Page 62 of Absinthe Minded

“Maybe.” Shanna didn’t seem convinced. She sat back in her chair. “What’s really up with you and Gabe?”

I raised my menu again.

Shanna snatched it from me and tossed it on an empty table. “You slept with him?”

My face heated. “I wouldn’t say we slept.”

“I can’t believe you let him talk you into sex…again. It’s bad enough he has you rooked into anengagement of convenience.” Shanna looked as if she’d chugged a half-gallon of soured milk.

“He’s changed.” At least, I thought he’d changed until Chantal had called my house.

“Oh, I bet he has. Have you forgotten the part where he dug your heart out with a spoon and pissed on it?” Shanna waved the waiter away, leaning closer to me again. “You cried for months.”

“Weeks.” I lied. In reality, I’d cried off and on over Gabe until he’d walked back into my life. “I haven’t forgotten. We’re in a strange situation. We sort of need each other. The rest will sort itself out in time.”

“I’ll tell you what he needs. A good swift kick in the balls.” Shanna smirked. “Tell me about the sex.”

I set my elbows on the table and smiled. “He hasn’t lost his touch.”

The waiter reappeared before the conversation got too raunchy.

“I’ll have the beignets.” Smiling, I handed him the menu.

“Creole omelet, home fries, and a side of bacon.” Shanna turned back to me and narrowed her eyes.

I lowered my gaze and fidgeted with my napkin.

“I knew it. You’re marrying him for the orgasms.” She laughed loud enough for several people to turn in our direction. “What happened to the vibrator I gave you for your birthday?”

I wanted to hide under the table, but it was no use and she’d probably follow me. “People are watching us.”

She turned and glared at the onlookers.

Thankfully, I knew how to get Shanna off the subject of Gabe. “How’s your dating life?”

“Non-freaking-existent. After the last debacle, I pulled my profile off the dating sites. I’ve decided to live a celibate life, focus on work. I want my PI license.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I could take the course now. It’s only forty hours.”

“You should.”

We had this conversation many times before, but she’d always chickened out at the last minute.

“I’d have more credibility with clients if I finished my degree.” Shanna lowered her voice. “All I have left is the English and math courses. With my dyslexia, I can get help with the reading and writing. Would you tutor me in math?”

“Of course.” I hated math more than I hated the extra weight I carried in my hips and the fact I had pimples and wrinkles at the same time, but I’d do anything for her. God knows, she’s done worse for me.

“Thanks, Maggie. I’m hoping to get into classes this fall.”

The waiter delivered our food, but I ignored the powdered sugar-coated balls of deliciousness.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Shanna eyed me.

“I’m too stressed out.”

“Bullshit. You’re the definition of a stress eater. Tell me you aren’t starving yourself for that asshole.”

Most of the time I treasured having a friend who knew me inside and out, but not when it came to my weight. “I’m not. Chloe and I had a stomach virus over the weekend. I took one look at the beignet and felt queasy.”

“Stay on your side of the table.” Shanna stole a beignet from my plate. “Now that I have the Marchionni stuff wrapped up, I’ll start working on Gabe’s baby momma.”

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