Page 49 of Vera Stein Is Fine
“Am I going to have to separate you two?” Him Kardashian purred as she sauntered past us.
“Miss Kardashian,” Eli pleaded, “she’s manhandling me.”
The drag queen winked at me. “I’d say he looks like a willing participant.”
The moment she turned her back, Eli blotted me right on the tip of my nose.
Unfortunately for me, it quickly became clear that Eli had the superior bingo sheet. By the time we finished our pitcher of mimosas, Eli was just one square away from a vertical win and two away from horizontal and diagonal wins.
My bingo card, however, was stamped randomly so that only one square connected.
“That wasmybingo card,” I told Eli. “You sabotaged me.”
“These were randomly handed out, Stein,” he shot back as he blotted another square.
“And then you blatantly changed the randomization by swapping our cards!”
“Twenty-two!” Him Kardashian said into the microphone.
When Eli looked up for a second, I reached over and grabbed my rightfully owned bingo card.
Eli scoffed, but he couldn’t hide his delight at my willingness to play dirty.
“Just making things interesting,” I told him as I stamped the winning square. “Bingo!” I yelled, and then chugged back the rest of my drink.
“Hallelujah!” Him Kardashian sang. She reached into the box and tossed me a rolled-up T-shirt, but Eli caught it before I could.
“You can have it,” I said. “But only if you wear it right now.”
“Deal,” he said, unrolling the light pink T-shirt for us both to see.
There was a huge lifelike crayfish on it and then below that, it read:Craw Daddy.
He glanced over to me, and I dipped my chin toward him.
“Well, go on.” I twirled my finger instructively. “Fashion show.”
Begrudgingly, he pulled the shirt on over his vintage Hawaiian button-up. With his arms raised, I noticed the sliver of abdomen peeking out from the bottom of his shirt and I was just buzzed enough from the mimosas to admit that I wouldn’t have protested to him removing his shirt again for a reprise of this morning’s show.
Him Kardashian whistled. “I’m no waitress, but I’ll take your tip!”
The hungover bachelorette party in front of us catcalled Eli to the point of blushing.
He stood and took a bow before reaching for his wallet and throwing down a couple twenties. “Let’s leave your business card at the bar. I think Him Kardashian would be a hit among the residents.”
“Is Eli Buckley a sore loser?” I asked. “And I don’t have a business card.”
He took one from his wallet and used the pen we’d written our names on our bingo cards with to cross outDr. Eli Buckleyand jot downVera Stein.
He wrote it so quickly, and I got this strange sense of pleasure at seeing my name in his handwriting. It looked so right that it made even my own signature seem wrong to me.
Then after my name, he addedBingo GrifterandActivities Coordinator.
“Thanks for that,” I said.
“Just had to let them know who they’re getting into bed with.”
“You would know from experience.” Oh shit. I did not mean to say that out loud.
