We Can Talk at the Table


“You like him!” she said. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

I listed all the reasons I couldn’t, all bullshit.

She acted exasperated, rolling her eyes and blowing out her breath.

“You stopped me from setting him up on St. Patty’s day.”

Her look challenged me to deny it.

I couldn’t, so I grinned at her and looked away.

She was right.

Just a couple of weeks prior, I’d turned into a sneaky, cock blocking, green eyed monster while kicking it with them on St. Patrick’s Day.

The five of us were hanging out in the Power and Light district, drinking beers and eating bratwursts. Music blared through the atrium, the live DJ making everyone dance. It was sunny, the sky bright blue with fat white clouds.

A perfect day for a parade.

The place was wall to wall people, all dressed in fifty shades of green. Children ran between the revelers, screaming and laughing while their tired and sweaty parents, out since before the parade earlier, sat on steps and appreciated the break.

It was me, him, two ladies he’d been friends with for years, and a sweet blonde girl they’d dragged along for the day. Apparently, the three women worked together.

We sat around a table we’d been lucky to snag, going for food and drink in shifts so we could hang onto it for a while.

His two friends were headed to the bathroom and they wanted me to come. I hate public restrooms, especially in such a huge crowd, and had long outgrown the chick habit of group bathroom excursions, so I declined.

“I’m good.”

“Come on, we want to talk to you!”

“We can talk at the table, without smelling the farts of a thousand people.”

The other two laughed at me.

“We want to talk in private!”

“Yeah, Dee!”

They were almost insistent, which didn’t make any sense. We weren’t that close. I wouldn’t even know them if it wasn’t for him.

It dawned on me what was happening. They were trying to give him some alone time with their friend from work, and I was screwing it up.

They didn’t realize how much time he and I had been spending together. I wasn’t ready to admit my feelings to myself, and I had no idea where he stood. Ostensibly, we were just friends.

The girl was sweet, friendly, pretty, and unaware she was being set up. He was oblivious as well. I could see how they might be compatible.

Maybe I couldn’t admit it yet, but no way was I about to give romance a chance to bloom between them while I figured it out. I smiled and asked the girls to bring me another beer on their way back.

They rolled their eyes and snatched my offered cash as they left.

I made sure I was the last girl standing that night, never giving them a chance to be alone, hanging out at his apartment until it was late and the other ladies decided to leave. When I was sure he’d be sleeping alone, I went home.

Now, two weeks later, his friend was calling me out and batting away my excuses as fast as I could pitch them.

“He likes you, too. Go talk to him or you’ll never know.”

A few days later, I took her advice and made the first move toward the rest of my life.





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