4
The sputter of traffic echoes down the subway steps, and the smell of exhaust nearly knocks me over. I weave through the droves of businessmen leaving work early, shielding my eyes from the sun when I emerge from thestation.
I spend the majority of the walk to meet Steph wondering why I agreed to have coffee with this guy. Somewhere in the rule book, this has to go against the code of one-night stands. It hasto.
I pass by a sandwich shop, catching my reflection in the window. I actually look halfway put together. My favorite skinny jeans, a trusted pair of Converse, and a fitted black shirt have never done me wrong. Casual Friday, appropriate and classy. It’s the perfect outfit for an afternoon with a supposed cartelboss.
Two blocks down, I find Steph waiting under the awning to Chelsea Ice Cream, arms crossed, shaking her head. “Please,” she says when I stop in front of her. “Tell me you are planning to go home and change before yourdate?”
“What?” I glance at my outfit. “What’s wrong withthis?”
She holds up her cell. The camera shutterclicks.
“Did you just take a picture ofme?”
She grins while furiously tapping her fingers on the screen. “Yep.”
“It’s just coffee,Steph.”
“Mmm. Yes, but you’re not going out with me. It’s with some mysterious man you know nothing about, even though you’ve bumped uglies with eachother.”
“Wow.”
She shrugsunapologetically.
“It’s Friday. Afterwork.”
“And?” Her phone dings, and a pleased grin shapes her face. “See!” She shoves her makeshift, electronic mirror at me, showing off the unflattering picture of me she took thirty seconds ago, with my eyes half-closed and my mouth open. The caption reads:THIS is what she is wearing to meet El Chapo!!!!!!Below the picture is Dani’s response: a GIF of a parrot shaking itshead.
“I don’t even know why I’m friends with you two,” I profess, then swat the deviceaway.
“Because we’re delightful. Come on.” Steph grabs my wrist and yanks me toward the crosswalk. “It’ssalvageable.”
“Salvageable?”
A flood of taxis zoom off when the little man flashes on the crosswalk sign. We weave our way between businessmen and people on bikes. “The jeans are okay.” She cuts her eyes at my blouse and shoes before she continues. “The shirt and Chuck Taylors, not somuch.”
She spends the next block rattling off different department stores in the area. I turn every onedown.
After we pass the third food cart, the smell of sauerkraut and onions wafts in front of my face. “Steph, I’m not worried about my outfit. I just want to grab some food and go meet theman.”
“God, that smells so gross it’s good.” Steph makes a beeline to Joe’s Yankee Dawgs cart. She proceeds to order two hot dogs and then declares Joe a thief when he tells her thetotal.
“Greedy asshole,” she grumbles and hands me the foilpackage.
I stare at the withered weenie crammed inside a most likely stale bun. Disgust curls mylip.
“Scarf that food-like-substance down,” she says. “We’ve got a wardrobe tosalvage.”
Glaring at her, I take a bite. “I really think this outfit isfine.”
“You’re out of practice. I get it, but as your best friend, I cannot, with good conscience, allow you to go on a date with a man dressed likethat.” She waves her hands from my head to my toes, just in case I missed the outfit shereferenced.
“You’re beingridiculous.”
“Am I?” She cocks a brow. “And how’s the dating site working out for you? Have you had sex sinceMexico?”
I glare harder and take another bite of overcooked hotdog while we navigate the crowded, New Yorksidewalks.
