Foolhardy

There is competition in every endevour. Even murder, they say. No reason why love should be any different.

As Cara's face comes up for air from her Sunday special brunch menu, she catches sight of Jen, her little blonde ponytail lively swinging from side to side as she hurries out of the kitchen and right up to serve the way too happy-looking little family in table seven.

Her gaze turns into a straight up leer when the new waitress turns on her heels to head back to get the rest of the table's order, still steaming away on the counter. Cara can now appreciate how the laws of physics operate on Jen's power running figure, face on. Mostly the bouncing bits.

- Hey, Jen - Cara offers as a greeting as the waitress pass their table - How's tricks?

A clearly overwhelmed Jen barely looks at her when she replies with a playful rolling of the greenest eyes this side of the Celadon.

- Buried - she smiles with the corner of her mouth as her side quickly brushed against Cara, not slowing down her power walk to the back of the diner. Cara, still sitting in the booth, has the audacity of conspicously following the dainty blonde with her eyes. Head and upper body turn included.

That does it.

- Seriously, could you be any more obvious? - the dark-haired middle-aged woman sitting opposite to Cara on the booth whispers, leening towards her.

Sarah's voice takes her out of her trance.

- What? A little harmless flirtting never hurt anyone - she protests.

- Oh, please. Even so, you could be her mother.

Cara's eyebrows shoots up into her hairline.

- What's the matter, baby? You jealous? - she teases, with that daring crooked smile of hers.

Shit. Admitting to jealousy in a public place: Sarah's another five points down.

Gulping it down

Holy crap, that phone was on fire.

He kept staring at the picnic-like kitchen table, which was, now that he'd finished his early supper, covered by tiny breadcrumbs, and not knowing what to do.

The generous dish of spaghetti putanesca he had just wolfed down had left the corners of his lips stained by a soft shade of carmine that made him look even a little bit more pathetic. Fortunately though, one could not really appreciate it, because he kept staring really close at the picnic-like kitchen table as if trying hard to burn a hole on its surface big enough for him to jump in and land onto another dimension.

That damn phone was still ringing and he had absolutely no idea what to do with it. 

But ignoring the vibrating insistence that seemed to be being sent from Hell exclusively to emanate from that annoying apparatus did not seem to work as a valid option anymore, so he decided to quit being a pussy and face the situation (literally, as he was forced to slowly lift first his forehead, followed by his eyes, nose, and beardless chin, to be able to spot the artifact in question and then command his brain to reach for it with his right hand). 

He gave out a long heavy sigh that made him feel an eternity older than he was, and pressed the Answer button on the screen.

Two seconds.

-Hello? -stuttered an intense and soft female voice thad had been very close to give up on the waiting and go back her minestrone soup with an all-too-familiar feeling of sour resignation.

Putanesca. Poodle, pepper, ponytail, pitiful, penthouse. 

Long sigh again, this time to conceal the effects his racing heart was starting to have on his breath.

-Hey, hi. 'Sup. -Casual.

Minestrone. Meadows, mimic, masturbation, munchies, minivan.

-Eh, not much. I was realizing one of my wildest Friday night fantasies, that is, slurping my Italian soup in my pyjamas, and I suddenly wondered whether you'd remember the name of that beach bar where we had those mind-blowing nachos last summer? You know, the bar with the hot waitress that you couldn't gather the courage to talk to? Oh God I do remember how embarrassed I was, trying to order all those weird snacks in my awful Spanish.

How an otherwise rather smart attractive woman managed to be such an enormous bitch precisely at the times he was least ready to handle it remained a mystery, even after all those years of twisted friendship. It was like she would do it when you were starting to feel comfortable and felt like you could at last lower your guard. It was like some kind of superpower, which made him hate her, thus want her more. 

Let's go. Pesto, pineapple, penny, poultry, pandemonium. He got it by the balls.

-Hmmm. Oh yeah! Yeah, I know which bar you're talking about, I totally remember the waitress. Jugs like water balloons, sign of the Mediterranean beauty. -"Well it turns out two can play this game, poo face.", he thought, trying to repress a huge grin that was starting to spread on his face.

Oh boy. Motherhood, measles, menace, mesmerize, muppet. The stupid brat knew what her weak link was, had hit home and was well aware of it.

-Well that is both a highly sophisticated and an accurate remark, I gotta say. I'm still looking for the name of the establishment, however, so please save me the rest of the exquisite boob-related comparisons you undoubtedly have in stock for now. -She noticed how her sarcastic comment had accidentally leaked just the right amount of outrage that she was beginning to feel, so she swore to herself once or twice and immediately steered the conversation's wheel to a safer end.- Anyway. Nevermind, I'll Google it.

Just say it woman, say the word.

-Okay, well sorry I wasn't of much help tonight. I was actually falling asleep when you called, so. -You filthy liar.

-Doesn't matter. I'm going to bed too. Good night! -Awesome. One more horny sleepless night to be added to the hardcore porn collection that had been decorating her mind for some time now.

And I say folks, let's all give it up for the era of communication.