“It wasn’t help, chef, it’s my job, and I expect to be paid.” She laughed. “At least, we seem to be having a quiet, easy lunch today.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I cautioned. I didn’t want an easy shift. Time passed by slowly when there wasn’t much to do. And even though I was only on a wage like everyone else, I liked seeing the business thriving for my dad’s sake and because it meant job security for us all further down the line.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind closing the kitchen early if we aren’t busy and you look, well, exhausted.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or like you’ve had some fun that kept you up all night and has left you aching in places that you didn’t know could ache.” She grinned. “Am I right? Did you get laid after our bland date, oops, I mean blind date event?”
I stood up straight, crossed my arms, and glared at her.
“You did!” she screeched. “I’m proud of you. That’s just, well, I’m jealous.”
“So you’re saying that how I stand when I’m at work tells you when I last had sex. Jeez, Becky.”
She grimaced. “I’m wrong?” She looked upset.
“You’re not wrong,” I agreed. “And I guess I’m tired and grizzly because of it.”
Her face brightened up like the sun coming from behind a cloud. “I should add, you have a glow about you. Like there is a new romance in your life, or you’re pregnant.”
“Uh, huh.” I shook my head. “Not pregnant. No way. No babies for me any time soon. But men, well, perhaps.”
“Men? As in more than one?”
I laughed and waved off the suggestion. “Just an expression.”
“So are you going to kiss and tell? What’s his name? How did you meet him?”
Fortunately, an order came in, and we had to set about finishing off some food ready for plating. A table for four, it seemed.
I knew better than to expect work to put an end to the interrogation. We didn’t often have many free minutes in a lunch shift to stop and chat properly, but we had enough.
Still, I wondered why I didn’t want to talk about my night. It was full of good, juicy boasting material, and it wasn’t as if I’d see either of them again. Becky was a concerned and interested friend. Typically, going home with a guy would be cause for celebration. But I wasn’t sure how to talk about scoring with two celebrities without sounding like a show-off and a slut.
Sure, I shot Ethan a message when I arrived home, as he’d asked me to, but he didn’t reply. Not even a smiley face or a thumbs up.
The whole one man after another left me feeling like a home wrecker coming between the two guys who lived with each other and didn’t help me feel good about things.
“So, on a scale of one to ten,” I mused aloud, “how much of a monstrous bitch would I be if I slept with a guy and then immediately after he left I slept with his best friend?”
She smirked.
“Asking for a friend,” I added.
“Are we talking about anyone in particular?”
“This is a strict hypothetical. Totally philosophical.”
“I guess typically, yeah, your friend would be queen bitch. No one likes a cheater, especially one that comes between friends.”
That wasn’t very comforting to hear. “Only typically? Not always?”
“I mean, people react to things in different ways. What one person might see as cheating, another might just see as sharing. Or what if no one had committed to anything, so it was all fair? And I’ve heard about guys sharing girls before. It seems to be something that goes on quite often.”
The conversations I’d had with both men after the event made me wonder if both of them were interested in me. They seemed sincere, especially the way they both wanted my number and talked about meeting again. But I found it hard to believe, because I am me.
“So...you think they could be okay with it? Do they normally share women all the time like that?”
“Perhaps they do. It is the twenty-first century.” Tyler knew the full story, knew I’d spent the night with his friend, and he behaved as if it didn’t matter. So, perhaps he and Ethan did regularly share women.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
It might be irrational, but I didn’t want to be one of a long list of swooning girls shared by the football team. If I was going to be shared by the football team, I wanted to be the only one they did that with.
I looked down at myself.
Who was I trying to kid?
A plain-Jane chef in an apron did not get shared by any first-class players.
Becky continued preparing for the next order that came in while I plated the food.
“Who knows? Some call it the downfall of western civilization, and others call it people finally getting their heads out of their asses.