Perfect 10. Erin McCarthy
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was a plan, though not much of one. Katrina was debating using the phrase “sincerely regret” versus “deeply sorry” as her phone continued to blow up. In the end, she went for “deeply regret an unfortunate technical error that caused private data to appear in a public forum.” She went on to say the information seen was neither accurate nor factual in any way, but merely an opinion based on personal observations and that she apologized sincerely for any embarrassment caused.
Awful. Plain and simple. “I’m done. Shitty damage control, but there you have it. I’m a social media manager. That’s my job. But I just proved that I can’t manage my own. Great endorsement for my business. Fabulous.”
Samantha sat down beside her. “It was up for about three minutes. Probably none of your clients even saw it. Plus look at the bright side. If you ever had a moment where you wanted a guy to truly know how you felt, you just got them all clumped together.”
Katrina raised an eyebrow. “That is supposed to make me feel better how?”
“And you know, it could be like a public service announcement. All those guys who thought they were the shit in bed now know the score. Maybe they’ll be more sensitive, maybe they’ll ask for sexual directions. Maybe they’ll discover why clitorises matter.”
“So I set off a wave of men in New York checking their prowess and embarking on a sexual odyssey?” She snorted. “Yeah, I doubt it.”
Her phone dinged for the nine thousandth time. She sighed and glanced at the screen. “Shit, it’s Drew again.”
“What did he say?”
Heart thumping at a rate more appropriate for a hummingbird, she unlocked her phone and tapped on the message.
Want to talk to you. Working tonight. Can you come up?
“Omigod, he wants me to meet him at the bar tonight. He’s working, but he wants to talk to me. What do you think that means?”
“That he wants to talk to you.”
Katrina threw back her wine, taking down half a glass in one swallow. “Yeah, but why? I mean, what is there to say?” Other than that she was a fuckup? That was a fact; it didn’t need to be discussed.
“Maybe he wants to talk about his magnificent penis. Maybe he wants to show you his magnificent penis.”
“What should I say?”
Samantha looked at her as if she was first idiot on the command bridge of the USS Moron. “That you’ll meet him. Look, we’re buzzed, you’ve been pining over him for years, I say you go for it. It can’t possibly be even more embarrassing than it already is.”
That remained to be seen, but she was just masochistic enough to want to know what Drew would say to her. “Okay, but I’m cutting myself off from wine then. No more alcohol or somehow I’ll end up crying in front of him. You know I’m a teary drunk.”
“Oh, yes, I do know that.” Samantha studied her. “What is it about Drew anyway? I mean, he’s cute and all, and I can see why he makes your lady parts flutter, but you wanted to legit date him, didn’t you?”
She had. For a minute, she reflected, thinking back to her years as an undergrad, new to the big city, feeling very pedestrian next to fellow students from Hong Kong and Hollywood and Istanbul. Students who were valedictorians, overachievers, with awesome style and raging confidence. She’d just been Trina, an A-minus student from the burbs with no particular skill but a drive to make something happen for herself. Drew was one of the first classmates she had felt completely comfortable around. He wasn’t pretentious, or arrogant, and he had listened to her.
Many late nights had been spent in her dorm room on her bed, their legs stretched out, listening to music and talking about everything from childhood memories to how to pull off the ultimate catfish. It was a lot of little things and it was one big thing.
“When my father had a heart attack, everyone was all ‘oh, I’m sorry,’” she told Samantha, whom she’d actually met the semester after that. “But Drew skipped class and went home with me on the train. He let me cry until I fell asleep on his shoulder, and he went to the hospital with me.” She swirled the wine remaining in her glass and stared at it, a lump in her throat. “That’s why I always feel like he’s the one who got away. He’s a good guy and we had a deep friendship.”
“Then you definitely need to see him. Even if it never becomes a relationship, you should try to reclaim your friendship.”
“You’re right.” Katrina tapped out a response. Sure. Be there around eleven.
Cool. :)
The smiley made her feel better. He couldn’t be super pissed if he was using positive emoticons. What it meant beyond that, she had no clue, but she was only going to allow herself one minute to think it was that he wanted to repeat that magnificent penis performance.
She set the timer on her phone.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m giving myself exactly sixty seconds to fantasize that Drew wants to be with me.” She closed her eyes and remembered the sensation of his mouth on hers, kissing her with passion and intensity. By the time she got to his lips trailing down over her breasts and to her girl bits, the phone alarm squawked.
She opened her eyes. “Okay, I’m good.”
Samantha pushed up her glasses. “You’re a freak.”
“Truth.”
Chapter Two
Katrina stood outside the Plaid Kimono, yet another of Brooklyn’s fusion hipster bars that sprung up like weeds, and took a deep breath. She’d never been inside because she’d known since it opened about nine months earlier that Drew was a bartender there, and she hadn’t wanted to run into him. She and Samantha followed a group of guys in skinny jeans and cardigans inside and paused to look around.
Yep. It was exactly what she was expecting. Pub atmosphere, a dark and dim interior, expensive modern decor with a slight hint of Asian influence. There was a band playing at the very far end of the room and there was a plethora of flannel and beanies everywhere she looked. The servers were wearing kilts.
The thought of Drew in a kilt made her secretly just a little bit aroused. Okay, that was a lie. A lot aroused.
“There he is,” Samantha said, pointing. “He’s at the far end of the bar.”
“Don’t point!” she hissed at her friend, grabbing her finger. “That’s so obvious. Just be casual.” The wine was wearing off and she was nervous as hell.
“This isn’t like an accidental meeting. He knows you’re coming.” Samantha rolled her eyes and started toward the bar, weaving through the crowd.
There were no stools free, of course, because there were never any tables or chairs available anywhere. New York was crowded. It was something that still surprised Katrina sometimes even after six years of living there. So she tried to artfully lean on the three inches of bar top accessible between two groups of friends. Watching Drew move around behind the bar, shaking and mixing and washing, she fought the urge to sigh.
Back in the day, before the sex, she had spent a lot of time with Drew, hanging out in her dorm room or his, going to concerts, lying in the sun in Washington Square, and studying in the coffee shop. Seeing him, his head bent over as he rinsed glassware, made her realize how much she had missed him. Her heart squeezed.
Then she saw he was wearing a kilt, his muscular calves showing, and it was her vagina doing the squeezing. Holy amazeballs.
Was she drooling? She wiped the corner of her mouth, sure there was going to be saliva there.
Which was precisely when he looked up and saw her.
Their