrigue. “I see your current state of inebriation hasn’t muted your wit.”
She shrugs cutely, then feasts on her pretzel, taking the entire thing down in about five more colossal bites. When she comes up for air, she looks a little chagrined, wiping crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “That wasn’t ladylike, huh?”
Isn’t she way too high to be self-conscious?“I like to see a woman with a healthy appetite. I could never be with a girl who orders side salads on a first date.” I stretch my legs out in front of me, my muscles tight from standing all evening.
Sora shows me a frog-lipped smile. “I actually do that to be nice. The last date I went on, the guy took me to a fancy restaurant he couldn’t afford. My side salad still cost twenty-eight dollars. It was bananas. I felt so bad for him.”
“Maybe don’t date boys. Datemenwho can afford to buy you a real meal.”Ah, shit.That sounded pompous, but agitation awoke in me the moment Sora mentioned dating. I flex my jaw, feeling the muscle tighten. I’m annoyed at the competition in a game I’m not even playing.
She scowls at my unforgiving reply, her eyes narrowing. “For the record, it was a great date. He was nice and funny and an absolute gentleman in the ways that matter. Money doesn’t make you a man, Forrest.”
