Page 8 of Play Me

CHAPTER

FIVE

Astrid

“You look cute.” Audrey leans up, pulling me into a quick hug. The scent of vanilla envelops me right along with her. “That shirt is great on you. Where did you get it?”

I set my purse next to Gianna’s on the empty chair to my right. “Gianna. I wouldn’t have picked this out on my own, but I kind of like it. It’s doing great things for my cleavage.”

The pale-yellow top is cut lower than I usually wear and is a bit tighter than I’d choose for myself. But I haven’t worn it yet, and Gianna pays attention to this sort of thing. The last thing I’d ever want to do is to hurt her feelings.

“I bought it for myself, but the fabric made me itchy,” Gianna says. “It looks great on you, Astrid. Your cleavage is hot.”

“Thanks.” I smile at my friends. “Did you guys get here early or what? I’m twelve minutes early myself, and you already have drinks.”

“Yeah. We carpooled, and traffic was light. We got you a glass of sangria,” Gianna says, pointing at a drink in front of me.

My friends know me so well. “Thank you.”

Stupey’s is busy but not crowded, especially for a Saturday night. The cozy eatery transitions from a bougie sandwich shop during the day to sandwiches and a rotating menu of dinners at night. It’s one of those places where you feel at home as soon as you walk in the door.

I take a sip of my drink and watch my friends look at photos on Audrey’s phone.

Gianna’s trademark navy blue nails shine under the light hanging above our table, while a delicate pink ribbon hangs down Audrey’s long blond hair.

You wouldn’t necessarily think the two of them, opposites in so many ways, would be such good friends.

Add me and my clipboard to the mix, and none of it should make sense. But it does.

Gianna keeps things spicy. Audrey keeps us grounded. I balance them, encouraging Audrey to spread her wings, but keeping Gianna from overextending hers. I try, anyway.

“What are you two looking at?” I ask, leaning over to get a peek.

Audrey turns her phone to show me her screen. Her cheeks are as pink as the ribbon in her hair. “We’re looking at this .”

“I know you’re shocked,” Gianna says, hiding a grin.

Staring back at me is Audrey’s kryptonite—a blond-haired, blue-eyed mixed martial arts expert.

Her brother’s best friend . It’s a small inconvenience that he doesn’t know she exists.

This doesn’t stop her from trying, and I respect her game.

She attends as many of her brother’s fights as she can, positioning herself in as many places as her crush will likely be. So far, no luck.

“I actually ran into him a couple of nights ago,” she says, pushing her hair off her shoulder.

She threatens to cut it at least once a month, but chickens out at the last minute every time.

“A bunch of the guys went to a dive bar after the fights, and Andrew was nice enough to let his little sister tag along.”

Gianna giggles. “I’m sorry. The thought of our sweet little Audrey at an MMA fight still cracks me up.”

Audrey fires her the meanest look she can manage, which isn’t more than a wrinkle of her nose.

“Did you actually talk to him?” I ask.

She smiles from ear to ear. “I did. I mean, we just said hello. But it’s a start, right?”

“Absolutely,” I say, smiling back at her.

Kim, our favorite server, comes by and drops off this weekend’s dinner menu.

“Oh!” Audrey says, digging into her purse. “I brought you guys something from Boston.” She retrieves two small squares and hands Gianna one and me the other. “I saw the star earrings at a little touristy shop by the beach and knew you had to have them, Astrid.”

“I love these,” I say, touched by her thoughtfulness. “Thanks, Aud.”

I run my thumb over the small pink stars with a slight shimmer that will look great in my collection.

My grandmother started it for me when I was a baby.

Despite my name having no connection to stars, Grandma thought it did and said that stars reminded her of me.

I wear a pair of star earrings almost every day. They make me feel closer to her.

Often, I wonder what she would think about the life I’m creating for myself. Would she be proud of me? Disappointed? What were her hopes and dreams for her only grandchild? I’ll never know, and that’s precisely why not having those answers shouldn’t bother me.

Yet it does.

“Yours aren’t earrings, Gianna,” Audrey says, “but I loved this little pin. The pencil reminds me of your journals and all the writing you do for the column.” She grins. “I hope you love it and don’t think it’s silly.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gianna inspects her gift. “I love it. It’s perfect.” She looks up and winces. “But now I feel rude.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because Aud brought me a gift, and I have a shirt in my purse that I brought for her to hem.”

I laugh, taking another drink of my sangria while Audrey convinces Gianna she’s not rude. Even if it were, Audrey would never tell Gianna that. She’s too sweet.

The faint music drifting through the dining area shifts from a piano interlude to a soft opera.

I know absolutely nothing about operas or music, in general, for that matter.

But every time I listen to this genre, I can’t help but wonder what they’re singing about.

Are they falling in love? Heartbroken? Are they ready to commit murder?

They could be singing about orgies and cocaine for all I know.

It sounds lovely and romantic, regardless.

“Are you ladies ready to order?” Kim asks, pausing at our table.

“We can be,” I say, handing my friends menus from the stack at the end of the table. “It’s not like we haven’t tried everything at one point or another.”

“There’s no rush,” Kim says.

“I’m probably getting the salmon,” Audrey says. She closes her menu seconds after opening it. “Yeah, I’m boring. I’ll take the salmon for the fourth time in a row.”

Kim laughs. “You’re lucky that’s a menu staple.”

I scan the offerings, ruling out everything with peanuts. “I love the pad Thai, just not a possible trip to the emergency room after.”

The only item this week that looks totally safe is the lemon chicken with rice. And while my reactions are thankfully mild to most triggers, I don’t feel like living on the wild side tonight. I’d like to start the new week without hives or swollen lips.

Especially considering what the upcoming week will bring.

My stomach twists into a tight knot at the thought of Gray Adler.

He’s taken up more of my mental real estate than I care to admit since he walked out of Renn’s office yesterday.

Thinking of him immediately puts me in a bad mood, and I promised myself I wouldn’t think about him tonight.

So I push the bastard out of my head and focus on ordering.

“Lemon chicken with rice, please,” I say.

“Ooh, I’ll have that, too. I loved that the last time you ordered it.” Gianna takes our menus and hands them to Kim. “Thank you.”

“Thank you . I’ll put this order in. Let me know if you need anything else,” Kim says before walking away.

“How’s the urinal?” I ask Gianna as soon as Kim is out of earshot.

“Urinal?” Audrey asks. “Do I even want to know?”

Gianna rolls her eyes. “I bought a?—”

“Used,” I interject.

“Urinal—”

“From a guy on Social,” I add.

Gianna gives me a look. “For an art project. And it’s great, thanks for asking.”

Audrey and I exchange a grin. While this might be the grossest thing our friend has purchased, it’s not the weirdest. Gianna once bought a box of old, used lottery tickets to use as wallpaper for bird houses. She keeps things interesting.

“You guys are never going to guess the question we had come in for my segment Just Between Friends ,” Gianna says, steepling her fingers in front of her like a villain.

“The stuff we get in every week for this column is batshit crazy , you guys. I don’t know why it draws in the kind of questions it does, but it never fails to entertain.

Sometimes, though, we get one that’s just …

” Her eyes go wide, and she flinches. “It’s wild out there, folks. ”

“What was the question?” I ask.

She leans forward. “This guy wrote in and said that he wants to slather his cock in avocado and bang his girlfriend. But he’s worried she’ll think he’s weird and that she might get an infection.”

“ Oh my God ,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand.

“That’s so gross.” Audrey looks slightly horrified.

“Food play is a total thing.” Gianna giggles at Audrey’s reaction. “You have so much to learn, Auddie.”

Audrey reaches for her drink, an Arnold Palmer, and takes a long sip.

These discussions always freak her out a little.

Audrey has only ever had two boyfriends and no hookups in her twenty-seven years.

She’s a good girl, a rule follower—a PhD in philosophy.

I’m not sure if she’s ever uttered a curse word in her life.

She’s had sex, but I’m sure she’s never had good sex .

From what I can tell, missionary is the limit of her experience.

And while there’s nothing to be embarrassed about when it comes to sexual experience, she’s self-conscious about it.

“Are you going to respond to Mr. Avocado?” I ask.

“Hell, no.” Gianna laughs. “I feel like I’d have to have a therapist and gynecologist weigh in, and I don’t want to have those discussions.”

“I get that, but I’m kind of curious,” I say, grinning. “I think avocados have both antibacterial and anti-inflammatory properties. While I’m not saying I’d be inclined to let a guy make guacamole in bed?—”

“ Stop it ,” Audrey says.

“—I do wonder if it could theoretically be a holistic treatment,” I say.

Gianna’s laughter turns into a mischievous chuckle. “I have to admit that now I’m kind of curious, too. Hey, maybe you should write this column, Astrid. Give us a peek into your dark, demented mind.”

“Um, no. Thanks, though. My mind would bore the crap out of you.”