“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “Why would you even want him to? He breaks your heart and then clicks his fingers, and what, you’re supposed to fall straight back into his arms?”
“We’ve been together for six years, Avril. He was going through something and needed to find himself. Relationships aren’t all rosy, things get hard sometimes, and you need to support your partner through the challenges.”
“He hasn’t been finding himself, he’s been finding out what other vaginas feel like.”
“Not helping,” I snap.
“Besides,” she points at me with her spoon, “is he supporting his partner? What support has he given your poor broken heart?
“Look, I’ve made a promise to myself that if he doesn’t want to talk about recommitting to our relationship at the wedding, then that’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“I’m moving on.”
“With the hot cop?”
I sip my coffee as I let my mind wander to Dylan for a moment. “He felt familiar.”
“Hot familiar?” Avril teases.
“Definitely hot.”
“You should ask him out.”
I smile, wouldn’t that be something. “I don’t have his number even if I wanted to.”
Avril shrugs, “You never know, maybe he’ll pop up again one day.”
“Maybe.” I sip my coffee with a shrug.
But deep down, I know I’ll probably never see him again.
The music is loud, and the cocktails are delicious, the girls and I have had the best time. It’s Saturday night and we’ve been dancing, laughing, and telling lies to poor unsuspecting men. My name is Ursula, and I’m happily married. Avril is now a brain surgeon, and Macey is a stripper; our fake identities are so much more fun than our real ones.
Men are so gullible, or maybe they aren’t and just like the game.
It’s 4 a.m. and we are on our way home in an Uber, the three of us are jammed into the backseat.
“My feet are so screwed.” Macey winces as she takes her shoe off. “I think my pinkie toe is back on the dancefloor.”
I giggle and look out the window as the car pulls up to a set of traffic lights.
My eyes roam over the people on the packed sidewalk and then I see him, standing on the curb talking to a group of men. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt; he mustn’t be working.
“Dylan.”
“Who?” Avril frowns.
“The hot cop.”
“Where?”
“Just there.” Before I know it, I’m winding down the window. “Dylan,” I call.
He glances up and smiles broadly, he comes bounding out into three lanes of traffic and over to my window. “The beautiful Zoe.” He takes my hand through the window and lifts it to his lips and kisses the back of it. “We meet again, off the clock this time.”
I smile goofily up at the god.
