Chapter 9

March 20, 2005

Henderson, Nevada

“Are you going out with him again tonight?” Sarah asked. She reached across the counter and snagged an apple from the bowl. Taking a bite of it, she watched Josie dig around in the refrigerator with a measured look. “Do you really think that is wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be wise?” Josie asked, looking at her roommate over the refrigerator door.

“Well, you hardly know this man – he could be an serial killer, a rapist, or God knows what; yet the past four nights, you’ve been out with him.”

“I doubt he’s a serial killer or a rapist,” Josie laughed out, pouring herself a glass of soda. “Trust me; Neville isn’t the type.”

“Really,” Sarah drawled, her voice laced with sarcasm. “I bet that’s what Jeffery Dahmer’s dates said about him.”

“Damn it, Sarah! I’m not stupid. We meet in public places; it’s not like I’m really ever alone with him, although the more time I spend with him the more time I want alone time with him.”

“I never said you were stupid, Josie. I just –” Sarah sighed. “You don’t have the greatest track record with men, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. Especially if this guy turns out to be a creep who’s only looking for a green card.”

“Green card?” Josie gasped. “Where the hell are you coming up with that? I’ve known Neville for only five days, way too soon to be thinking along the lines of permanent.”

Sarah shrugged. “You never know. Remember what happened with Adriana and that internet jerk? He was only interested in her because she was an American citizen and could get him into the country with no fuss or muss by simply saying ‘I do.’”

“Yes – but I didn’t meet Neville online, and I don’t think he’s interested in becoming an American citizen. Besides, he’s here on a work visa, so I doubt he’s in any need of rushing to the altar.”

“But you’re interested.”

“Yes, I’m interested,” Josie said, throwing a dreamy smile at Sarah. “You’d be interested, too.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Sarah took one last bite out of her apple and tossed the core into the garbage bin. “Tell me about him.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Josie said, taking a sip of soda. “Why don’t you come and meet him?”

“And play third wheel? I don’t think so.”

“Not tonight – I’d rather not have you coming down on Neville like a ton of bricks, especially when he’s not expecting it. How about we make arrangements to meet later in the week; I’m sure we can scrounge up a suitable escort for you.”

“Oh, great,” Sarah moaned. “A blind date. You’re really developing a sadistic steak, Josie.”

~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~

March 23, 2005

Henderson, Nevada

“Sarah, can you zip this up for me?” Josie asked, turning her back to Sarah. “I can’t quite reach it in the middle.”

“Who are you, and what have you done to my best friend?” Sarah asked, pulling the two sides of the dress together so she could zip it up. “I can’t believe you’re actually wearing a dress tonight – you never wear dresses.”

“Hey, now,” Josie laughed. “I’m not that bad. I do dress up on occasion.”

“Funerals don’t count.”

“They don’t?”

“No,” Sarah chuckled, “they don’t. Neither do weddings for that matter, and those, incidentally, have been the only type of events I’ve seen you get dressed up for.”

Josie scrunched up her nose. “I dress up for more than that.” Sarah merely raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I do.”

“And that is why you’re using my make-up?”

“No,” Josie said with a smile. “The reason I’m using your make-up is because I know you’ve got taste. Why use store brand stuff when I know you’ve got the good stuff – especially when I know you’ll get exasperated at my efforts and volunteer to apply it for me?”

“One of these days,” Sarah said with a beleaguered sigh, “you’re going to join the ranks of womanhood and actually learn how to do this yourself.”

“Yes, but until then, I have you.”

“You’re such a brat,” Sarah snapped, gently pushing Josie away. She watched Josie’s reflection in the mirror as she pushed an earring through her right ear. “So, where is your dashing Englishman taking us tonight?”

“Actually,” Josie replied, wrinkling her nose, “I’m not sure.”

“I bet you just love that,” Sarah mumbled under her breath. “How did he manage to convince you to let him select the place?”

“Would you believe a bouquet of purple daisies?”

“Daisies?” Sarah asked incredulously. “You capitulated for daisies? It must be love, if you’re letting him select the restaurant tonight. Does he realize how you are about food?”

Josie stuck her tongue out at Sarah. “Gee, so funny. Yes, Ms. Thang, he knows how I am about food.”

“Don’t take that tone with me; I remember the last pizza we had delivered. You had the poor guy in tears.”

“As he should have been,” Josie responded with a snort. “It took him nearly ninety minutes to get here. The pizza was disgusting, the garlic bread was stone cold, and don’t get me started on the fried zucchini.”

“I told you not to order from Tropicana Pizza,” Sarah said with an exaggerated sigh, shuddering slightly. “But you just had to have fried zucchini. I can’t understand why you eat that crap –” Sarah was interrupted by a knocking at the front door.

“Oh, shit,” Josie moaned, brushing a nervous hand down the front of her dress as she moved to the door. “I can’t believe he’s here already.”

Sarah pointed at Josie’s bare feet. “Mmm, Cinderella, don’t you think you need to be wearing shoes before the prince can find them?”

“Crap! Crap! Crap!”

“Find your shoes; I’ll go let the gentlemen in.”

“Be nice, Sarah,” Josie hissed as her roommate left the room.

“I’m always nice,” she tossed back over her shoulder.

~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~

A/N:

As ever, I’d like to thank Rachel for going over this with a fine-tooth comb. I’d say this chapter was Brit-betaed, but Mark is AWOL so any and all blatant Americanisms are because, well, I am a dorky American. All fubared portions are solely my own mistake.

Yes, there is an actual Tropicana Pizza in Las Vegas/Henderson, and yes, it is disgusting. I, unfortunately, learned that the hard way when I ordered pizza for us at my Mom’s at seven. The guy called at 8:15 asking for directions to her place (which I had given when I ordered the $35 dollar monstrosity), and he didn’t actually arrive until 8:50. The pizza was gross; I mean Little (nasty) Caesars’ makes a better pizza. I was not a happy camper, hence the reference.