Boy meets girl, girl falls in love, blah-blah-blah.
Let me be clear with you from the beginning. This is not that kind of story.
My name is Cait, and I live in the great city of New York. Okay, so maybe I've only lived here for a week and a half...
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When I got home, Val greeted me enthusiastically as I handed her the venti caramel frappuccino she begged me to bring home for her. We normally tried to avoid the sugary drinks at work, opting for plain coffee or lattes instead, but our air conditioner broke the previous weekend and desperate times called for desperate measures.
"You're a lifesaver," Val professed, taking a long drink of the whipped cream-coated frappuccino. "I couldn't bring myself to put on real clothes in this heat."
I laughed, "You mean you didn't want to move on your day off."
"That's the same thing," she quipped back at me.
Her dark hair was pulled up in a lazy bun, and she was wearing a ratty pair of sweatpants that she'd converted into shorts last summer. She was wearing a stained Maroon 5 concert t-shirt that she continually fanned away from her body in the sticky heat of our tiny five hundred square foot apartment.
Kicking off my shoes, I traded my jeans and t-shirt for shorts and a yellow tank top before stretching out on the floor next to the love seat. The temperature had spiked today, reaching 91 degrees, making the city a hot and smelly place. Val had already turned on a box fan, using it to blow semi-cool air throughout our apartment, but I actually enjoyed the heat. Being a Texas girl, this was nothing compared to the summers in Austin.
"Do you want to go salsa dancing tonight?" Val asked from where she had resumed her perch on the love seat. She was surrounded by nail polish bottles, and she was currently painting her toenails a vibrant shade of peach.
"No," I answered automatically, laying flat on my back on the hardwood floors and enjoying the warmth. "I don't dance, Val."
She whined, "Come on, Cait. I need you to come with me! You can teach me dirty words in Spanish to help me pick up a hot guy."
"Nope," I laughed. "I tried to teach you Spanish once before, and you told Mrs. Sanchez that she smelled wonderful and asked what ham she used."
"In my defense, jabón and jamón are fairly similar," Val argued.
"You said you hated her," I argued.
Val sighed, "So I may or may not have realized in the middle of talking that I didn't know how to say "smell," so I went with odor and tried to improvise. She shouldn't have taken it so personally."
I giggled, rolling onto my side and looking up at her, "I rest my case. No more Spanish lessons for you."
"Fine," she pouted, focusing on her toenails. "But no staying home and re-watching Mr. Holland's Opus."
"What?!" I cried as I pushed myself upright. "It's such a good movie! There's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to watch it."
Val lifted an eyebrow, "So you were planning on watching it?"
