Monday, January 31, 2005

My digits, not yours

I watched a man hit on my wife today. We went to the food court at the mall to get something to eat and I went to the restroom. When I came back out I got in line at the Cajun place to get us something to eat. I had glanced around and spotted her at the sunglass kiosk trying on different pairs. That’s when the Oshman’s poster boy walked by.

He literally stopped dead in his tracks, looked over his shoulder at her, then walked backwards to stand beside her. I moved up in line then turned back to watch him glance back and forth between Jazz and the glasses until he built up the nerve to speak to her.

I’ll be damned. He’s making a move. She still had on her leather jacket which is too bulky for anyone to notice her belly barely poking out.

He tried on a pair then I assume asked her opinion. I saw her shake her head then offer him a different pair.

“Sir? Your order?”

Fuck. I asked for two Cajun chicken meals with a coke and a water and tossed a ten onto the counter so I could get back to my spying. The Oshman’s boy was sliding a pair of sunglasses onto Jasmine’s face. I froze. And when he pushed her hair back I think my aorta ruptured from the pressure.

“Sir?”

Goddamn nagging little prick! “What?”

“Your order’s ready.”

“That’s dandy. Thank you.”

I took the food and dropped it less than gently on the table then plopped my ass into the chair and simmered. I know she can handle him herself. But it damn sure would feel good to shove my knee in his gut. He’s not her type anyway. Tall, blonde, kinda lean, outdoorsy Brad Pitt look. Nobody really likes that shit. Isn’t there a soccer game somewhere he needs to be warming up for?

She put her sunglasses back on the rack and went to walk off when he grabbed her hand. I stood up. She said something to him, gave him a smile he damn well didn’t deserve, and walked in my general direction.

Mr. Oshman’s hadn’t left the sunglass kiosk. He was watching her walk away and as she got closer to the table he spotted me. That motherfucker and I made eye contact.

I sat down before Jasmine noticed me watching her. She gave me a kiss and sat down, then started eating like nothing at all had happened.

“Some guy asked for my number.”

Son of a bitch. And damn he’s fast. I was conflicted between hating him and admiring his speed all at once. Took me over two fucking years to ask Jasmine out while Mr. Jock Strap did it in 2 minutes. He must be on crack. “Really? I’m not surprised.”

She grinned. “Were you jealous?”

I shrugged and took a swallow of my coke. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Liar.”

Oh, now she’s gonna question my honesty. It doesn’t matter that I’m lying. She should believe what I say just because I say it, dammit. “Jazz, I came out of the restroom, got the food and sat down. I never noticed you over there.”

That’s when she pointed at the kiosk. “I watched you in the mirror. Lie to me again and see what I do.”

And though I suspect she was being light-hearted, I was too scared to ask.