Say It Sexy by Virna Depaul

our seats until I rapped my knuckles on the table and repeated, “Moving on.” I turned to the waiter. “I’ll have a beer.”
    “You’re old enough to drink?” that delicate, prissy voice I loved said.
    I turned to Gwen. “Huh?”
    “You’re so much younger than me, remember?”
    I grinned. “That’s right, I am. However, I’m legal. For everything that’s fun, in case you’re wondering.”
    She gasped then shook her head (albeit with a small smile on her beautiful mouth) before ordering her own drink, a girly-girl apple martini. I counted that as a victory. Turned out that surprising Gwen in a way she couldn’t help liking could become addictive.
    In record time, we had our drinks in front of us. When Shane walked in a few minutes late, the four of us did a double take. He wore black jeans, a Slipknot T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Low and behold, a piercing jutted out of his eyebrow, lower lip, and left ear lobe. I gaped for a moment. The guy looked like an evil twin of the Shane I had come to know. He dropped into his seat, oblivious to our collective stupor, and took up a drink menu. Casually, he raked a hand, fingers crowned in a few rings, through his spiked blond hair.
    He caught onto our gawking—mostly me and Erica it turned out—and looked up. “What?”
    “Nothin’, man,” I managed to stutter. Shit. He looked badass . He had pulled off the jock look, likely to look more professional, but this ensemble fit him like a glove. How I could tell him without it being weird was another matter. I hoped Erica or Gwen would take a stab at it, but they didn’t.
    The waiter swung by to set our table up with two woven baskets of warm, salty restaurant style tortilla chips along with several bowls of guacamole, pico de gallo, and some hot, cheesy dip.
    Gwen had to be a poor sport and wear a fitted red dress that hardly revealed any skin but still hammered home the fact she had a great body. So unfair. Why did she have to be so hot without trying? I tried not to stare at her, but it was proving to be difficult, and on several instances, our eyes would meet for a moment before she’d rip hers away.
    “So, Tyler…” Gwen ran her fingertip around the edge of her martini glass, and for some reason, I sensed trouble. “By what you said the other day, I’m guessing you’re not a fan of soap operas. Is that right?”
    “Oh, boy,” Erica groaned, dunking a chip into the guacamole.
    I grinned and leaned back in my seat. Comfort seemed paramount if we were all going to have to endure this conversation. “Fireworks coming early tonight.” I found myself looking forward to a variation of our first meeting together. Now that Gwen knew us all a little better, I wondered if she’d revert back to her uptight ways or if she’d loosen up enough to give Tyler a bad time and reveal a more fun-loving side to herself. I was hoping that was the case.
    “Now doesn’t seem like a great time to have an argument, gang,” Erica said, assuming the mother role of the group, even though she was maybe only twenty-three or twenty-four. I’d been impressed by everything I’d learned about Erica in the past week. She was sharp as a whip and down-to-earth, but she was also the epitome of responsible. Outwardly she was much more laid back then Gwen, but inwardly she was just as reluctant to let others see her true nature or get too close.
    Not that I could fault her for that; if Erica and Gwen were pots I was definitely a kettle.
    “We’re out,” Erica continued. “We’re supposed to be celebrating wrapping up the pilot.”
    Gwen smiled wide and the power of it almost took my breath away. For the first time ever, she looked like she was completely relaxed, comfortable amongst trusted friends. Yeah, I knew it was likely a lie, her way of lining up the pins in anticipation of bowling Tyler over for his insulting remarks last week, but it was easy to imagine that this girl was more like who Gwen was in her everyday life,