Getting Lucky

“Girl!” I exclaim. “You met someone?”

Lishelle beams. “You could say that.”

“Nice,” Claudia quips. “The walk of shame in a public place.”

“No one here knows I had this dress on last night,”

Lishelle says. Then, “A round of mimosas? Of course, not for you,” she adds, smiling sweetly at me.

“No, of course not,” I say. On Sundays, restaurants in Atlanta start serving alcohol at twelve-thirty, which is why we show up right about then. “I’ll stick with the ginger tea.”

Lishelle flags down Sierra, the petite Asian woman who has waited on us every Sunday afternoon for as long as we can remember. Except for the three-month span where Sierra thought she was in love, and took off to Los Angeles to be with the man of her dreams. Sadly, the relationship that had started online fizzled when they began living in the real world. Though the truth is, for our own selfish reasons, we’re happy to have Sierra back here. We never did bond with Apple, the woman who had waited on us in Sierra’s absence. Sierra is a premed student, putting herself through school by waitressing.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Sierra says sweetly. “How’re y’all doing?”

“We’re fantastic,” Lishelle replies, and Claudia and I share a look across the table. Whoever this guy is, she must be really into him.

“Two mimosas and a ginger tea, right?” Sierra asks.

“You know us so well,” Lishelle says.

Lishelle took particular pleasure in listening to Sierra tell us how her relationship with Braden had fallen apart at the seams, as she was the one who’d taken it the hardest when Sierra had suddenly been gone. Lishelle has been extra generous with her tips since her return, which she claims are to help Sierra with her premed expenses, but Claudia and I know it’s more of an incentive not to run off again.

“You even sound different,” Claudia says once Sierra has taken our order. “Who is he and how many hours did he rock your world?”

“And how on earth did you manage to get lucky at a retirement party?” I ask. That’s where she was supposed to have been last night, at a retirement party for someone at the news station.

Lishelle’s eyes brighten. “His name is Damon, and he’s a friend of Maureen’s, who does makeup. Remember I told you that she said she has a friend she wanted me to meet? How she thought we’d be great together? I’ve been busy, so has he, so we hadn’t made it happen yet. But he shows up unexpectedly at the get-together last night, pretty much begging to take me out afterward. He offered me real food—not that god-awful finger food the catering company provided, so how could I say no? And—get your minds out of the gutter—we had a really nice time.”

“What do you mean get our minds out of the gutter?” Claudia asks. “And what exactly do you mean by nice?”

“We went to Sambucca lounge, had a decent and lovely dinner and talked,” Lishelle explains. “He’s gorgeous, and the conversation between us flowed really well. He’s the kind of guy you could talk to all night long. So, when they were about to shut down the club and he suggested we go to his place, I thought why not?”

“The first night,” I say, and then tsk.

“Like I said, get your minds out of the gutter. He suggested we continue talking. He was telling me all about his college-football career, and it was quite fascinating. I wanted to hear more.”

“I’m sure that’s all you wanted,” Claudia says, and rolls her eyes.

Sierra arrives with our drinks, and gives a little smirk as she places them on the table. Over the years, I’m sure she has gotten an earful of juicy conversation from us—but she’s always had the grace not to say.

“Sierra,” I begin, “if you don’t mind, can I also get a tall glass of orange juice?”

“Sure thing,” she says.

“Believe it or not,” Lishelle continues when Sierra has disappeared, “I am capable of staying the night at a guy’s place and not fucking him.”

Claudia pretends to cough because of her drink. I stifle a laugh.

“It’s like that, is it?” Lishelle asks, feigning a hurt tone.

“Oh, go on,” I tell her. “Tell us what happened next.”

“Now, I’m not saying I wasn’t tempted. Trust me, it’s been a long time, and Damon is as hot as they come. The fact that I didn’t jump him is a testament to my self-restraint, because damn, you should have seen the man’s thighs. He used to play college football. I told you that, right?”

“You sure did,” Claudia says.

“Part of me didn’t believe his let’s continue talking line,” Lishelle continues. “I figured at some point he’d try to get me into bed. But Damon was very sweet and kept his promise. We chatted, drank a bit of wine—and yes, we shared one hot kiss—but then he put on a movie, and we snuggled on the sofa. I fell asleep in his arms. So, yeah, a very nice time.”

“Sounds like you want to see him again,” Claudia says.

“Definitely,” Lishelle says, nodding.

As Lishelle goes on about how she’s finally ready to start dating seriously, I can’t help thinking that she hasn’t heard the news about Rugged. She seems a bit too chipper to know that her ex is about to get married.

“Do you like him?” I ask. “I mean like him like him?” This is good. If she’s got someone else to occupy her thoughts, maybe she won’t be that upset about Rugged.

“Sure,” Lishelle says, shrugging nonchalantly. “He’s gorgeous, has a great body. And the way he was flirting with me and eyeing me up like I was a juicy piece of steak, there’s no worry about him being one of those down-low brothers.”

“So why don’t you call him?” I suggest. “Today. Take the initiative and suggest a second date.”

Lishelle eyes me warily. “You want me to call him and suggest a second date?”

“Why not? There’s no law to say you can’t, and people often spend so much time playing dating games, not wanting to call too soon. Pretending that they’re not really interested. All that nonsense. What’s the point?”

Even Claudia is looking at me strangely. Her eyes widen slightly, and it’s clear to me that she is trying to warn me that I should quit while I’m ahead.

Lishelle must pick up on the fact that something is going on, because she glances at Claudia, who promptly lifts the menu—a dead giveaway that something is wrong. We never look at the menu, as we always have the buffet.

To deflect attention from Claudia, I chuckle and say, “Listen to me ramble on like Cupid on crack. My pregnancy hormones are making me play matchmaker.”

Lishelle’s eyes bore into me with the intensity of the skilled reporter she is. “What’s going on?”

I don’t answer right away. And damn, it’s clear that Lishelle has sensed there is some secret between me and Claudia, because she looks at Claudia again.

“Oh, look,” Claudia says, throwing a glance beyond Lishelle. “Sierra is coming with your drink.”

Sierra sets the orange juice in front of me. I immediately take a liberal sip, avoiding Lishelle’s eyes.

“Are you having the buffet?” Sierra asks. She asks more out of formality, because we always have the buffet. But perhaps we’re taking too long to get up and fill our plates today, so she’s wondering if we’re going to order off the menu for a change.

“The buffet,” Lishelle tells Sierra.

“Flag me down if you need coffee or anything,” Sierra tells us before heading off to another table.

“And speaking of the buffet,” Claudia begins, “I’m famished. Let’s get some food.”

“Not so fast.” Lishelle stays seated, blocking Claudia’s path of escape from the booth. “What’s going on?”