“Your pointers were not helpful.” I briefly recap the dinner leading up to what brought me here. “It’s irresponsible to give advice that can cause this much destruction.”
“Sounds like I saved you from destruction, coach.”
I glare some more.
He slides a glass of wine across the counter. “Just poured. I haven’t taken a drink yet.”
I quirk my lips, dissatisfied with his response, but I take the wine anyway.
He pours another glass for himself, returns to the counter, and opens a large paper bag. The scent wafting out is heaven. He ordered takeout from the Indian restaurant in Grand Marin. The one I love. He notices me salivating and offers, “I’m happy to share if you’re hungry. I ordered extra. You sound like you might qualify for hangry.”
“Entirely possible considering I’ve had nothing to eat since lunchtime.” And that was a few crackers slathered with peanut butter.
He gestures for me to go on as he begins dishing food from plastic containers onto plates.
“How can you tell if someone’s hands are small?” I ask. “Is it in reference to their head? The rest of them? What if they just have really big arms?” I was being serious but he laughs.
“He had small hands?”
“And he chose the restaurant.” I prop my chin up on my fists, elbows resting on the countertop. The scent of curry curls into my nostrils, and my stomach growls.
“Which one?”
“The one on Berkley.”
He cringes. I’m oddly satisfied it’s not just me.
“I was willing to rough it for the sake of being agreeable.”
He shakes his head. “No good, coach. You choose. Letting you choose is the right thing to do. If he doesn’t know that, he’s a clown.” Benji sets a piece of naan bread on the edge of a plate piled high with rice, curry, and tender grilled chicken. Rather than offering up a plastic fork from the carryout, he digs a real one out of the silverware drawer and hands it to me.
“I didn’t want to be rude,” I explain, taking the fork.
He settles in next to me with his own plate of food and his own real fork. He drinks his wine before asking, “And how did that work out for you?”
I sip my wine. It’s fifty times better than the half of a glass I sipped on my disastrous date. “This is delicious.”
“Archer ordered it for Club Nine. He bought an extra case and divvied it out between us. Us meaning Nate and me. Mom’s wine cellar is stocked.”
He can say that again. Lainey Owen has a robust wine selection. She often lets me pick the bottle I want when I’m over there for dinner. I’ve always loved that about her.
I take a bite of my food and moan in ecstasy. “This is exactly what I wanted tonight.”
Around the bite of his own food, Benji says, “Like I said, you should always pick. Did he break any of my other rules?”
“No, but I did. I mentioned I hadn’t dated in a while. He said dating was tedious, and included me in that generalization.”
Instead of laughing, Benji frowns, the corners of his mouth pulling down as his thick eyebrows slam together. “What a dick.”
Proud of myself for not seeing through to the end what would have only gotten worse, I straighten my spine and pull my shoulders back. “I excused myself to the bathroom and then I ran out the front door.”
My best friend laughs, proving his jovial self wasn’t buried too deep beneath his previous reaction. “That’s my girl.”
There’s an awkward pause where we lock eyes for a truncated beat. I can’t remember a single time he referred to me as “his girl.” Or maybe it’s the intimacy of this moment—me being here, dressed nicely, sipping wine and eating Indian food like we’re on a real date.
As if he senses the awkward pause, he clears his throat. “You are a lot of things, Cristin. Tedious isn’t one of them.”
That was nice to hear. “Thanks.”