Page 1 of Untying the Knot
Prologue
MYLA
“How does my hair look?” Nichole asks as she pushes the short blonde locks behind her ear.
“Still fresh, still curled, but don’t put it behind your ear,” I whisper.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Breath?” She blows in my face.
I take a large sniff—because that’s what best friends are for—and say, “Smells like nothing.”
“Good.” She tugs on the hem of her black dress. “I thought those nachos we had at the bar were going to make me have cheese breath.”
“Cheese breath is nowhere to be found.”
“Thank God.” She glances up the stairs of the townhome and then back at me. “He’s cute, right?”
“Uh, he’s more than cute,” I answer. “He’s hot.”
“Yeah, okay. I wasn’t sure if I was making it up in my head. But he’s hot. His jawline is incredible.”
“And his shoulders are broad,” I answer. “And even though his shirt is loose, you can tell he has muscles.”
“Lots of muscles, and what are we a fan of?” Nichole asks.
“Men with muscles,” I answer with a fist pump.
“And this place is pretty nice.” Nichole glances around. “I mean, it screams bachelor pad, but we’ve seen worse.”
“Totally. At least beer cans aren’t being used as decorations.”
“Just stupid sports flags,” Nichole says, gesturing to the large Phoenix Studmuffins flag pinned to the stark white wall.
One couch, one enormous TV mounted on the wall with loose cords, brown carpet that’s seen better days, and a single four-by-six picture of two guys hanging next to the TV, their arms wrapped around each other in a “bro hug.” There’s not much to the space, not even a dining table where a dining table should be. It’s just empty.
“Do you think they like the Studmuffins?” I ask. “That flag is very large. They’re obviously fans of the Triple-A team.”
“How do you know it’s Triple-A?” Nichole asks. “You don’t watch baseball.”
“I waited a table that just came from a game.” I shrug. “Either way, I wonder if they’re actually fans or if it’s more of an ironic thing. You know, like . . . they got it for free, and now it’s the only decoration they have besides the four-by-six frame that’s made for a side table, not a wall.”
Nichole taps her chin. “Hmm, well, the guy . . . God, what’s his name again?”
“Banner,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
Out of the two of us, Nichole likes to sleep around, and I have no problem with that.Get it in while you canis what I say, but we’re a package deal. Not as in threesome potential, but as in I have no shame in waiting for Nichole to get done with her business so we can walk out together, hand in hand.
“Oh right, Banner. Anyway, he seems more ironic than anything. The flowers on his button-up shirt scream ironic.”
“I could see that,” I answer just as the stairs creak.
“Oh God, he’s coming.” Nichole flashes her teeth at me. “Anything in them?”
“Nope, you’re good.”
