Year of the Chick (book 1 in the "Year of the Chick" series)

Chapter Eight

James Caldwell: screenwriter in Barcelona. Born and raised in the town of…

Actually, I wasn’t sure.

Well he’s single, that’s a plus.

Wait a minute: was he even single? I hadn’t thought to ask.

At least he’s not old enough to be my dad.

How old was he anyway?

I had no idea, but based on his picture I’d guess early thirties.

Assuming of course that his picture was actually a portrait of the man himself. That sandy brown hair, those sun-kissed arms with the well-toned muscles, and what about those forearms? They had just the right amount of vein to catapult their way to the top of my forearm-fetish list (move over Daniel Craig).

I shuddered at the thought of my heart racing fast for something that was probably a lie. If only I could look into those bright blue eyes to know for sure.

Or green eyes, or orange eyes. Who the hell knew? I’d only ever seen him in sunglasses.

Damn the unknown! Not that it isn’t exciting.

I wondered if I reeked of it, my nervous but exhilarating Internet-crush. I really hoped not, since Laura was on her way to meet me, and it was way too early to reveal my excitement for a man who was possibly a fake.

I stirred a bit of milk into my tea, and found myself a seat at a table by the window. It was another Sunday evening, and not a very good one for the second week of May. Tree branches swayed back and forth from the abusive wind, and a darkened sky loomed above. Still it was Sunday, and what could be better than my Sunday evenings with Laura? We’d meet at this café for “catch-up talks,” a place on the outskirts of the city, nestled by old shops that had been here for decades. It was the perfect change from a weekend of censored fun with my parents.

I took my first sip of this so-called “passion tea,” which was anything but a latte.

Frickin’ gross…at least I’m saving calories.

A minute later Laura arrived and entered the queue, while my thoughts drifted back to the mysteries of Internet connections.

As I started to weigh the pros and cons of an Internet relationship, Laura took her seat with a steaming latte in hand. I took a whiff and it smelled like heaven. I wanted to pour it on my naked body. Or maybe just drink it.

“Hey! It’s so nice to see a friendly face,” I said. “So what’s in the latte?” My whiffing was becoming chronic.

“It’s a hazelnut latte but it’s zero fat, and now they make it with sugar-free hazelnut syrup. I saved like twenty grams of carbs!”

I stared at my tea repulsed. Sugar-free syrup? How had I never heard of sugar-free syrup? Back in the era of the latte guy, I would’ve been the first to hear of breakthroughs in syrup.

Laura removed her checkered Burberry scarf and folded it onto her lap. “So…what’s the latest in Romi-land?”

I wanted to tell her that a boyfriend was in the works (even if James didn’t know it yet), but at the moment he was more like a character from “The Sims.”

Instead I would focus on weight-loss, the second favourite topic after “boy talk.”

“Well I’ve lost four pounds but my mom says she doesn’t see a difference.” I rolled my eyes. “And she still hasn’t stopped about this voodoo weight-loss nonsense. She insists for me to meet with a ‘special’ doctor.” I scowled. “But who wants to drink a green smoothie made of monkey heads? Nuh-uh, I will skip all that voodoo shit.”