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I bounced in my seat this time when I looked at him.
“Are we gonna be like Eric and Jessie?” I asked excitedly.
He shot me a grin, knowing exactly what I was saying, before looking at the road. “They’re playing it smart, as far as I can see. They got deep fast, but made no major decisions, no one giving anything up they can’t get back easily. He’s got shit at hers. She’s got shit at his. The cat doesn’t mind travel. They lay down their heads every night, maybe in a different bed, but it’s still together. They’re giving themselves time to feel things out and make sure it’s what it is. They fit. So, yeah, I think we should do this like Turner and Jess.”
I got my awesome pad, and I got his too!
And we were laying our heads down together every night!
Perfect!
I stretched across the cab to give him a loud smack on the cheek.
He chuckled as I sat back.
“A belated yes to we’re hauling some of my stuff and your stuff to my pad,” I confirmed.
“Got that,” he replied, even his voice smiling.
Man, I so loved us.
We were totally adorable!
When we made it to the suicide lane in front of The Surf Club, I saw from Tex’s shoe polish that he didn’t feel like being original today. It was a drawing of a hairy, angry man’s face and the words, Today’s Tex Special, The Textual.
It might not be original, but it was popular, considering there was a line out the door.
Though, there usually was.
I was so getting one of Tex’s coffees that morning.
Javi parked around the back. After a quick make-out session, I bopped out of the truck and then bounced into SC, waving at him the entire way.
I did the bag-stowing, apron-tying thing and called, “Hey, Lucia” to her as she had a face full of steam coming up from a pot she was sniffing (again, she ignored me).
I hit the main part of the Club, called greetings, braved the grumpy Tex Groupies by jumping the queue to get myself a Textual and got to work.
It took half an hour before stuff started to kick off.
That being Tex booming, “Do you women have phones? What? You show in town and don’t tell me you’re gonna show?”
I looked toward the coffee cubby only to gasp, because Indy (Rock Chick book one), Ally (book eight), Roxie (book three) and Roxie’s bestie, Annette (no book, but she featured hilariously through most of the others) came strolling in.
We’d intermingled, not copiously, but we all went up to Denver for New Year’s.
It had been a total blast.
Nothing pulled a long-distance girl gang together better than cocktail attire, cocktails and lots of lip syncing.
Annette took a look around then shouted, “Oh my fucking God.” She then did a Molly Shannon, vintage SNL Superstar lunge with arms up and concluded, “This place is so phat.”
“We need to put plants in Fortnum’s,” Indy decreed, also looking around.
“You also need a mural,” Roxie said. “That is kick-freaking-ass.”
“Yo, bitches,” Ally said in the general direction of the Angels.
“Oh my God,” Raye replied as we all made our way to them. “What are you guys doing here?”