Page 6

“You know what? Go for it! Find Jillian’s books on Amazon. You might as well start with the best of the lesfic writers. I will be so interested in learning what you think.”

Chapter 4

Sally arrived at The Fisherman, a seafood restaurant in Carlsbad close to the beach, to find Max already waiting for her. That wasn’t a surprise; Max was never late for anything. It was his superpower. He had once told her it was a product of his New York City upbringing and since he had become a big part of her life, Sally had discovered that his influence had rubbed off on her, making her more time-conscious and less prone to what used to be a habit of always running late.

Sally had first met Max back when she was still in college. Back then he was the director of a division of one of Southern California’s biggest graphic design firms and Sally had been hired as an intern during her senior year, working as his apprentice and assistant. Max was someone she had quickly developed a strong admiration for upon joining the firm because his skills and talent as an artist amazed her. However

, it always seemed to her that Max merely tolerated her presence, never actually wanting her around. In fact, she was certain that he hadn’t bothered learning her name until three months into her tenure there when she overheard someone remind him discreetly that her name was Sally, not Samantha. When the internship ended, Max hadn’t even come to the going-away party the rest of the division threw for her.

So, it came as a huge surprise to her when, two days before she graduated from San Diego State, Max himself called her to offer her a job with his team, telling her that he saw such talent and potential in her that he’d be a fool to let her go work somewhere else.

When Max eventually became president of a new division of the firm that was to handle more high-profile projects for big multinational brands, Sally was one of the few people he handpicked to join him, promoting her to lead artist in the process.

Somehow, they became close friends: The middle-aged guy from New York City; and the millennial lesbian from Carlsbad. Sally had known then that if Max had had his way, he probably would happily not be bothered with her outside of the office and would still be calling her Samantha; but Sally had felt he needed her in his life, and wormed her way in until now, they saw each other at least twice a week, even with the pandemic.

A year ago, Max abruptly retired from the firm. He had told Sally that he had enough of a retirement nest egg accrued and that he had also recently come into some money. And that was that, he was gone from the office, leaving Sally feeling like a piece was missing from her daily life.

“Hey, babe!” Sally greeted Max when she arrived at the booth he had secured for them. California was pretty much open again now that everyone was eligible for vaccinations and getting them. She herself had just gotten her second shot last week. Sitting down, Sally noticed how Max discreetly checked his watch.

“I’m three minutes early,” she told him, sticking out her tongue at him.

Max merely grunted. He was a slender man who always dressed well. Today, he was wearing jeans and a black fitted blazer over a white tee shirt. He had this silver fox thing going on, which Sally knew a lot of straight women—even straight women her age—found attractive. This was proven when their waitress, a pretty young thing who looked like she could be just starting college, materialized when Sally sat down. After taking Sally’s order for coffee and refilling the cup Max already had, the waitress had looked at him, shyly hoping to catch his eye.

Damn, why do all the cute ones have to be straight?

When the waitress left to get Sally a mug of coffee, Sally leaned over the table a bit and whispered, “She wants you!”

Max, a perplexed frown on his face, asked, “What are you talking about? Who wants what?”

“The waitress,” Sally continued in a whisper. “She’s totally into you!”

Max looked over his shoulder at the waitress, who was several yards away at a coffee station. He then looked back at Sally like she was completely insane.

“God, she’s, like, fourteen-years-old!” he hissed. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

Sally sat back in the booth and crossed her arms.

“I doubt she’s fourteen-years-old, Max. Child labor laws and all that. She keeps looking over here at you! Besides, she’s gorgeous and I hate that you’re alone.” She pouted for good effect, knowing it would irk him.

“Okay, fine, I’ll ask her parents later if it’s alright if she comes out to play,” Max sniped. “Now, would you stop trying to fix me up with felonies?”

The waitress—her name tag read “Tiffany”—returned with a mug of coffee for Sally and asked if they were ready to order food. As Max gave his order, Sally had to stifle a laugh at how Tiffany was so clearly flirting with him. For his part, Max was either oblivious to it or choosing to ignore it. After ordering a salmon burger for herself, Sally said to Tiffany, “Excuse me, but you look soooooo super young! Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

Tiffany smiled at the compliment.

“I’m twenty-three,” she answered, stealing another glance at Max, who was glaring at Sally.

“Wow!” Sally exclaimed. “I have to start using whatever skin cream you use!”

Tiffany giggled.

“Stop! You look amazing! You’re super pretty! And I wish I was as tall as you! You could be a model!”

“Aww, thanks!”

With a final smile at Max—not that he noticed because he was still glaring at Sally—Tiffany left the table to get their food order in.

“See?” Sally said. “Older than fourteen.”