Page 37 of Revenge Is a Dish Best Served… Wearing Heels?

"Oh, good," she said with a relieved sigh.

"Why oh good?"

"I hate jerseys." And there was that venom again.

"You do? Why?"

"I just think they're ugly on guys. Like really, really ugly. Unless you're actually a player of course, then they serve a purpose. They're utilitarian. But on just random dudes. No."

And now it was my turn to laugh. This girl was a trip. "I'll have to remember to wear one of my many jerseys the next time I see you."

"No. God, no. Dare I ask how many you have?"

"At least twenty. Some of them signed."

There was dead silence, until I cracked up laughing.

"You're joking?" she asked hopefully.

"I don't know. You're welcome to come over any time and inspect my closet."

Another long pause, but this one weighted with extra meaning.

"Can I ask you a question, baby?" I ventured.

"You can certainly ask, but I might not answer."

Oh, sassy. "I'll take my chances then." I adjusted the pillows behind my back, trying to get more comfortable. "So why don't you want me to know who you are?"

There was a very long pause, so long I almost spoke up, but with great effort, I managed to keep my mouth shut. The drawn-out silence thing was a tactic my mom had used on me for years, one I'd tried out in my work life to great success. Whoever talked first usually ended up on the losing side of whatever conflict was being navigated.

"I have my reasons," she finally said, her voice quiet and subdued.

And damn. Even though she'd spoken first, I was the loser here, because all playfulness had vanished from her tone, the light and easy camaraderie we'd had before gone. I needed to fix this and fix it fast.

"Okay. I'll let it go," I said in my deepest, most rumbly voice because I had a feeling she liked that. "And to be honest, I'll take whatever you're willing to give me. If we just talk on the phone for the next half-century? Great. If you drop one letter of your name a year and you have a very long name and keep me guessing until I'm eighty? Great. Just let me know so I can work on my skincare routine."

She laughed, and we were back, baby.

"So is there anything youcantell me about yourself?" I kept my tone playful and light, even though I continued with the deep and rumbly thing. "Something innocuous. Like your favorite color. Your favorite food. Wait a damn second, don't tell meyou'rethe one who's married."

"Me?" she said with a laugh. "No. I'm not married. No significant other either. And my favorite color is blue. Favorite food just depends. But I love, love, love anything with pesto, and all things sweet."

"So you have a sweet tooth?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Chocolate or vanilla?"

"Both."

"Okay. Good to know." We were making some progress. "And what about your family? Your work? Anything you're willing to divulge about any of that?"

"Well, my family is tight. Usually. I have two other siblings. My parents are still married, mostly happily," she said with a laugh. "We all have our faults and annoyances, but for the most part, we get along really well. And as for work... hmm..."

When she trailed off and there was dead silence again, I decided to fill in the gap. "You're a fashion designer. Or if you're not, you should be because that dress you wore was the most beautiful dress I've ever seen."

Her tinkling laughter met my ear, making me smile. "Okay. Good to know," she said, her voice low, purposefully mimicking what I'd said moments ago. "What about you and your family?"