Page 17 of A Very Snowed In New Year
“You got it,” I say, giving him the double finger guns, and I don’t even lose my balance. I take a few more sips of my Old Fashioned cocktail, and when I turn around, I realize Tracy and Lainey are being chatted up by a couple of fellas, but I find a real tall drink of water standing right in front of me.
He’s wearing a fitted black-collared shirt and I cannot see his chest or abs, but I know they’re in there and I bet they aren’t super hairy. My gaze slowly travels up to his very attractive, intense-but-not-in-a-creepy-way face. “Hi there,” he says. His voice is deep, and I don’t think anyone has ever saidhi thereto me with so much intention.
“Well, hello there, sailor,” I say. “Come here often? I don’t. I prefer to live in my imagination most of the time.” I try to take a girly sip from the little straws in my drink, but I can’t get them to go in my mouth, so I very wisely give up before doing anything embarrassing.
“I, uh, I’ve been here a couple of times before, actually. When my buddies drag me out.”
“Hah! My buddies drug me out tonight too. Dragged me out? Is that right?” I cock my head to the side. “I probably seem drunk, but I am just atittle lipsy.”
He laughs amiably. “Okay, that’s cool. My friends and I have a table over there, if you want to?—”
“Hey! I don’t think so, friend!” The bartender leans over the counter behind me. “I know a guy in Boston who would not like that you’re standing so close to this young lady.”
Oh my God.
The tall drink of water takes a step back. “Are you married or something?”
I sigh. “No. But I also know a guy in Boston. He’s married to an amazing woman and has two really cute little kids. He isn’t my uncle, technically, but he acts like one, I guess.”
“Huh?”
“Move it along, hotshot,” the bartender says. “I got my orders.”
My tall drink of water salutes the bartender and walks away.
“What is happening?” Lainey asks.
I turn back to face the bartender. “Let me guess—Billy Boston is a friend of yours, and you owe him a favor.”
He smiles, kind of sheepishly. “He sent a picture of you to a bunch of us who work in bars around town and made sure we remember your face. Said to keep an eye out for ya. I couldn’t quite tell if it was you because of the…” He indicates my fake eyelashes and all the other makeup that was applied to my face. “So I sent him a pic just now. He confirmed that I should protect you, and I quote, ‘like a little baby lamb that fell out of its nest.’ Sorry, but I gotta look out for ya.”
“Let’s go to Maloney’s, then,” Tracy says, shrugging. “You can take your pick at that place.”
“I know aaaalllll the guys that work at Maloney’s, sweetheart,” the bartender says.
Billy Boston knows people who know people everywhere.
I blow out a breath and shift around. My feet are starting to hurt already. Maybe this is a sign that I should still wait for the right guy and the right situation. That my virginity is not something that must be lost or given away like a hot potato—or even something sacred that has to be protected like the crown jewels or a baby lamb. My sexuality is a part of me that’s evolving, and I get to share it with the person or people I want to share it with when I want to share it. Or maybe I just can’t wait to take these damn boots and lash extensions off. “Can we please just get diner pie and go home?”
Lainey and Tracy exchange looks.
I hold up my finger. “Don’t say cherry pie.”
“Fine,” Lainey says, rolling her eyes. “Girls’ night in.” She polishes off her Old Fashioned and puts her arm around me. Leaning in, she whisper-yells, “I just gave my number to a guy, so you’re probably going to have to text with him later.”
“Bring it,” I say. “I’m feeling extra frisky.”
SIX
Holden
IT DIDN’T HAPPEN ONE NIGHT
I mean, it’s not like golden rays of sunshine ever shot out of my assbeforeI had to start limiting my refined carb intake for bullshit on-camera reasons, but not being able to indulge in holiday food for three years in a row is enough to make any actor consider a career in voice-over work. Having to spend Thanksgiving in LA was bad enough, but being here the week before Christmas just feels like punishment.
I miss my family. The way my mum decorates the apartment. The crisp winter New York air. Even the bare trees and the dirty wet snow. For the past few days I’ve wanted to yell at the sun. I’ve wanted to tell every living and inanimate thing that makes noise to shut the fuck up. And I have wanted to spread butter and brown sugar over a warm waffle, layer vanilla ice cream over that, press another waffle on top, and eat it like a sandwich with one hand while flipping off my personal trainer with the other.
But I can’t. Because I’m in Los Angeles. That would all be acceptable behavior in Manhattan, but in this town everybody’s supposed to act happy all the time because you can go to the beach all year long. Like that’s a good thing. And I am well aware that I would be a lot less critical of everything if I’d met any girls I actually liked recently. This…this is new for me. After being alive for a quarter of a century, I’m finally longing for a deeper connection with the women I’m attracted to.
