Cruising for Love

1 "Hitting the cow in the road was not my fault!" I inform the others, making them burst into laughter yet again. "Whose fault was it...the COW's???" This incredulous question comes from my best friend, Macy. She looks especially cute tonight because she has set her sights on her new co-worker, Kyle. When Kyle mentioned wanting to try the new Mexican restaurant in town, Macy had quickly thrown together this small group outing to ease her path into getting to know him better. I see them make eye contact, beaming at each other, and realize that my ridiculous hot mess of stories is serving as the ideal ice-breaker for them, which is likely exactly what Macy had intended when she brought up my less-than-stellar driving record. "Well, yeah. I mean, what was it doing in the middle of the road?" It makes perfect sense to me, but they are still laughing at me. I chuckle, even though the hilarity is at my expense. I know it sounds crazy, but these odd situations just somehow seem to find me. "Is the cow okay?" This concerned question comes as the first words of the evening from our suddenly quiet friend, Jasmine. Jas is one of the most outlandishly fun people I know, but it takes her a while to warm up to strangers. Having the new faces from Macy's law office join us for dinner has evidently caused her shyness to flare up. "The cow is fine," I reassure her. "My car on the other hand..." I let the sentence dangle, allowing the group to draw their own conclusions about my car's fate after tangling with a bovine. "I still go visit the cow occasionally," I add, "but I don't think she likes me." "You're probably not her favorite person," Kyle confirms, earning a flirty eyelash flutter from Macy. When the waiter drops off our second pitcher of frozen margaritas, Macy stands to pour refills of the slushy, lime deliciousness into everyone's glasses. She manages to give Kyle a lengthy peek at her ample cleavage as she bends to pour his drink. I can't help but chuckle as I watch his eyes nearly pop out of his head. If her intention with that maneuver had been to get his attention, she definitely succeeded. "Tell them about your wreck with the Dr. Pepper truck, Ruthie." She encourages me to move on to the next car disaster story as she sits down and digs into the fresh basket of chips and salsa that have unobtrusively appeared at the table. "Okay, but that one really wasn't my fault," I start, making them all laugh in anticipation of another of my ridiculous-but-true vehicle stories. "They never are." Macy shakes her head at me. As I proceed to tell them about the Dr. Pepper truck fiasco, which ended with my convertible being filled with exploding cans of hissing Dr. Pepper, I know we are being much too loud in the crowded restaurant. We are having fun, though, and I don't want to try to hold down the volume on our merriment. Just then, one of the only people who could ruin my great mood walks in. She is already seated by the time she sees me, or I'm certain she would have slunk out of the restaurant like the man-stealing traitor that she is. My sister's ex-best-friend, Lizzie, and I make eye contact for the first time since she shattered Roxy's wedding day by stealing the groom. I narrow my eyes into a cool glare until she looks away. I note that she isn't with Gary, the prick who had the audacity to dump Roxy by text message on their wedding day. Rumor has it that the man-stealer and the cheating jerk have broken up. Karma can be a b***h, I think to myself. Even though Roxy is giddily happy with her Hawaiian hunk, Kai, whom she met on her would-be honeymoon, I'm not quite ready to forgive and forget what Lizzie and Gary did to her. I might never be. Lizzie's mother joins her, and I force my attention back to our table. The topic of conversation has now moved from my accident-prone driving skills to the plethora of jobs that I somehow manage to get fired from. Great, now they all know that I'm vehicle AND job-challenged, I think to myself. "She's always coming in late or not showing up at all," Macy tells the table. "Once she dropped an entire tray loaded with food. It's never her fault, though." "It's not," I affirm, making the group laugh again as Macy pats my arm in a slightly condescending (but somehow still loving) way. I don't get offended by her teasing. It is all true, after all. My life is a series of complete disasters. "She lost one job because she couldn't stand to leave Hawaii to come back to work," Macy shares with the group. "It was HAWAII." I smile at them, lifting my shoulders as if that explains it all. I might as well own it, I decide. "Besides, it was totally worth losing that cocktail waitressing job to stay in paradise a bit longer. I was able to attend Baggy's wedding while I was there. Baggy is my crazy grandmother," I clarify for Macy's co-workers. Deciding to go all in, I confide, "I missed my sister's wedding that same night, though, because I thought I saw Jason Momoa, and I went chasing after him." Most of the others are shaking their heads in bewilderment, as if my life is the biggest train wreck they have ever encountered. "It wasn't him, but it really looked like him. I just had to follow him and find out." It is quiet for a bit, so I add, "I guess I'm truly a jump-in-with-both-feet kind of gal...none of that dipping a toe in to test the water stuff for me." I smile at them, and most of them smile back. As if the universe heard my bold declaration, a tall, well-dressed (if slightly slick looking) gentleman appears at our table. He hands me a business card, which I peer at warily. The card is made of thick black stock that feels surprisingly heavy in my hand. The gold block lettering says simply, "T.J. Stone, Producer." I crane my neck up at him with a questioning look. Checking him out more closely, I find that he's wearing a tailored, dark suit. He is tan and has on more jewelry than any of the men from this area in the Midwestern section of the country would normally wear. I quickly decide he must be from California or New York City. Speaking for the first time, he looks down at me and informs us, "I couldn't help overhearing your stories." I wonder if he expects an apology for our rowdiness. He's not getting one, I think to myself. We were just having fun. Instead of chastising us, he floors me by saying, "How would you like to be the world's next big reality television star?"