Borrow-A-Bridesmaid Read Free Page A

the places I’d rather be.
    Half an hour later, Sal saunters up behind me, watching me shelve. “Ah ah ah,” he interrupts as I’m about to squeeze a book on the end of the top shelf. If I had eyes in the back of my head, I’d see his long finger waggling back and forth.
    â€œSorry.” I shift the book down to the next row and face Sal. His eyes drift southward, linger on my chest, and land on my left knee, where a conspicuous wrinkle lurks in my khakis. It’s no secret these babies haven’t been ironed since their last wash. He parts his lips, then seems to decide not to fight that battle today. He’s standing so close I can smell the mixture of sweat and cologne on his skin. And, only slightly less potent, the raging Mountain Dew breath.
    I look over Sal’s shoulder to lock eyes with Kelly, who started last month and is the sweetest person I’ve ever met. With the exception of Kalil, she’s been the only saving grace, the only bright spot of kindness, I’ve found at the airport, not to mention my buffer and comrade-in-arms against Sal. She goes cross-eyed and sticks her tongue out at me as I try not to burst out laughing.
    â€œYou sure you’re okay being in charge tonight?” Sal reaches toward me. My back stiffens against the Hillary Clinton display. I bet she’d sock him a good one if she weren’t plastered onto a hardcover. Delicately, he takes his thumb and forefinger and turns my badge so my name is facing front again. “Now. I need you to go down to the stockroom and load the cart before I head out. Here’s the bestseller list. Make sure to get plenty of these and some pop fic to boot.”
    â€œYep.” I make a mental note to bring my cell down to the stockroom. Personal calls during work hours are forbidden, along with leaning one’s elbows on the counter, neglecting to greet a customer the nanosecond he or she enters the store, and any manner of dilly-dallying.
    But if ever there were a time for rule-breaking, it’s today. I’ve got to take care of some covert Craigslist correspondence. As I leave the store with the book cart in tow, the United guy shouts, “Sign up for a United card and get twenty thousand free miles and a bonus gift!” He and I trade mournful looks, and I realize I had the airport inscription all wrong.
    It should read: “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”

    When I get home the following night, the house smells like casserole. I find Lin in the kitchen, pulling off a pair of quilted oven mitts.
    â€œHow was your day?” He kisses me once on each cheek. “Stovetop chicken casserole for dinner. You know, I’m more grateful every day Steve’s a chef. I play my cards right, and we’ll all be relaxing over foie gras in the near future.”
    â€œFoy who?” I kick off my shoes and toss my Book Nook badge on top of them. “In the meantime, I’ll take your stovetop any day.”
    We sit side by side on the kitchen bar stools, diving in. When I’ve swallowed enough mouthfuls to quiet the Jabba the Hutt noises coming from my stomach, I wipe my mouth and give Lin a cautious glance. “You, eh, remember what you said about me selling my body?”
    He sets down his fork. “Don’t tell me. You and Sal started an underground exotic dancing club called the Captain’s Choice.”
    I open my mouth in protest. “Lin—”
    â€œThere’ll be a secret entrance behind the romance section. Prospective customers need only walk in and utter the secret password: ‘Frequent flyer.’ You know, I think I may want in. The world of graphic design is not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m more than halfway to carpal tunnel and less than halfway to artistic director.”
    Having given up on getting a word in edgewise, I continue shoveling the steaming casserole into my mouth as Lin prattles on about all the roles he’s