4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
I rushed into the Butterfly Martini Bar on the Friday night before Christmas, walking beneath the hundreds of multicolored butterflies suspended from the ceiling. This place was gorgeous and had such a fun vibe.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I said, dropping into a chair. My friends Artie and Nicolette were already waiting for me.
“No biggie,” Artie said, kissing the chill from my cheek with a smack. “We just got here. They have a special menu featuring Christmas martinis.” He handed me a leather-bound card.
“I’m getting the cranberry one,” Nicolette informed me, pushing a loose strand of dark, wavy hair behind one ear. My friend was gorgeous, with the most striking green eyes I’d ever seen, but she hid herself behind thick black glasses and prim buns.
“Hmmm.” I perused the selections and made my decision just as Charmaine, our regular server, approached.
“Merry Christmas, y’all,” she said. Charmaine was originally from Arkansas and still retained most of her adorable accent. “Did you see our specials?”
“Merry Christmas,” I told her, stripping off my black wool coat and hanging it on the back of the chair. “We saw them. I’m going to try the peppermint one. Vodka, not gin.”
“Oooh, that’s a good one, honey. Very snappy. What about you, Nicolette?”
“Cranberry Chill.”
“I like that one too.” She placed a hand on her hip and turned to Artie. “Are you trying something new tonight?”
“No, I’ll have the regular. A dirty martini.” He stroked his closely shorn red beard and lifted an eyebrow. “Very dirty. I’m talking, I want it to be anal sex with a hobo dirty.”
We all cracked up. We lived to hear how Artie was going to embellish his standing order every time we met.
“Got it, you crazy freak,” Char teased, tapping him on the head with her butterfly-shaped order pad. “Be right back.”
“How did your weekend with Dwight go?” Nic asked, resting her chin in her hand.
“It was fine. How about yours?”
“No, no, miss thang. You’re not deflecting,” Artie said. “Did you get lucky?”
“Once,” I admitted, and he shook his head.
“I can’t believe he’s not all over you the entire weekend like a socialite on a Louboutin purse.”
“It’s fine,” I defended out of loyalty. “We had fun. Watched some movies and went out to some nice restaurants.”
They both looked at me with sympathy, not falling for my whole it’s fine routine. “Is he still trying to do the dirty talking?” Nicolette asked. “Oooh, did he call his penis a love pickle again?”
A fit of giggles took over me. “No, he didn’t use that one, but yes on the creative dirty talk.”
“If a man ever called his dick a love pickle with me, I’d bite the motherfucker off,” Artie declared loudly just as Charmaine showed up with our drinks. She barely raised an eyebrow, accustomed to our insane conversations by now.
A small frisson of guilt seeped down my back. I didn’t want to badmouth Dwight to my friends. I loved Dwight, but I needed someone to talk to about my sex struggles. Wasn’t that what friends were for?
“Is it bad that I used the shower to get myself off afterward?” I whispered, taking a sip of the pink froth. It was delicious, the peppermint gently nipping at my tongue.
“Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” Artie said wisely. “Thanks for the recommendation on the shower head attachment, by the way. I got one installed last week, and you bitches are lucky I’m even here.” He held up his well-manicured hand and studied it. “I was in there so long, I wasn’t sure the pruniness would ever go away.”
“I wish I could get one for my apartment, but with my lack of water pressure, a treasure like that would go to waste,” I lamented before arching an eyebrow at Artie. “Did you enjoy setting three?”
“Actually,” he drawled as Nic and I took a drink of our beverages, “setting five was better for me. Really tickles the ole man clit, you know?”
Liquid spewed from mine and Nicolette’s mouths at the same time, forming a pool of sheer pink on the white tile table. My friend slapped at her chest to alleviate her choking.
“Well, now you’ve killed her with your man clit comment,” I scolded with a laugh, mopping up the mess with a couple cocktail napkins. “Are you happy with yourself?”
Artie leaned back in his chair and crossed one ankle over his opposite knee, taking a leisurely sip. “Not as happy as I was in that shower. I actually considered having a mini-fridge and toilet installed in there so I never had to leave.”
Clearing her throat, Nic dabbed at her lips. “If anyone could make it work, it would be you.”
Our friend was an interior designer who could make any space shine. “Thank you,” he replied, tracing a finger down the perfectly pressed seam of his burgundy trousers. He’d completed the look with a stormy-gray V-neck sweater that made his brown eyes pop.
Nicolette, on the other hand, was dressed in her trademark black, but I could see her white lab coat hanging on the back of her chair.
“I’m not sure I could get off with a man named Dwight,” Artie announced. “All I can think of when I hear that name is the guy from The Office .”
“So you want me to have Dwight change his name?” I asked dryly.
“No, but maybe you could get him to dress up as Thor. That would be a sexy name to moan.”
The thought of straitlaced Dwight in a costume made me grin, but my inner freak couldn’t help thinking that sounded like a fine idea. Is there something wrong with me? Probably.
“Names are important,” Artie mused.
“Your name is Arthur,” I deadpanned, and he pretended to pop the top off his middle finger and put on lipstick.
“But Artie is a totally hot nickname,” Nicolette assured him.
“Thank you, deary.” He leaned forward, his brown eyes bright as he folded his forearms together on the table. “What’s the hottest guy name you’ve ever heard? Don’t think. Just say the first thing that pops in your mind. Nic, go!”
“I crushed on this guy named Dante in high school, so that name has turned me on ever since,” Nicolette said, her eyes going dreamy. “What about you, Artie?”
“Liam,” he purred. “Liam calling me a good boy with a sassy accent while he strokes my—”
“If you say man clit, I’m going to throw my shoe at you,” I warned.
“Please do. Those taupe Bouvier booties are fucking fabulous, babe.”
“They are, aren’t they?” I asked with a grin, lifting my right foot and tilting it to get the full effect of the suede in the dim light.
“Utterly divine. When are you going to introduce me to that fine-ass piece you work for? He could invite me to his home to redecorate, and I’d suggest we start in his bedroom. Then I’d—”
“Jesus,” Nic groaned, “don’t get started on your Auburn Bouvier fantasies again. The man is not gay. Besides, Lehra hasn’t told us her sexiest name yet.”
Then both looked expectantly at me, and I blurted out, “Cruz.”
Cue the record scratch…
Fuck. Where did that come from?
Nicolette nodded, and Artie fake-fanned himself. “Hells bells, that is a hot one. I need me a Cruz in my life.”
Downing the rest of my minty martini in one gulp, I changed the subject before I could think too much about what I said. And why I said it.
“Nic, how is work going for you?”
Her sigh was long-suffering and dramatic. “I love my work, but I’m sick to death of my boss. Joyce is so unimaginative and set in her ways. She never lets me stretch my wings and develop new products.”
“That’s a shame,” Artie replied. “You’re a brilliant biochemist, Nic. Why did they hire you if they just want the same old shit day after day?”
“No clue, but Joyce turned down my idea for a men’s line of cosmetics last week.”
“Oooh, intriguing,” Artie said, drumming his fingertips against his dark-red beard. “Tell me more.”
Nicolette expounded on her idea and the reasoning behind it as we listened. It did sound like an untapped market. My sweet—and slightly nerdy—friend had two doctorate degrees and was the smartest person I knew. Like seriously genius-level smart.
“Anyway, I just wish I could work somewhere else.”
“What about Hale Cosmetics?” Artie asked. “They seem to be a very forward-thinking company.”
“They are, but their headquarters is in Houston.”
“I’ll come visit you if you move to Texas. I’m not a country boy by any means,” Artie began, wagging one finger in the air, “but Wrangler butts are fine as hell. They have entire Instagram pages dedicated to showing the virtue of cowboy asses in those jeans.”
I laughed even as my stomach knotted at the thought of one of my friends leaving New York. These two were my lifeline, and I would be so lonely without them.
“I’ll think about it,” Nicolette said thoughtfully. “Hale really is a much better company than Aquarius Cosmetics.”
I forced a placid smile on my face and signaled for another round of drinks as I felt Artie’s astute gaze on the side of my face. “Why do you look constipated, baby girl?”
“I don’t look constipated,” I argued, putting indignation into my tone.
“You look like you haven’t dropped a poo in two weeks. You always get that look when you’re making yourself smile.”
Rolling my eyes, I sighed, “Fine, I was getting a tad melancholy at the thought of Nic leaving.” I reached across the table and grasped her thin hand. “But I would support you a million percent. I only want you to be happy.”
“Thanks,” she replied, squeezing my hand. “I don’t want to leave, but I actually dread going to work every morning, and I shouldn’t. I love biochem and cosmetics, so this should be my dream job.”
“You’re right,” I said, internally scolding myself for being selfish. “You deserve to be happy as a clam.”
“Speaking of clams,” Artie broke in, staring at the food menu. “Should we split an order of fried clams? Their dill tartar sauce here is the bomb.”
And just like that, the subject of Nicolette leaving was put aside.
As we shared a basket of crispy clams and french fries, the conversation turned back to men. “I have a date tomorrow night,” Artie informed me. “He’s the brother of the client I just wrapped up.”
“Ooh, tell us,” I said, swirling a fry through the spicy ketchup.
“He asked me out a month ago, but I had to turn him down since I was still working for his brother. I may not have many standards, but mixing business with pleasure is one of them.”
“But he asked you again after you were done with the job?” Nic asked, and he nodded with a pleased look on his soft lips. “That’s so romantic. He thinks you’re worth waiting for. I wish I could find a romantic guy. All the men I work with are science dweebs and wouldn’t know romance if it bit them on the dick.”
“Speaking of biting dicks,” Artie said, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes, “let me tell you about the date I had last weekend.”
Nic and I burst into laughter. I really fucking loved my friends.