“Here :)”
That was it.
No “looking forward to it.”
No compliments.
Only the word here, and a smiley face.
Blair stared at the screen. She could cancel, order tacos instead, watch bad horror movies, and pretend this year didn’t exist.
Instead, she took a deep breath, threw on her coat, and muttered,
“Let’s go get disappointed.”
Again.
Maya’s voice crackled through the speaker as Blair applied her lipstick like it might shield her from disappointment.
“Wait, before you go,” Maya said. “Try it.”
Blair arched a brow. “Try what? Not sleeping with emotionally constipated men?”
“Manifesting, bitch. It’s trending again. You write a list, light a candle, say what you want out loud, and boom. Magic, or algorithm, or whatever. The universe delivers.”
Blair snorted. “The last thing the universe delivered me was BV and a playlist of sad indie covers.”
Maya was unfazed. “Still, say it out loud, what do you want?”
Blair stared at her reflection. The black corset had her girls perking up, and snatched in that little extra weight around her middle. Cat eye-sharp enough to kill a man-just like Taylor Swift had taught her. Her hazel eyes held the ghost of one too many letdowns behind them.
“I want,” she hesitated. “I just want someone who doesn’t make me feel like a placeholder.”
Maya nodded. “Good. And?”
“And maybe, good sex.”
“Thank you,” Maya said, raising her mug like a toast. “Now write it down. Or whisper it to your houseplants. Or throw glitter in the toilet. Just try.”
Blair rolled her eyes, grabbing her keys. “Spells, prayers, manifesting. It’s all the same. And none of it’s ever worked for getting me good sex.”
She clicked off the call before Maya could argue.
Then, just before she walks out,
She grabbed her bag, muttered, “Amen to poor judgment,” and stepped into the night like a woman headed straight for karmic chaos.
She didn’t know it yet, but the universe was finally listening.
* * *
And that’s how she ended up here after all. Life, bad choices, and karma, probably. The stupid text had come in. The low effort alone should’ve stopped her, but the thing about having low self-esteem? It makes one hell of a wing woman for bad decisions.
She slid into the Civic, instantly hit with a scent cocktail of Monster energy drinks, vape juice, and male entitlement. There was a faint undertone of Axe body spray and something sour, like old gym socks fermenting under the seat.
The passenger seat was shoved forward to make room for the backseat gym he lived out of. Crumpled hoodies, protein bar wrappers, a resistance band, and for somereason one single Croc.
He drove them somewhere romantic, as he called it; really, it was just some parking lot in a local park. They didn’t even get out of the car to enjoy it. It was too bad, because in the Midwest, fall is one of the most beautiful times to go exploring.
