bus into the city instead of the subway or something.”
“A bus? You’ve got to be kidding me. Have you looked at those bus routes? It’s like learning to read Mandarin. I’d get so lost I’d never be found.”
I chuckle. “Then try a new food, like the list says, Miss Picky. People do that, you know. It’s not that hard.”
She sniffs. “I’m twenty-seven, I know what foods I like, and there are plenty of those on my list already. I don’t see any reason to go around putting weird, random stuff in my mouth just for variety’s sake.”
I know she’s kidding, trying to deflect with a joke, but I’m too busy thinking about all the things I’d like to feel in her mouth—my fingers, my tongue, other parts I refuse to even imagine—to come up with a witty comeback.
Instead, as we cross the street, I say, “It’s about expanding your mind, exploring new possibilities, pushing past your limits. Think about all the potentially amazing foods you’re missing out on by sticking to what’s easy and familiar.”
“Think about all the potentially gross things I’m not allowing past my lips because I’m smart enough to stay on the path and not go wandering into the woods where the poisonous mushrooms grow.”
I snap my fingers as inspiration strikes. “Great idea. I know a place that specializes in mushrooms. I’ll make us a reservation for tomorrow night.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Oh God, no. Not mushrooms. You know I hate them.”
“You’ve never tried them.”
“Because I know I’ll hate them. They’re so slimy and spongy and alien looking. Like . . . raw fish bellies or something.”
“Also good, if it’s the right fish belly in the hands of a skilled sushi chef.”
She sticks out her tongue. “Ew. Stop. I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to be great.” We linger in front of her building and I reach out, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she says, “Be proud when I don’t stand you up tomorrow night, mushroom man.”
“You wouldn’t stand me up,” I say. “You wouldn’t even think about it.”
She meets my gaze, holding it for a long beat that makes my pulse spike again before she whispers, “No, I wouldn’t.”
“I’ll text you the location and meet you at eight,” I say in a soft voice. “Wear something black and slinky.”
She frowns. “The mushroom restaurant is fancy?”
“Not in the least. It’s Brooklyn casual. I just enjoy you in clothing that’s black . . . and slinky.”
Her lips curve into a sneaky grin. “In that case, why don’t you wear those jeans that make your butt look good?”
On that note, she spins around, heads up her steps, and goes into her building.
And I do something I rarely do.
I start thinking about what I’m going to wear the next day.
7
Ruby
This is probably a mission for Gigi.
I stand in front of my closet the next day, swiping through the options, yanking T-shirt after T-shirt from their hangers and then sticking my tongue out at my clothes.
It’s not like I’m going to find a lot of black and slinky in here.
Hell, my wardrobe lately consists of—let’s see—yoga pants, yoga pants, yoga pants, and the occasional pair of jogging shorts.
Still, I try one more time, just in case I missed some sexy number that would be perfect for . . . mushroom tasting.
What the hell does one even wear to go mushroom tasting at Forage and Fox?
Also, who names a café Forage and Fox? What’s appetizing about digging through the dirt or . . . foxes?
Doesn’t matter.
Clothes matter.
Greatly.
After the triumph in the store yesterday, I’m inclined to bring a level of slink guaranteed to make him drool. Yes, we’re just friends, but there aren’t any rules against friends making friends salivate.
Especially when Jesse flat-out asked for it.
But I won’t find anything drool-worthy here.
I grab my cell phone from the coffee table in my tiny studio, spotting a text from my mom that I’ll check in a few. First, I fire off a quick message to my cousin.
* * *
Ruby: Fashion emergency.
* * *
I add a firetruck for effect.
Her reply is instantaneous, but I’m not surprised. I’ve used her two favorite words.
* * *
Gigi: At your service! What would you like?
A. A swimsuit guaranteed to make your breasts perky and your stomach flat?
B. A pair of skinny jeans to emphasize that bootilicious backside of yours?
C. To go shopping with your favorite cousin?
Please say C please. Please say C. Please say C.
* * *
After