3 - LARA
That night at Cecil's was supposed to be about supporting my girls—I didn't plan on hooking up with some stranger from a bachelor party.
But damn, it was mind-blowing. I'm still not sure I remember everything; there are gaps.
But the memories I do have? A week later, I'm still thinking about him every now and then. This is ridiculous!
One thing's for sure: no Cosmo will ever be the same after the Super Bowl.
“Lara? Earth to Lara, calling...” I hear from somewhere distant.
“What? Oh, hi.”
I turn around. Priscila is pointing at a bag of rice. We always do our monthly grocery run together. Barbs snaps her fingers in front of my face.
“This one or the cheaper one?”
“Go with the middle option.” Call me crazy, but I think the cheapest might be garbage and the priciest is just overpriced.
“You know what,” Barbs tears our shopping lists into thirds and hands me my share, “go to the produce section. We'll handle the rest.”
I don't argue. I leave them behind, sensing they're whispering behind my back.
I'm kind of spacey—maybe it's better to be alone for a bit.
Whatever they're talking about without me, I'll find out eventually.
Sooner or later we tell each other everything, so I know I'll end up spilling more about the hottie from that night.
But for now, he's still just mine. Part of my fantasies. Because it was crazy.
I also know that when I tell them I've been thinking about what happened—about the guy we'll never see again—they'll want another party, another girls' night, probably tamer this time, but still a chance to make new memories.
Judge me irresponsible if you want, but I just want to keep him warm in my memories a little longer.
Just a little more time to savor it before I start my new chapter.
I'm enjoying this emotional limbo I've retreated into.
I grab bags of arugula, dividing the cart to sort items by list. In one section I put beets—only Barbs likes those—and in the other, pineapple for Pri, and... I spot the cherry display... I take a deep breath as I approach. My heart starts racing.
I pick up a small container, pluck a cherry between my fingers, slide my thumb over its smooth skin, that vibrant color.
I can already taste the flavor wrapping around my tongue.
I let it drop back into the package. I fix my gaze on those deep red tones, slowly sinking my fingers in.
Feeling. Breathing deeply. My hand submerged.
Feeling. Exhaling slowly. I lick my lips.
Close my eyes. Feeling. The deliriously pleasurable intoxication of that dawn in the bathtub.
With him. His hands on me. The taste of him.
The rising tide of Cosmopolitan washing over us. Deeper. I startle at my own moan.
I yank my hand back from the display, knocking over several cherries. A couple stares at me from across the aisle. The man is visibly turned on. The woman's eyes are wide. I swallow hard and wheel the cart away.
I just had an orgasm in the middle of the produce section. This is worse than I thought. I abandon the cart and wander out of the supermarket with no idea where I'm going.
My friends finished the shopping, rescued me from god knows what street, and are now putting away my groceries while I gulp down ice-cold water.
They said finding my cart was super easy—it was the most organized one in the entire universe.
They're so dramatic. If it weren't for me, there'd be no way to split up the lists since they write everything all jumbled together.
“Alright, so nothing more from the assholes?”
My goodness, Priscila's going to call them that forever.
I confirm: nope. I mean, sure, I see Cristina in the hallways at work, but we don't even acknowledge each other.
Nothing. Carlos... PAST in capslock, yes.
I barely go near the truck department anymore.
Don't even need to. Let them be happy in whatever little astral hell they create for each other. Done.
“See, my gorgeous girls, it worked!” Pri cheers, giving Bárbara's butt a little smack. “But seriously, Lara!” She laughs from the kitchen. “Honestly, I really wish I'd seen that. The Produce Section Pervert!”
I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I see Barbs elbow Priscila.
“Look, we shouldn't have split up at Cecil's,” Bárbara says, coming in from the kitchen and sitting next to me on the couch. She takes my free hand. “It was a mistake, and we won't do that again.”
“Wait, but you liked being with the blond guy, so why...?”
“Actually, Larinha, I hooked up with the other one. Pri and I switched,” she says with an awkward smile.
“Wow, but I thought he was way more Pri's vibe.”
“He could've been, friend, buuuut I'd never hook up with someone's fiancé,” Priscila laughs shamelessly as she closes the kitchen cabinet and joins us in the living room.
“Shut your mouth!” Barbs shrieks, furious, throwing a pillow at our friend. “Worse, you hooked up with the married one!” she fires back.
Married? Huh? What? Well, I'm not about to add more fuel to this fire.
“Hey, guys, calm down,” I say, almost laughing myself.
It's hard to see Bárbara like this. We haven't talked much since that night out.
Priscila had a packed flight schedule, including international routes.
I think she's seen the whole world by now.
Barbs and I have been buried in long shifts on sensitive company projects.
Our departments do overlap, but mostly through paperwork.
We've barely spoken these past few days, and practically nothing about revenge night.
She didn't bring it up, and neither did I.
It seems Pri has figured out what might have set off Barbs's raw nerves.
“You're all wound up because you liked the guy who's probably enjoying his honeymoon by now.” Pri sits across from us, crossing her long legs.
Looks like she's loaded for bear and ready to fire.
She points at our friend. “Get over it, you'll find someone better soon, and hopefully, someone who's actually available.” Barbs throws herself back on the couch, huffing.
Target hit. Then Pri points at me. “And for you, same deal—nothing like another good dick between your legs to forget the last one.”
What did I say would happen when I told them?
Barbs and I roll our eyes at the same time, and I sink into the couch beside her.
“You say that because all you have to do is snap your fingers and Xande appears.”
“Okay, leave Alexandre out of this,” Pri warns.
“Are you two still fighting?” I ask, dripping with sarcasm, since they never go more than four days without talking or seeing each other, minimum.
If that happens, they find a way around it.
Believe me, I know—the little minx had phone sex with her favorite flight attendant.
Him in Beijing, her in my apartment bathroom.
Priscila looks down, then slowly turns back to us with a mischievous look.
“Obviously not. But…” she stretches out the word, “you two are badass engineers. One in civil, the other in electrical. You work at one of the biggest multinationals in the country. No man is a match for you. So…” another drawn-out word as she fiddles with her phone, “stop moping. Think of that night as a crazy, happy memory and just move on—or should I say, move on to the next pair of balls.” She gives one last tap on the screen and Really Don't Care, by Demi Lovato and Cher Lloyd, explodes from her phone's speaker.
Priscila gets up, pulling us to our feet to dance. Soon we're laughing, having fun together, forgetting about the jerks who passed through our lives and the night that—though we didn't know it yet—would completely change the path of two of us.
The song ends, and we collapse onto the couch in a heap, exhausted, relaxed, and happy.
Bárbara shouts that she loves us. We shout it right back with the same enthusiasm.
My friends-slash-sisters end up sleeping over. The next morning, we say long goodbyes to Pri, who has another week of intense flights ahead. Xande is on some of the same routes with her—fasten your seatbelts, we're already predicting sexual turbulence in the air and on the ground.
I lend Barbs some clothes, we head off to work, have lunch together, and hash out some engineering details on the new project where our areas overlap.
Yeah, it's hard not to talk shop when it's just the two of us.
We end up getting carried away. If there's one thing we're exactly alike in, it's diving headfirst into our work—we love what we chose for our lives.
I believe if everyone did what they loved, the world would be a better place.
We end the day at a bar near our building, with beer and a promise: no talk about work or men.
But between laughs, sure enough…
“Lara, yesterday you said you've been thinking a lot about the guy from Cecil's…
Look, I have the groom's number—Olavo—I could try to get his friend's number for you.” She tosses her long hair to the side, wrapping it over her shoulder.
I know it's a nervous tic of hers. “Of course I haven't talked to him since then, he must be married by now, enjoying his wife, but sending a message doesn't hurt anyone, right?!”
“No, Barbs. Thanks, but let's take Pri's advice—it was an adventure, and now it's back to reality.”
No way would I be the reason for her to fall into temptation, or for her to be the reason that Olavo guy falls into temptation again.
After all, what kind of groom gives his number to a woman at his bachelor party?
Jerk! Of course I don't say that to her—my friend is still pretty shaken up, just like me.
So annoying! We need to snap out of this, fast. We agree to go out Friday, even without Priscila, because we're desperate and the week has been brutal.
No pun intended. Though we wish we were getting some.
On Tuesday, I barely see Bárbara during the day—actually, I don't see her at all.
Late in the afternoon, as I'm heading home, I call her.
She explains she had to travel suddenly, something with family, but she didn't really explain.
I didn't push—she seemed rushed. She told me everything was fine at work and she'd be back as soon as she could.
I exit the subway worried, hoping everything's okay with my friend.
Night announces its arrival as I walk to my building's entrance. Before closing the gate, I admire the incandescent sun between the skyscrapers. Despite S?o Paulo's pollution, it's so beautiful! I sigh and go inside.
My feet freeze.
“Wow, hi,” I hear his husky voice.
I see his smile.
“Hi…” My voice is a disbelieving puff of air.
What is Superbowl doing standing in the lobby of my building?