Badgered by Washoe Alex

Author:Washoe, Alex
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

Arugula

I waited in the absurdly neat living area of Wendy’s apartment. Or “flat.” While I waited, I looked up that word on my phone — OED said it was probably derived from the Scottish word flet which meant the interior of a house, from an Old English word that meant floor. Huh.

Best liar you’ve ever met? What kind of praise is that from your … my what? Kenzie didn’t really seem that interested in being my anything. They were so casual about the whole dating thing, it felt like being hoisted on my own petard.

I looked up that phrase too, to get my brain out of a loop.

“What do you think?” Wendy asked. “Presentable?”

My brain stopped. Skidded to rest just short of the end of the track and wouldn’t move. That never happens to me. Even at the most intense times I have at least a couple of minor threads running in the back of my head.

Nothing. Zip. Nada. Full brain arrest.

I tried to casually touch my chin to make sure my mouth wasn’t open.

Wendy’s outfit was simple. A nice pair of jeans, a button-up white blouse, a black suit-vest and thin black tie. Her hair was usually a yellow cloud of tangles, but tonight it was combed out and parted on one side, glimmering golden, bangs falling softly across her forehead. She’d gathered it behind one ear with a subtle silver clip.

I vaguely remembered she’d asked me a question. Glancing down at my phone, I stammered, “Petard, from the Middle French peter, which means … ugh, breaking wind …”

What was I rambling about?

“I asked how I looked. You know, bugger all. I don’t care. They can bitch at me about what I wear in the wedding, but —”

“You look good. Really, really good.”

“Oh.” A faint smile peeked out of her scowl.

Wendy never did make-up and if you’d asked me, I’d have said, why bother? That perfect peaches-and-cream complexion didn’t need help. But tonight, she’d dusted her lids with a pale, pale blue and accentuated her lips with a rich, natural red.

Oh yeah and the clothes, much better fitted than the jersey’s and shorts she favored, showed off the fact that she was crazy fit and distractingly female.

All of which did nothing to jumpstart the parallel circuits in my brain.

“I might’ve mentioned this, but I love your outfit too,” Wendy said.

“I may have overdressed.”

She looked at me in a way that suggested she’d like to see me underdressed — but I must be mis-reading that, right?

I spent more time worrying about what to wear tonight than I did deciding that Holly should run for mayor. I’ve had a few fashion phases in my life — from Mormon yuck in grade school to rebellious Goth in high school, to closeted furry. I know a little bit about dressing for affect.

That requires you know what affect you want to have, though. Logically, I was supposed to be the trophy girlfriend. Sophisticated, successful — not bad for a yank. All that crud. But

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