“We’re just meeting, Aldo. I don’t think we can say I’m yours… or anyone’s.”
“Meeting’s all it takes for people like us.”
“Oh-kay.”
His smile turns predatory. “So… blood ritual now, during sex, or after?”
Mona snorts and coughs to hide her laughter, but I can only stare in horror. I don’t think a single one of these men actually reads romance books. They just do a quick google search and make assumptions.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not yours, Aldo. And I’d like to never see you again.”
“But, Holly—”
“No bodily fluid exchanges. Ever. Bye.”
I shove Mona outside and down the block while she cackles.
“This is your fault,” I growl at her.
“You joined the stupid thing. Don’t get mad at me for finally getting something out of it.”
Glaring, I shake my head. “Yeah? And what are you getting out of it?”
“Fun.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, walking off.
“You love me!” she calls. “Guess we’re done for the night? Guess I’ll walk home alone. See you tomorrow. Unless I get kidnapped and murdered!”
She’s more than capable of walking to her apartment alone. But I can’t help myself. I turn and call out, “Don’t tease me like that!”
Feedback
Celebrity…
Ilook at my phone, and I’m annoyed. Ken hasn’t reached out more than a couple of texts telling me that he’s been busy with his new store, but he promises to text me later.
Then doesn’t.
Thankfully, my Celebrity date is here to distract me. I’m about done with these dates, and I vow to never let Mona have access to my phone ever again. This is just getting ridiculous.
Wade B. claims to be a celebrity, but I don’t recognize him from his profile picture. Without last names, it’s difficult to research too much.
The only celebrities I found online that match his name were Wade Boggs and Wade Barrett. One is a nearly seventy-year-old baseball player my brother was obsessed with, and the other is a forty-something former WWE wrestler.
But that’s not to say I didn’t search for smaller, lesser-known celebrities. I don’t know of any influencers named Wade, but I’m not big on following anyone on social media who isn’t a singer, actor, or someone I personally know.
We decided to meet at a coffee shop, and when I see a man crouched down with a Yankees cap pulled low, I assume it’s him. When I approach, he seems nice enough—at the very least, he seems harmless.
We walk up to the front, and he keeps his voice low. “Coffee. Black. Name’s Wade. And yes, I’mthatone. But keep it quiet.”
The barista looks at me, and I just shrug. He may be harmless, but I think he’s going to be annoying.
Thanks, Mona.
“I’ll take a vanilla latte,” I say. “Thank you.”
Wade pulls out a leather wallet and pays with cash. Points for chivalry. I didn’t have to pay for his coffee.
