Cover Me. Stephanie Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Well, you’re going to have to risk an outbreak,” Denise said, then exchanged devilish grins with Cindy and Jacki. “At least for one night.”

      I squinted. “What are you three up to?”

      “Happy Birthday,” Denise shouted, then plopped a gaily wrapped package onto the table. “It’s from all of us.”

      “You shouldn’t have,” I said, but I welled with pleasure.

      In my lifetime I had experienced a high rate of friend turnover because I and everyone I knew seemed to be in perpetual motion—every apartment and every job seemed eerily temporary, a pit stop to somewhere potentially more fulfilling. I had met Denise, Jacki and Cindy when we all worked for a textbook publisher over four years ago. From there our careers had taken different paths, but we had managed to stay in touch. I treasured the low-maintenance, high-gossip bond I shared with these three women.

      I dutifully read the humorous card, then tore into the package thinking jewelry! Perfume! Handbag! The girls always knew just the right gift.

      When the paper revealed a description of the box contents, however, I decided they must have run out of good ideas. “A Make Your Own Dildo kit?”

      “Isn’t it great?” Denise asked, squealing.

      I stared at the box, which portrayed a woman from the waist up. Her hands were out of sight, and she looked pleased with herself. “M-make my own? I’m not much of an artist.”

      Jacki scoffed. “You don’t sculpt the dildo—you make a cast.”

      “From what?”

      “From the real thing, silly.”

      I gaped. “You mean…?”

      They all screamed with laughter, nodding. “Since you’re allergic to sexy men,” Jacki said dryly, “we thought we’d buy you something that would kill two birds with one stone.”

      “First,” Denise said, “you find a hot one-night stand who’s willing to be commemorated in silicone.”

      “Then,” Cindy continued, “you’ll have Mr. Hot and Sexy’s likeness to keep you company when you find Mr. Nice and Unsexy to settle down with.”

      Although their words made tequila-hazy sense, there was an error in their collective logic that I felt compelled to point out. “I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

      “Well, Kenzie,” Jacki said, lifting her glass, “you’re not getting any younger.”

      I was prevented from answering by the appearance of one of the most horrific sights a woman can imagine—a small cake ablaze with what appeared to be the correct number of candles. My friends burst into an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday,” and I felt the eyes of everyone in the bar turn my way while a few tipsy bystanders chimed in. I hid the dildo kit on my lap, thinking maybe I could donate it to the Goodwill store in the red-light district.

      The poor waitress nearly set her crop-top on fire as she parked the torch on our table. Since I was already light-headed, I inhaled as deeply as I dared and managed to blow out most of the candles. Cheers sounded all over the bar.

      My cheeks burned as I glanced around with a smile to simultaneously thank the strangers for their attention and apologize for the interruption. At the bar, the sandy-haired nut-eating guy had turned his engaging grin in my direction. My own smile went all watery, and when I realized that I was making way too much eye contact, I wrenched my gaze away.

      But Jacki had noticed. “Quarry spotted, girls—Eagle Scout, two o’clock.”

      Before I could tell them not to look, they all had twisted in their seats. I sank lower in mine.

      “He’s perfect,” Denise oozed.

      “And he’s looking at you, Kenzie.” Cindy fluttered her hands.

      I closed my eyes briefly. “Because he hasn’t seen this kind of spectacle since sixth grade.” I picked up a table knife. “Why don’t I cut the cake?” Or an artery.

      Thankfully, butter-cream icing diverted the girls’ attention. I cut wedges of the yellow cake and passed them all around, and there were a few extra slices for spectators who eyed the free food like starving coyotes.

      I ate the cake with my hands and savored the fats and sugars that sang to my tastebuds—despite my best dietary intentions, I had a vigorous sweet tooth. I was licking the icing off my fingers when I realized that if the guy at the bar was watching, he’d think my manners were wanting…or that finger-licking was my method of bewitching a man into asking me out. My eyeballs hurt from the strain of not looking back to see if he was looking back to see if I was looking back to see if he was looking back at me, but I had discipline. I had devoured only one piece of cake, hadn’t I?

      I pushed the man from my thoughts and ordered us all another round of drinks. For the next hour, the girls and I dished about work and music and movies, agreeing that recycled office air was ravaging our skin, Josh Groban was the best thing that had happened to serious music in a long time, and The Thomas Crowne Affair was the sexiest movie of all time. Once or twice I accidentally glanced toward the bar and noticed that Eagle Scout was still there. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, lingering over a steak and watching a sports channel on the TV over the bar. Something about the casual, athletic way he held his body spoke to me. I told myself a guy who looked that good had to be taken.

      On the other hand, I wasn’t chopped liver, and I was sleeping alone.

      At that precise moment, he looked up and caught me staring. A hint of a smile curved his mouth and my heart went kaboom. I had never been so instantly and unjustifiably attracted to a man, so I blamed it on the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream and the urge to be disobedient on my birthday. I readied my most flirtatious smile, then was assailed by a violent itch on my neck that reminded me why I was still single at thirty-one—I kept picking the same kind of guy.

      So I pretended to be looking at something behind the guy’s broad shoulder, and rejoined my friends’ conversation about the best long-lasting lipstick.

      “We did a piece last month on a lady in Boston who specializes in cosmetic tattooing,” I offered. “Permanent lip-liner, beauty marks, even eyebrows.”

      Everyone paused in consideration, then winced and shook their heads. I agreed, but I wondered if I’d warm up to the idea of permanent makeup a few birthday candles down the road.

      When Jacki glanced at her watch, I realized that she probably had plans with Ted later and that I should wrap things up and let her off the hook.

      “Thanks for everything, girls.” I glanced around at the women who had been constants in my life for over four years and felt a mushy mood coming on.

      “Open the dildo kit before we leave,” Denise urged.

      The mushy mood vanished. “Here?”

      “Just the directions,” Cindy said. “I’m dying to know how this thing works.”

      Not wanting to seem unappreciative, I set the box on the table and, while covering as much of the wording as possible, broke the seal with my thumbnail. СКАЧАТЬ