“You can finally make yourself happy without anyone else’s expectations in the way?”
“Yes. I know he wanted what he thought was best for me, but it was never what I wanted for myself.”
Her brown eyes get shiny, and she shakes her head and dives back into the margarita. “This is weirdly good for pre-mixed.”
“It’s the company,” Tyler says gruffly.
“Yes!” Veda beams at him. “Must be. Tell me something happy. How did you two meet?”
“Oh, we’re not—” I start, but Tyler cuts me off.
“Muffy called Nick Murphy a neanderthal in geek-speak at a bar one night after a game, and I was hooked.”
Veda’s eyebrows bunch. “Who’s Nick Murphy? What game?”
“Hockey,” I supply. “Remember my cousin, Kami? She married the Thrusters’ goaltender, Nick Murphy, last Christmas.”
Veda bounces in her seat and smiles at Tyler. “You play for the Thrusters? That explains why your neck’s as wide as your head. I was guessing maybe football, but I can see hockey.”
“You don’t follow hockey?” he asks her.
“We root for Washington.”
He rolls his eyes. “Better than Florida.”
And now Veda’s frowning. “We. Holy shit. I can root for whoever I want to root for.”
“Ooh, you can!” I take the margarita from her. “I can get you a list of the cutest mascots or the teams with the hottest players.”
“Sitting right here with a rocket-powered bratwurst mascot and a hot thick neck,” Tyler mutters.
I ignore him, mostly out of self-preservation, because now that Veda pointed it out, his thick neck is also super attractive. “Or you could turn into a baseball fan, or MMA, or even like, monster truck rallies if you wanted to.”
“What about softball? Are there professional softball leagues?”
“Oh! I know! You could become a soccer fan! Copper Valley has The Scorned—they’re a women’s soccer club—and they’re amazing. Plus, Tyler could probably introduce you to some of the players. Sportsers know sportsers, don’t you, Tyler?”
She shakes her head before he can answer. “I’m not meeting people right now.”
“Oh, no. Did you—”
She waves a hand like she doesn’t want to talk about her dating life, which could mean anything from I broke up with someone recently to the rest of my family doesn’t want to know I’m currently dating a woman to I’m dating someone with commitment issues.
“If Tyler judges you, I’ll kick him in the nuts,” I whisper to her, and I’m mostly positive he doesn’t hear me.
Or he’s thinking I’d have to catch him first, and he knows exactly how many Donettes I ate this afternoon.
She laughs. “It’s not that, I promise. Enough about me. Tell me about Muff Matchers.”
“It’s great!”
She tilts a brow at me.
“Okay,” I sigh. “It’s still super slow, though I did make three matches since August, I’m expanding my network of men who pass my new standards testing, and all of my clients are making friends with each other and the Muff Matchers support group and newsletter keeps getting better, and we have people with us now who aren’t even clients. Yet. Still… It’s just…”
“Hard to overcome years and years of stereotypes to find the people who see past what looks like less than perfect while convincing women who are told from birth that they’re not worthy that they actually are and should have standards?”
“Yes.”
Tyler’s watching me over his fries.
I don’t think he pigeonholes me as a loser, but then, he’s not kicking Veda out and trying to talk me out of my clothes either.
If anything, he looked relieved when she showed up.
Yet I’m still sitting here thinking he’s the hottest thing since that egg white omelet that Mom accidentally set on fire yesterday.
“Maybe you change tactics?” Veda says. “Maybe you concentrate more on the support group and newsletter aspect? God knows women like you and me could use a shot of confidence when it comes to what makes us attractive.”
Tyler chokes on his fish.
Not hard to understand why. Veda’s flawlessly gorgeous. A socially respectable size six, D-cups, clear skin, shiny black hair, big brown eyes, pillowy lips, eyebrows that behave in whatever the latest brow style is, and the world’s most perfect nose, which she’s decorated with a single small diamond stud.
She also has the most gorgeous rose tattoo on her ribs, which he doesn’t know, but I suspect he’d like to.
She and I share a look.
He has no idea, she’s telegraphing.
Men are so superficial, I telegraph back.
I take a long gulp, then turn my clunky, not-so-comfy hotel chair so I’m angled toward him as well as Veda. “Tyler, when you were growing up, did your parents ever tell you that you should play hockey less and concentrate on your grades more?”
He pulls a face. “Youngest of six. I got to do whatever I wanted, and my sisters bitched about it despite going out of their way to make sure I knew they adored me too.”
“So your parents didn’t tell you you’d never be a neurosurgeon if you didn’t ace your third-grade science project on the life cycle of frogs?” Veda asks.
“And they didn’t burn your Halloween candy in the fireplace because it was better for your hips long term?” I add.
“And they didn’t tell you that the neighbors’ kids got better grades than you three quarters in a row when you got A’s and they got A plusses?”
“And they didn’t ask if you were sure you wanted to wear your hair that way, and maybe you shouldn’t smile so big when your teeth made you look like a horse?”
“And they didn’t tell you to join chess club instead of being a cheerleader?”
I whip my head around. “Oh my gosh, you wanted to be a cheerleader? I didn’t know that!”
Veda’s smiling again. “My school colors were sky blue and white and the uniforms were so cute. And the cheerleaders always had those ribbons in their hair.”
“I wanted to be the top of the pyramid but my dad always said no one else would be able to lift me!”
We stare at each other, and maybe it’s the margarita, or maybe it’s emotions, but suddenly we’re hugging each other and crying.
“My dad wanted me to take horseback riding lessons and learn to play polo so I could go to an Ivy League school,” Veda sobs. “When I got rejected by all of them, he never looked at me the same again.”
“When my parents got divorced, my mom took me on giant shopping trips and tried to make me wear the cutest clothes but my shoulders were too wide for the cute tops and I always muffin-topped out of the cute shorts, and one time, I muffin-bottomed. My thighs had rolls under the jean short cuffs.”
“You’re perfect exactly the way you are, Muffy.”
“Any man or woman would be so lucky to have you, Veda.”
“Same, Muffy. Same.”
“Why is it always two chicks?” Tyler mutters.
At least, I think that’s what he mutters. When I lift my head and peer through the blurriness at him, he’s dumping his fish and chips in the trash and pocketing his wallet. “Get up. We’re getting out of here.”