men. Benji approves of neither but admitted they were as good as we were going to find on the “stupid app.” He maintains this is a compliment to me rather than an insult. I remind him I know whose side he’s on.
Mine. Always. That’s how he became my best friend, after all.
“Should we flip a coin?” he asks.
“No. I choose Dennis. Except he shares a name with my brother, which is a little disturbing.”
“Agreed. What about the other guy? What’s-his-name.”
“Rick.”
He makes a face. “If you must. Make sure he’s available this weekend. Do you need help drafting your message?”
I whip my head around. “I’m insulted. Do you know how many emails I draft on any given day? I am capable of texting coherently.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. I type in a message to Rick, telling him I’m available on Saturday. I look up to ask Benji if I should suggest Italian food, but he’s staring forlornly at his margarita glass, so I don’t.
“Done,” I say after I hit send.
“Which restaurant did you pick?” His smile appears a touch disingenuous, but it is going on eleven o’clock, so maybe he’s just tired.
“Piccoly’s.”
“Italian. Nice choice.”
“Hey, if I’m lucky I’ll get to eat there.”
His laugh is forced. I assume I’ve overstayed my welcome.
“I’m going to go. Thank you for the recap dinner.”
“Sure you don’t want to practice not blurting out how green you are at this whole dating thing before you go?”
“Absolutely not.” I shoulder my purse. “If I practice I’ll sound like I practiced. I want to be genuine and see what happens.”
“Well, we have all week.” Again with the dark, contemplative look. It’s so foreign parked on his face I don’t know how to react. He’s typically a happy person. I’ve always found it remarkable how a kid could lose both his parents and come out the other side as optimistic and pleasant as he did.
Dennis lost his parents too—though our mother is very much alive, “lost” seems an apt descriptor—and we had him in and out of school psychologists for years. Thank God I had power of attorney and no one looked too deeply into our home life. I wonder if Benji went through a dark period when he was a teenager. I never asked. It seems like I should have asked sooner since I’ve known him for ten years. We only became close recently, so now it’s like I can’t ask. We talk about current events and physical fitness. We talk about work. Talking about my dating status and how to proceed is new. And weird.
He opens the front door and I step over the threshold, turning to say goodnight. He leans one hand on the door over his head and props his other hand on his hip. His hair is stylish and messy. His eyes are tired in a good way—the way that makes me imagine snuggling against him on the couch and listening to jazz while sipping a glass of wine. Then retiring to bed for a little fun…
I stop short of imagining more, lest I have to go home and have fun without him. It’s never as satisfying as I hope, and I usually feel guilty for objectifying him afterward.
“Night, Cris,” he says, looking tall and strong and delicious and perfect.
“Night.” I turn and walk to my car, waving one last time. He waves too, and then shuts the door.
Chapter Five
Benji
I’m carrying a bag filled with sushi rolls, hand rolls, fried rice, garlicky green beans, and various other foodstuffs from a sushi restaurant in Grand Marin. I could’ve ordered pizza, but in the event Cris’s date doesn’t work out—a high probability at this point—I want to be ready with a meal that will knock her socks off.
On my way out, I cut over to the corner where the management office is located, when I see a beautiful brunette in expensive shoes step outside. She slides her sunglasses onto her nose and rests one manicured hand on the arm of a good-looking son of a bitch with a crooked nose.
She sees me approach before he does and waves.
“How’s my favorite almost-sister-in-law?” I call to Vivian as I cross the street.
Nate dips his chin in greeting before admiring his fiancée unabashedly.
“Charmer.” She grins. She’s not wrong.
Since my brother met her, he’s been over the moon and not the least bit shy about admitting it. The cliché that the bigger they are, the harder they fall is true in his case.
“Eating for two?” He nods at the