Whiskey Dick by Ryan Ringbloom

Author:Ryan Ringbloom [Ringbloom, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ryan Ringbloom
Published: 2018-07-23T16:00:00+00:00

“You do watch TV!” Paisley points a finger at me. “Don’t even pretend that you don’t.”

“What?” A second ago I felt like maybe we were having a moment. What did I say?

“That’s from Friends.”

“Is it?” Shit. I play dumb. “I don’t know.”

“Knowing the Arby’s commercial, I was like okay, I can let it slide, but now you’re quoting Friends. And doing a very good Joey impression, I might add,” she says smugly, way too excited. “Admit it, you watch TV.”

“Not really.” I shrug indifferently, afraid for some reason to allow her to catch me in my fib.

“Jax…,” she leads, and I turn to see one perfectly arched brow lift over the rim of her glasses. “Come on, Jay Kay, tell me the truth.”

“Fine.” The sexy brow weakens my resolve. I succumb to the fact that I’m a TV binging addict like the rest of the world and out it all flows. “Winter is coming. No soup for you. D’oh. That’s what she said. Make it work.” And for the clincher I shout out, “Norm!”

“Oh my God, you have watched Cheers!” She gasps before breaking into laughter. “And did you just quote Tim Gunn? I’m dead. You’re a Project Runway fan.”

“No.” I take a hand off the steering wheel. “Not a fan. Occasionally the show is on when my sister watches and I overhear things.”

“Sure,” she answers sarcastically. I don’t have to see her to know she’s rolling her big brown eyes. “So you were happy with who won last season?”

“I don’t have an opinion because I don’t watch.”

“Oh, I see, you must have missed that one when your sister was watching it. Well, spoiler alert, the winner was Brandon.”

She’s baiting me. I know it was Kentaro. But only because I really did watch a few episodes and the finale with my sister.

“Who’s Brandon?” I scrunch my face and furrow my brows to sell the fabrication hard.

“Hmmm, okay fine, maybe you don’t watch.” She sounds unconvinced. “But why would you lie about being a TV watcher? Are you really even a big reader?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay. I believe you,” she says quietly, and then bam, “Quick. Who’s your favorite author?”

“Dina Littner,” I reply instantly. Thank God I had that name locked and loaded. “Of course you know who that is, right?” I turn the tables on her. I got the feeling before that Paisley was not much of a reader.

“Oh, uh, yeah. She’s the, um, she writes that, with the people who….” She struggles and I want to laugh but somehow manage to keep a straight face. “The political. Satire-y. Mystery.” Nope to all of those things. But I let her off the hook.

“That’s her,” I say with an internal chuckle. At least now we’re both guilty of some harmless white lies.

The traffic comes to an absolute standstill. I put the car into park and relax my foot from the brake. We both grab our phones.

“It says here that parts of 95 are flooded from the rain. That must be why we’re stopped.

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