“God, you’re soaked. How much coffee was in that thing?” Julia’s smile fades as she dabs a handful of paper towels over my soaked clothes. “You’re not going to make happy hour tonight because of this, are you?” She sighs low, “You would have probably hated me for this but I asked Nate to make sure he brings one of his friends tonight. Someone good-looking for you to maybe get to know.”
Richie the intern slithers out of the cubicle coffee accident and disappears down the hallway, like a hit-and-run.
“Well,” I say, slowly spinning around. “Look at me, do I look nice enough to be set up on a date?” I laugh, but it’s fake because her setting me up with someone means she doesn’t actually believe I’ll ever find Mr. Perfect again.
“Stop. You would look cute with shit slathered all over you.”
“That’s a weird thing to say, but intriguing. How would I have gotten slathered in shit, I wonder?”
Julia pouts. And dabs. Pouts and dabs.
“This is pretty uncomfortable, though. It was a caramel latte. Extra caramel. My pants are sticking to my thighs right now.” I slide my bag off the floor and waddle to the elevators like a wet duck. “Why don’t you tell Nate and his friend I say, maybe next time? I’m not even going to attempt the train like this. I’m taking a cab home. Text me when you get in later, okay?”
She nods as I step onto the elevator. I wave back as the door slides closed.
It’s six o’clock when I get home. I head straight for the shower and step under the warm spray with my sticky clothes still on.
When I’m done, I walk around the apartment in my pajamas thumbing through my bookshelf. Thank God there’s still a half bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in the fridge from the night before. After I pour myself a glass, I pick a romance from off the shelf and start a relationship with a new fictional character.
Before I start, I post an artsy photo of the book in my hands on Instagram and tag the author.
By the fourth chapter, I’m fast asleep dreaming that Mr. Perfect has taken out a billboard in Times Square searching for his Kiss Cam girl.
Julia never texts me.
Chapter 3
I’ve been at work since six this morning and had two cups of coffee without incident. Today is shaping up to look pretty awesome. I even spent an hour in the break room reading the rest of the novel I fell asleep to last night. It’s steamy and full of angst and I don’t want to put it down.
At precisely five minutes to nine, Julia hurries in, looking sexy and disheveled. I’m not certain how she always pulls it off, but she should share her secret with us regular women, or at least bottle it for us. She’d make millions.
“Okay, number one. Why did you come in so early? Mornings are whores.” I almost lose my coffee through my nose. “And two, Nate was called to the meeting this morning so you’ll finally get to meet him. He came by last night after happy hour andmy Godthe sex was incredible. I don’t think I slept a wink. Do I look fully fucked?” She does a little princess twirl. And a weird stripper move.
“You are kind of glowing,” I admit, happy for her.
“Five orgasms. I had five in one night. I think I want to marry this one!”
Five in one night? I don’t think I’ve had five in the same year. Strike that, I KNOW I’ve never had anything close to that.And marriage? I have only ever heard her speak of the scandalousMword once before, with her ex, Pierre Auden Luc who is some crazy rich prince from some far-off country. They were supposed to have gotten married, but somehow it didn’t work out. She never did tell me the story, but I do know every so often she goes away for the weekend and comes back with an expensive piece of jewelry and a sparkle in her eye.
What a charmed life.
“Shit, come on. We’re going to be late,” Julia says, yanking me down the hallway by the elbow toward the conference room.Thank God I already put my coffee down.
I stumble on my heels and laugh. “We have five minutes. It’s not going to take five minutes to get down to the end of the hallway,” I say, thumbing a social media post about the dangers of stilettos and being late. The hallway smells strangely like a tuna sandwich—one that had been left out overnight—in the heat. It wasn’t like that when I came in this morning. I narrow my eyes at Julia, “Did you bring tuna for lunch?”
“Ew. No. Just hurry up. Gail is going through pitches and Ineedto get the interview with that hockey player and his sex tape.”
I stagger by the conference room door and dig my heels in to the rug, “What?” I ask under my breath, watching everyone’s eyes lift in our direction. “You don’t even like hockey.”
“I like him and I know all about sex and tape,” she whispers, giving me a wink and pushing me through the doorway. “And I’m dying to talk to him about how hepucks.”
I can’t help but laugh. That’s so Julia. I’d bet she’ll bepuckinghim twenty minutes after the interview ends. There would definitely be a video and plenty use of tape or rope or whatever crazy, kinky thing she could come up with. The poor guy won’t be able to sit for days after. But she seems to be totally into this five-in-one-night Nate guy. So many men to choose from, and plenty of time.
If only I had those kinds of problems.
I laugh under my breath as we linger just inside the conference room. She changes the conversation back to her five orgasms and how to get a guy to marry you. She can’t stop talking about it, him, the five orgasms and wanting to get married. I’ve never heard her say she wanted a serious relationship before. She sounds hooked. “Please don’t tell him everything I’m saying, though, okay? I know how nuts I sound. But honestly? I camefive timesinone night.”
“I won’t say a word about your craziness, I swear.” I pretend to zip my lips to prove my seriousness of this conversation. “He’ll find that out all on his own.”
