Page 16 of How to Get Lucky
I laugh. “It’s swipe right. You just swipe right.”
“Ah, so you like her?”
“What? Where did you get that from? I just said swipe right.”
She gives me a motherly smirk. “But you said more . . . con tus ojos,” she adds, waving her fingers over her eyes. “Do we need to crack open some beers and chat all about your new woman?”
New woman. Do I ever like the sound of that.
But it’s not meant to be with London.
“I did have a date,” I say with a wistful sigh, “but we can’t call her my new woman.”
Sherri taps her wrist, indicating the time. Then she arches a questioning brow. “It’s just after ten, and you’re in your date clothes, showing off your tattoo,” she says, waving to my forearm where a hint of ink edges out beneath my sleeve. “Yet you’re taking the dogs out. Either it’s going to be a late-night date, or you’re home earlier than you’d like. Jansen hasn’t even finished getting this save yet,” she says as the Dodgers’ game plays from a radio.
Sighing, I flash back on London’s words from earlier. “It’s complicated.”
“Then maybe you do need that beer.”
Bowie paws at me, and Vin Scully whimpers. “Maybe I do. But for now, I’ll take the guys for a walk. And let me know when you want Sam and me to come over and move that couch for you. That is, if you still need that from your favorite neighbor—me—and your second favorite—him.”
“Anytime this week would be great from my favorites. Or,” she says, raising a finger, like she just thought of something, “maybe when Sam is leaving for work. No es una mala idea.”
“I get you, abuela Sherri.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “But he doesn’t wear the costumes to work. He puts them on at work.”
“At. On. In. Off. It all works for me.” She waves a hand airily.
I give her a tip of the figurative cap. “We’ll pop in at some point, and I’ll make sure Sam is wearing a shirt this time.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“I know. Just messing with you,” I say as I head off with the pooches, hoping the walk will take my mind off London.
As if it could.
* * *
After I drop Vin Scully following our tour, Bowie and I head into my home. I flop on my bed, my chest heavy, and I give myself a pep talk.
Shake it off. She’s just a woman. It was only one date. It’s nothing to be disappointed about. It happens. It’s like when you miss a turn on your GPS and go a mile or two out of your way—annoying, but you get over it.
This date-turned-not-date is a minor hiccup in my day. Even so, I turn to my best friend and say, “What am I going to do?”
Bowie spies his favorite stuffed monkey on the bed, mounts it, and gives it a few pumps.
I roll my eyes. “No. Not that. Trust me, I wish.”
He stops and licks my face, and I laugh. “Did that. Wish I could do that again too.”
But I can’t. No matter how much I want to, I simply cannot.
I roll over in bed and turn off the light. Tonight is an early one for DJ Insomnia.
7
That night
From the Woman Power Trio, aka the text messages of London and her two besties, Olive and Emery
London: What is that saying about modern dating?
Olive: The scary thing about dating is you’re either going to marry the person or break up?
Emery: OMG, DID YOU GET MARRIED TONIGHT? YOU’RE IN TROUBLE FOR NOT INVITING US, LONDON.
Olive: Big trouble. Like I-will-never-loan-you-those-black-patent-leather-heels-I-got-from-Target-that-you-love-and-they-don’t-make-anymore trouble.
London: One, you will never stop loaning me those shoes. They’re like our Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants shoes. And two, the saying is more like dating and Murphy’s Law.
Olive: Oh. Well, my second choice was going to be “Dating is like the tenth circle of hell.” That’s another saying.
Emery: Says the woman who is happily married to a guy who walked into her bar two years ago.
Olive: It happens! I got lucky. Anyway, what’s the problem, London? You learned the guy you like doesn’t do his own laundry? Is he your first cousin? Or does he believe we are all here as part of an alien plot to take over Earth? Was there no spark?
London: There was so much spark!
Emery: The problem is alien, then?
London: Worse. He’s a genuinely nice guy. He says we can’t date because he works for my brother, and because I’m technically an Edge employee too right now. And—cue heavy sighs—he’s right. Plus, his last relationship was tangled up with his work. And, of course, him actually being, ya know, thoughtful and principled makes me like him even more.
Emery: Ah, so he is an alien—a good guy.
London: Yes. He’s an alien, Emery. I dated an alien. And I kissed an alien too.
