Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,15
wares. Are you calling dibs on this guy?”
“Dibs? No way,” I squeak. “And neither are you.”
She lets out an evil laugh. “But why not? I could break my dry spell. You don’t care, right?” She pokes me in the elbow and I let out a growl. “Oh wait. Maybe you do!”
“That ship has sailed,” I grumble. “A smarter girl would have slept with the hot bartender and with Spalding, too. But I was so rigid in my thinking. I wanted to do things in the right order.”
“But there was no right order,” Ginny agrees softly.
“No, there wasn’t. I was so young. I should have kissed all the boys and had all the sex. I might have realized that Spalding wasn’t the man for me.”
“This could be your do-over,” Ginny says. “You can still sleep with the hot barista.”
“No way. In the first place, he won’t be around long enough for that. I can’t keep a barista who doesn’t know how to make coffee drinks. He probably has a girlfriend now. Or a wife. And it’s all a moot point anyway. He wasn’t actually serious when he used to hit on me.”
“But what if he was? And what if he tried again?” my sister asks. “Then again, you probably wouldn’t want to take my sex advice. I have a son with someone who’s in prison.”
“A lovely son,” I say, rushing to Aaron’s defense. I’d die for my nephew.
“The best kid ever,” my sister agrees. “But nobody points at me and says role model.”
“I do,” I insist. “You’re brave, Gin. You’re a great mom, too. There is nothing wrong with us. Apartment 4/5 is a hundred percent admirable.” I take another sip of my rapidly evaporating wine.
My sister kicks her feet into my lap and reclines like a queen on the sofa. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“If the hottie bartender propositions you again, you won’t turn him down.”
“What? I can’t promise that. He won’t, by the way. But even if he did, I might not be feeling it.”
“Promise me you’ll consider it,” she pushes. “In fact, I want you to think it over when you see him again. Like, pretend that he’s going to ask you out. And try to imagine yourself saying yes.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because you’ve only ever been to bed with one man in your life. And then that man treated you like crap. You desperately need to broaden your horizons.”
“I object to the word desperately,” I argue. “And I’ve dated a little.”
“A very little,” my sister corrects. “Just think it over. I’m the single parent, and I get more action. You could be out there having fun.”
“Uh huh.” I hide behind my wine glass. “Something else happened today in the shop. Saroya came in.”
My sister groans. “Again? I just want to know why your ex’s new girlfriend has to buy all her coffee drinks from you? That is not how a stable person behaves.”
I have thought this same thing many times. But it’s nice to hear my sister say it, too. “Because I have the best coffee in SoHo?” I give Ginny a weak smile. “But, shit, if I were dating a guy, I’d drink second-tier coffee just to avoid his ex.”
“She’s obviously a drama llama,” Ginny says, indignant. “Or deeply insecure.”
“Or both,” I add. “And I know I shouldn’t let it get to me. She always comes in looking like some kind of bohemian runway model, and I’m covered in flour. No makeup. Circles under my eyes …”
“Because you work too much,” Ginny points out.
“I swear, she’s the only person who could make me second guess the way I look.” Don’t forget Gunnar, my hormones point out. Maybe we should rethink our work attire. “Anyway, there she is, preening and smiling like she’s just any customer who walked in for a latte. And I pushed Gunnar out of the way, which is stupid. I should have let him make her a shitty espresso. Maybe she wouldn’t come back, right?”
“That’s a solid plan. Hire this guy. Stat.” She takes the wine glass out of my hand and steals a sip. “Amirite?”
I give her a wan smile. “Ginny, it was weird today. Saroya …” I’m almost afraid to say it out loud. Because I’ll sound like a nut job. “She asked for decaf.”
“Oh.” My sister goes very still. “She didn’t.”
“Yes,” I whisper. And now I know I’m not crazy. Ginny is suddenly thinking the same thing that I’m thinking.
“It’s just mind games,” my sister says. But her dark eyes look worried.