Wing-Girls

“Hey, over here!” Mars calls out, waving at you from her seat at the table.

You nearly miss her voice over the sudden roar of the crowd as the Tampa Bay Swashbucklers score another touchdown against the Jingoists on the dozen flatscreen TVs hanging from the ceiling. People are cursing, screaming, shaking their fists at the screen, while Valentine is laughing her ass off, watching the others.

“Why’d you two pick a sports bar on a game night to talk?” you ask, coming up to their table and finding a seat.

“We’re sporty gals,” Mars says, snatching up a buffalo wing off the stack on the platter.

“Besides, it’s such delicious fun, watching the Jingos suddenly turn against Tim Bradley,” Valentine adds. “They’re getting a taste of their own medicine, and it’s beautiful.” She gives the air a smacking kiss, fingers unfurling flower-like.

From the side, a grown man sporting a Jingo jersey gives her a deathly glare, but Valentine pays it no mind. She pushes the platter towards you.

“Want a wing? Celery stick? Or maybe one of each, to balance out the tasty with the healthy?”

“Who needs roughage,” you scoff, picking a wing up and taking a bite. It’s hot and juicy, just the way it should be. “So,” you say, through the mouthful of meat. “What was with the sudden text?”

“We’ve been having some trouble…” Mars begins, but Valentine shakes her head.

“You’ve been having some trouble,” she amends.

“It’s been you too,” Mars says. Valentine keeps shaking her head, and you look at them both, wondering what’s up. “Anyways, the point is, we think you could be a good wing-man for us.”

“Why do you need a wing-man?” you wonder.

“Mars was just turned down by a guy she was trying to get with earlier today,” Valentine laughs. “Hence, the panicked text.”

“Hey, you were spurned last night too,” Mars says, sticking up a middle finger at her friend.

“Yeah, but asking Alex for help was one-hundred percent your idea,” Valentine retorts.

There’s a moment of silence as the two of them glare at each other.

“Let me get this straight,” you say, picking up another wing. They’re slathered in a gold-red sauce that makes your mouth burn up, so you’re not exactly articulate in the moment, but you manage get the words out anyways: “You two both… propositioned people? And got turned down? And now you think that I’m supposed to help you… what, become more attractive?”

“Help us get guys,” Val amends. “We’re already as attractive as we can be.”

She says this while biting into another wing, dropping it immediately onto her plate from the spice, her eyes watering up. She curses a fuck! and then picks it up again, finishing off the chicken with a few quick bites.

“Clearly,” you chuckle. “But ah… what’s a man supposed to do to help you out?”

“You know, you go out with us from time to time, and if somebody catches our eye, you go talk to them, put in a good word for us, then we catch their eye, bat our eyelashes, you know how it goes,” Mars says.

“That sounds pretty difficult,” you say, watching the screen as Tim Bradley snaps off another beautiful throw.

“I’m sure you’ll do the job just fine,” Val says, throwing an encouraging arm around you.

“Oh, I think so too,” you say. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t be difficult. As everyone knows, good things in life don’t come for free. I’ll be your wing-man, but there’s got to be a price.”

“If you’re going to ask us to sleep with you…” Valentine begins, but you laugh, shaking your head.

Not today, but maybe later...

“I was going to ask you to return the favor,” you say. “Every time I set you up with some guy, you’ll help me score a girl. I’ll be your wing-man if you’ll be my wing-girls.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Mars says. “I’m in.”

“As am I,” Val says.

“Shake on it?” Mars asks.

“Pinky swear,” Val says. “That’s the way real people make promises.”

Mars laughs, holding out a pinky, and you extend your own, wrapping it around Mars’. Valentine adds hers to the mix, and then she intones in a grave voice: “Do you, Mars, solemnly swear to be a good wing-girl for Alex?”

“I do,” Mars says, looking you in the eye. Then, in a similarly serious voice, she says: “Do you, Valentine, solemnly swear to be a good wing-girl for Alex?”

“I do,” she says, grinning that sharp smile of hers. It makes you wonder if you’ve missed a loophole or something, but that’s not really the point of this, is it?

“And do you, Alex, solemnly swear to be a good wing-girl for both me and Mars?” the girls both say in sync, only slightly stumbling over each other’s words.

“I do,” you say.

“Then it is decided,” Mars says.

The holy moment is held for a moment, the mutual agreement made and sworn to. Is this the key that you’ve been missing to converting all those niceties you’ve accumulated into real progress towards your Freshman Fifteen?

“Fuck yes!” Val suddenly shouts, and you look at her, surprised, until you realise that the Swashbucklers have just gone up another seven points, accompanied by the groans of most in the crowd.

Mars +15
Valentine +15