The blonde’s name is Catherine. “We had Geometry together,” Jen says, sipping her soda. “Tenth grade. Mr. Ford?”
I shrug. We didn’t go to the same school and I don’t know who she’s talking about.
That doesn’t deter Jen. “She was the lead cheerleader, class slut, you know the type. We weren’t friends but I knew her, I guess. I haven’t seen her since graduation.”
Somehow, I have a feeling she’s going to be talking to her again before the night is through. That’s how Jen works—she pulls any strings she can when she has her sights set on something, and right now that something is getting our waiter’s number. I don’t even have to ask—she’s already decided we need to be together.
You’re not going to call him. I’m not like that. I don’t go out of my way to meet people, especially guys, es
