Page 16 of Untying the Knot
I shrug. “I don’t know. It was a year ago.”
That’s a lie. I know why I followed her. She intrigued me. I threw up a passive-aggressive post, she commented as if it was nothing, and I was surprised. Also, the drinks thing was weird. She got me interested.
“Why did you follow me?” I ask in return.
“In case you threw any more shade my way. A girl has to defend herself.”
“When she uses unsuspecting people’s wall décor as a throw blanket, then I guess so.”
She lifts her water to her lips and says, “You and I both know that flag is anything but décor. And what’s with the Velcro?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have stock in it or something? Who hangs wall décor”—she uses air quotes—“with Velcro. If anything, you would use tacks, or perhaps Command strips.”
“Aren’t Command strips just a fancy alternative to Velcro?”
“No,” she answers and leaves it at that, even though I’m pretty sure it is.
“Well, we had Velcro, so that’s what we used.”
“Odd.” She sets her water glass down and props her chin on her palm, her boobs nearly exploding out of her shirt now. “Tell me, Ryot Bisley Balls, do you still have the flag hanging up?”
Of course she would call me my Instagram name. I’m surprised it took her this long.
I take a swig of my beer because I know she’s about to rain down upon me with insults when I tell her the truth. “Yeah, I do.”
“And let me guess, it’s still crooked from when I slapped it back up on the wall.”
“Yup.” I take another sip of my beer.
“I knew it.” She smirks. “And here you are, complaining about it on Instagram. All for show.”
“If you’re not garnering some sort of reaction from followers, what are you really doing?”
“Uh-huh, and precisely what interaction are you garnering from your hitting videos?” She taps the table, waiting for an answer.
“Compliments.” I twist my pint glass on the table, not wanting to see that smirk of hers again.
“Oh, Bisley Balls, what a sad, sad life you lead.”
Just then, the server drops off our nachos and a side of broccoli. With a wink at Myla, she says, “The broccoli is on me. We can’t let this penny-pincher stop you from hitting your vegetable intake for the day.”
“You are a true blessing in my life,” Myla says while clutching her chest.
As the server walks away, I say, “I’m not a penny-pincher. I would have splurged on the broccoli.”
“Sure, big guy, let’s just see how you tip, huh?” Myla says with a smile at the server.
* * *
“The sex has commenced,”Myla says as she wipes her mouth with a napkin.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone—man or woman—take down a plate of nachos as Myla just did. She just shoveled it in, one chip right after the other, and anytime I even remotely came close to a jalapeño, she slapped my hand away and growled. It was unbelievable . . . and hot.
“What do you mean the sex has commenced?” I ask as I pick at the broccoli Myla demanded I needed after she ate her bowl.
“Nichole and your brother. She just texted me that the giraffe is headed to the barn.”
