“Hey,” I said, slipping into the booth that Melody had picked by the window. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Were you at work this whole time?” she asked, scanning my outfit.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Just finished.”
“You know he can’t make you work like that,” she pointed out.
I smiled at her. She was always so defensive on my behalf. Melody and I had met at the gym a couple of months ago when I’d first moved to San Diego. She was open, honest, and extroverted, and we had hit it off right away. She had smoothed the transition for me and made me feel at home in an alien state.
“He’s not making me work late,” I said. “I choose to work late.”
Melody raised her eyebrows. “Why?” she asked pointedly.
“Uh…because… I actually enjoy working,” I said.
Her expression of incredulity only deepened. “You’re a secretary,” she pointed out.
She didn’t say it with malice or judgment. It was just the way Melody was. She didn’t mince her words, and she certainly didn’t tiptoe around uncomfortable moments. Some might have found her to be brash and rude, but to me, she was a refreshing change of pace from the people I knew back home.
“Personal assistant,” I corrected.
“Big difference.”
“There is a difference,” I said.
“Spare me the speech,” Melody said. “I know the real reason you like working so much.”
“Enlighten me,” I smiled sarcastically.
“Your boss.”
The smile faltered on my face, and Melody let out a burst of laughter. “See? I told you I knew.”
“I… That’s…uh… That’s not the reason.”
“Very convincing,” she said, giving me a wink.
Tha
nkfully, I was spared more stuttering attempts at denial when the waiter appeared between us with two menus in hand. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked.
“Are you on the menu?” Melody asked, leaning in towards him like a heat-seeking missile.
I suppressed my laughter and looked at the obviously amused expression on the waiter’s face. He was skinny, tall, and good-looking, but in a nerdy sort of way. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be Melody’s type, but I’d long since learned that my friend didn’t stick to just one type. She didn’t discriminate between men, and she had been vocal about that since we had first met.
The waiter smiled. “Unfortunately not,” he said, trying to conceal his blush.
“Shame,” Melody said, completely undeterred. “Well…the night’s young.”
“I’m going to jump in here,” I said. “And give you my order.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” Melody said, looking affronted. “Does she look like a ma’am to you?”
“He’s only being polite, Melody,” I told her.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked, in a voice that was decidedly seductive. “Do I look like a ma’am to you?”