A Dash of Salt and Pepper by Kosoko Jackson

Author:Kosoko Jackson [Jackson, Kosoko]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Seventeen

WHEN LOGAN RETURNS TO his band to play, I find my way back to Mya, who is looking at me with large eyes, making an O around the rim of the bottle.

“I just have one question.”

“Don’t,” I warn.

“What was that?”

“Please don’t make a thing out of this,” I groan. “It was just some . . .”

“Erotic flirting?” she asks. “People were staring at you for at least a minute and neither of you noticed.”

“Harmless flirting,” I correct.

“Bullshit. That was intense flirting. WMD-level flirting. With your boss, I might add,” she says. She doesn’t say it in the sort of way that comes off as a judgment, more of a verbal nudging with her proverbial elbow. There’s a twinkle in her eyes, too, that makes the room light up. She’s never going to let me live this down.

“First of all, is that something you all say now? WMD this, WMD that? Second time I’ve heard it since being here. Second of all, I just prep the vegetables. And it’s a short-term thing.”

“But he’s in charge of you.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

She shrugs. “Listen, I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t do this. That’s not my job as a friend. All I’m going to say is go with God, good luck, get you some, and if you need me, I’m going to be over here nursing this drink.”

Mya is no help. I think, deep in my mind, I was hoping she would tell me not to do this. That this is a bad idea. That I’m making a huge mistake. But in fact, she does the complete opposite. She wants to live vicariously through me.

“Is married life so boring that you—”

“Oh my God, it’s the worst,” she corrects. “I love Derek deeply. But our life is predictable and boring. He goes to work, he comes home, we have dinner, we talk a bit, maybe you know . . .” She shimmies her hips at the standing table.

“You love it,” I mutter back.

“I’m going to plead the Fifth on that one.”

She can pretend all she wants that this life she’s created for herself is boring, but I remember when we were in high school, when her and Derek broke up for three weeks, how . . . gray she was. As if a mood could have a color.

“You’re not a lawyer,” I say.

“But I could be. I’d make a great defense attorney.”

“That you would.” I raise my glass to her in appreciation. No one, and I mean no one, is smarter than my friend Mya.

“Flattery is absolutely the way into my heart, so thank you, but right now we’re focused on you,” she says, nodding behind me toward Logan. I follow her sight, seeing another waitress bringing the Stevie Tricks drinks. One of them takes the drinks, and the folded piece of paper in her hand. His eyes scan it, and he leans over, tapping Logan’s shoulder. Logan turns his attention to the man, reads the note, and smiles a wolfish grin.

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