I reach for my drink, then remember Jared the Asshole put his mouth on my glass, and I yank my hand away like I just touched a hot stove. I shift my attention to Abbi. “How are you, pretty?”
She pulls out the chair opposite me and lowers herself into it. “I’m . . . meh. Just had the longest day ever and decided to treat myself.” She takes the small menu out from under the napkin holder and studies it. “Have you eaten yet?”
My stomach growls. “No, but I want something salty and greasy.”
She narrows her eyes, studying me over the top of the laminated menu. “Is this that thing where you talk about the junk food so much you give me a craving, and then you decide to get a grilled chicken salad while I cave and get the nacho-cheese-smothered tater tots?”
“That!” I grin and point at her. “That’s what I want.”
“Wait—seriously? I thought you and Savvy were doing that cleanse shit. Your body’s a temple, and no grease allowed past those lips, et cetera, et cetera?”
I narrow my eyes. “Shut up. I’m PMSing.” I wave at Smithy, the bar’s owner. I could wait for my waitress, but Smithy will treat me if I ask nicely.
His eyes light up when he spots me, and he rushes over. “Stella, Abbi, what can I do for you two beautiful women tonight?”
“Nacho tots,” Abbi says.
“The big one,” I add. “I’m bitchy and bloated, and I want to eat my feelings.”
“Hormonal cravings.” Smithy bobs his head as if he too is afflicted by a monthly cycle. “Maybe some fried pickles too, then?”
I moan. “God, yes.”
Abbi grins in triumph. “I like you tonight.”
“And booze.” I point to my glass. “The dickwad who just left soiled mine by putting his nasty-ass mouth on it.”
“Whatcha drinking?” Smithy asks.
I should choose something with fewer calories to balance out the junk food, but . . . “Another lemon drop martini?” There’s nothing like a fancy drink with greasy bar food, and Smithy makes the best lemon drops.
Abbi bounces in her seat. “Oh! Me too!”
“As you wish.” He sweeps the glass off the table. “And Stella, I happen to know a guy who’d treat you right if you’re ever interested.” He winks then walks away.
“Think he meant himself?” Abbi asks.
“Or the monk he roomed with that time in Rome.” I shrug. “You never know with Smithy.”
Abbi laughs. “So tell me how you ended up in that dress while PMSing. Because when I’m bloated, I want PJs and oversized hoodies.”
I arch a brow. “Hoodies in June?”
She shrugs. “That’s what AC is for. Stop avoiding the question.”
“I had a date. Well, sort of.” I yank at the neckline of my dress ineffectually, wishing it covered a smidge more skin. I felt sexy when I left home, but sitting across from Abbi in her jeans and T-shirt has me feeling ridiculous in my “look at me” red dress. “It wasn’t a date exactly.” When she raises a brow in question, I add, “Random.”
Abbi snorts. “You’re still using that app? I swear it’s the same ten guys, and they’re all . . . Well, my standards might not be the highest, but they’re higher than that.”
I shrug, understanding what she means. Orchid Valley isn’t quite big enough for an app like Random. Unless you’re cool with hooking up with your high school geometry teacher—and let me tell you from experience, that’s a bad idea. “I usually choose the bigger radius to grab some of the north Atlanta suburbs guys.”
“Ooh.” She folds her arms on the table and leans forward. “Teach me your ways, wise one.”
I don’t know if she’s serious or mocking me, so I just shake my head. “Seriously, don’t get advice from me. No one’s caught my interest for weeks, then I finally agree to meet this guy and . . .” I give an exaggerated shudder. “I should’ve run the moment he walked in the door. Creeper city.”
“Really?”
“It was a vibe, know what I mean? Anyway, he left—but not before your brother threatened to beat the shit out of him.”
“Is that why Kace was looking at you like he just bailed you out of jail?” Abbi frowns as her gaze tracks across the bar to find her brother sitting on a stool, nursing his beer and surreptitiously keeping an eye on his ex-wife. “How’d he even know the guy was a creep?”
“My guess? Kace decided to intervene when he heard Jared use the words diseased cunt.”
Abbi flinches. “Yikes. I’m surprised Kace didn’t make good on his threat.”
“Nah, Jared scampered off pretty quick after that.” I shrug. “Anyway, my dry spell continues.”
“You were in Jamaica with your ex two months ago. That’s hardly a dry spell.”
“Well, we’re not talking about Bobby.”
“Hmm. I think you should, though.”
I don’t get embarrassed easily, so I’m not sure what my issue is with telling my friends about what happened in Jamaica. I just don’t want to admit that I fell for the wrong guy. Again. “You know how when you go online shopping, you can filter out certain brands or items above a certain price? I wish I could do that with dating—or, hell, even with hookups. No more assholes. No more users. No more cheaters.”