Page 25 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
“No, I do not want to look like a cat. Because I am not a cat. And since I’m not a cat, I prefer not to have my face licked like I’m a cat.”
He’d been caught.
“That makes sense,” he said lamely, backing up while she walked toward him. “I mean, who would?”
“And then I thought to myself— while Dave was licking my chin—why would Trig set me up with this weirdo?”
He must have looked even guiltier than he felt because with eyes as sharp as diamonds, she said, “But then it occurred to me, since you and Ryan seemed to know everything about everyone around here, you probably knew Dave enjoyed this kind of activity. In fact, I bet you have a nickname for him too, like you do for Sandworm or Dog Collar. Something like The Tongue, or—”
“Licker,” Trig admitted, wincing. “We call him Licker.”
Her hands flew to her hips. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“I’m a shit wingman?”
Clenching her jaw, she took a step toward him. He wondered if he was about to get slapped. He deserved to.
“That’s not it, and you know it,” she insisted. “Tell me.”
When he didn’t respond, she threw up her hands and—honestly thinking she might slap him—he shielded his face with his arms and shouted, “I don’t want to be your wingman!”
“Why not?” she shouted back.
Still hiding behind his arms, he blurted out, “Because I wanted to be yourman, man. If you were gonna be fucking around with anyone this weekend, I wanted it to be me, okay! And I realize now how selfish and messed up it was to set you up with Licker and I’m really damn sorry about it! Shit!”
Out of the deafening silence that ensued, he heard a snort, and then a laugh, and then a full-on guffaw. Lowering his hands, he found her doubled over, her hands on her knees, the deep V of her red dress showing him a lot more than he wanted to see right now.
“Why are you laughing at me?”
“I’m not laughing at you. I just can’t believe how much that guy licked my face. Like, has nobody ever told him that’s not how humans kiss?” She cracked up again, making it impossible for Trig not to laugh too. Then she started waving her hand in front of her face, her nose scrunching up, eyes squinty.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Is there a fly in here or something?”
“No. I’m fine. I’m…I…achoo!”
Throwing his arm over his nose and mouth, he said, “Are you getting sick too?”
“Calm down, Count Dracula. It was only a sneeze.”
The tension broken somewhat, he lowered his arm and said, “I’m sorry, Kissie. I should have told you I couldn’t be your wingman. I should have been honest, but I’m not making the best decisions right now.”
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, no longer laughing while she pulled a chair off a table and sat down on it, her head in her hands. “Why can’t I do anything right?”
“What do you mean?” She did everything right as far as he was concerned.
“My life. It’s a disaster.”
Pulling another chair down, he sat in front of her. “I might make a shitty wingman, but I’m a damn good bartender. And bartenders are world-class listeners.”
Raising her head, she met his eyes. The tears standing in hers made his heart clench painfully in his chest.
“I’m a fucking mess.”
He nodded silently, waiting for her to elaborate.
“My agency closed, my boyfriend cheated on me, and before I came here, I hadn’t taken a shower in over a week. And now I can’t even have a one-night stand like a normal human being. I can’t even get kissed without having to wash my face afterwards. I am floundering!”
Cautiously, he reached out to squeeze her knee. She didn’t even seem to notice.
