chapter 1
“What about that one?”
Shelby followed Dot’s finger, which was pointing at a moderately attractive woman who was with a group of friends.
“she looks straight” She said after she sipped her gin martini, then fiddled with her very skimpy pale yellow halter dress.
“Honey, we are in a lesbian bar” dot says again
“You’re going to have to pick someone,” Becca complained at her rejection. “ you only got ten days left, and it’s not like you’re actually going to date whoever you choose. That’s the point—you want to pick someone you won’t mind losing.”
Frowning, Shelby argued, “I still have to spend time with the poor woman. She at least has to meet some of my standards, even if I’m just dating her for the article.”
The article, which was the brainchild of her crazy boss Gretchen Klein, for which she was supposed to start going out an unsuspecting girl and then drive her away using classic dating don’ts. This was what she had to show for her very prestigious journalism masters: being A.R.K. magazine’s “how to” girl. The sour taste of resentment mixed with the dryness of the gin in her mouth, and she pursed her lips.
“She?” Dot tried again, pointing out another girl.
Shekby wiggled her ring finger. “Married.”
“Damn,” Dot breathed.
Feeling slightly defeated, because she did have only ten days—damn their short publication deadlines—she downed her drink in one large sip. “I’m going to get a refill. Anyone?”
“One of us should be sober.” Becca muttered. “So, no.”
With a cheeky grin, Shelby bumped hips with her friend, then started squeezing her way towards the bar.
She almost dropped her glass when she cut around a group of girls and suddenly came face to face with a woman in a button-down shirt. Looking up, her prepared complaint about manners and personal space fell to pieces as she registered just how gorgeous her roadblock was: big eyes and dark, long messy hair, a friendly face and really beautiful arms to look at.
“Sorry about that,” the other woman said, grinning, looking entirely unapologetic, even pleased with her luck.
She was brash, but in an oddly sincere sort of way, and Shelby couldn’t help the way her lips twisted into a wry smile. “If this had been full, you would’ve owed me a drink,” she said.
“How about I owe you a drink anyways?” She replied without missing a beat, her eyes flashing with interest.
“How about you owe me a name first?”
She laughed and stuck out her hand. “Toni Shalifoe.”
“Shelby Goodkind.” Her grip was firm but comforting, and a thrill ran through her at the way Toni’s fingers danced over her palm as they pulled their hands apart.
Someone knocked into her from behind, pushing her into Toni, which wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Her hand came up to steady her, falling on her exposed back, warm and solid.
“So,” she said, leaning down to murmur in her ear. “This drink I owe you: does it have to be from this bar in particular?”
Her voice sent an excited shiver down her spine, because she would be a challenge. With a sly grin, she shook her head “no.”
“Great. Let’s get out of here. I know a great place down the street, and it has the best wings in the city.”
Shelby hummed in agreement, gesturing towards her friends, who were doing a terrible job at pretending not to be fascinated by the interaction.
“I’ll get my stuff, and meet you outside.”
Toni grinned, and the delighted look on her face almost had Shelby regretting the hellish storm she was about to bring down on her.
Almost.
_________
There wasn’t a sweeter sound to Toni than the thud of the mini-basketball hitting the wall instead of the backboard like Rachel had intended.
“Fuck,” her friend muttered, flicking five dollars over in her direction.
Toni leaned back in her chair, hands behind her head. “You’re losing your touch.”
“Only because I actually do work when I’m at work, not sit here playing with myself.”
Fatin sniggered from her corner, not even bothering to look up from her phone.
“Playing basketball,” Rachel groaned. “What are you, twelve?”
“What are you, twelve?” Fatin mimicked back.
Rachel scowled. To distract her, Toni unlocked her phone and slid it across her desk. “I’m feeling magnanimous after my victory. I’m granting you a look even though you lost.”
Snatching up the phone, Rachel thumbed through the several selfies Shelby had taken last night when she plugged in her number.
“Elena and Christa picked her?”
Toni snorted as Fatin scrambled up from her seat, dashing over to look at the woman that their advertising archenemies had picked out for her to woo over the next two weeks. If she could convince their boss at the company’s annual gala that Shelby was in love with her, then she would score the Green diamond account, the biggest one their firm had. It was just icing on the cake that she’d be taking it from the 'Witches', as Fatin so fondly liked to call Elena and Christa.
"damn shalifoe" fatin whistles
“It’s going to be rough, I know,” she deadpanned.
“Seriously, there’s no catch?” Rachel pressed.
Toni shrugged. It was a little suspicious, because Shelby seemed normal—she was funny, very smart, and pretty—and she would’ve expected her rivals to make this a little harder for her. They hadn’t, though, choosing Shelby over all the other women in the bar for her to win over. And, after last night’s amazing hint at how fun dating her might be—there had been a hot minute in her apartment where had considered sleeping with Shelby before remembering she had to keep it slow and romantic—she was thinking that taking this bet might have been the best decision she’d ever made.
“Okay fatin, you can go back to your table now.” Rachel said pushing her
“Bitch!” Fatin said and picked up the basketball and whipped it at Rachel’s head, or rather past Rachel’s head because her aim was shit.
Toni burst out laughing, watching her two best friends go at it, grinning as she thought of just how good her life was, and how much better it was going to get, professionally and personally.
As Rachel and Fatin began wrestling, Toni picked up her phone, thumb hovering over Shelby’s number. She was experienced enough to know that she hadn’t left her purse at her place by accident, but whether she should wait for her call or not was up for debate. It was only when her friends’ knocked into her drafting table, tipping her purse onto the floor—and revealing a pair of Lakers tickets for tomorrow night as part of the contents—that the decision was made for her.
Her thumb pressed down, and she grinned, because this girl really couldn’t get any better.