Shelley:I swear, I just want one good date. Just one. Is that really so much to ask?
Me:I’d like to say no, but the evidence is not on my side.
Shelley:Jordaaaan!
I laugh because I can almost hear her pouty whine through the phone screen. Jake stirs, so I take my phone into my room, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer on my way, to continue this conversation with more privacy.
Shelley:It’s me, isn’t it? I’m the common denominator in all these situations. Tell me what I’m doing wrong. I can take it. (Probably.)
Me:No way. Not falling into that trap. Maybe reframe and be glad you dodged a bullet?
Shelley: A bullet would at least make me feel something.
Time to switch this to a face-to-face conversation. I press the video call icon next to her name. She picks up, looking surprised.
“Talking about bullets earns you a courtesy check,” I tell her.
She smiles and rolls her eyes as she props her phone up on a piece of furniture, changing the angle. “Completely unnecessary, and also I’d like to point out you’re the one who brought up the bullet, but the well-check is appreciated nonetheless.”
“Just had to see for myself.”
“Well, here I am.” She waves a hand up and down her body, and my eyes scan to follow it. It’s obvious she put a lot of effort into getting ready for this date. Her hair is hanging down her shoulders in loose curls, and a tight, long-sleeved red dress hugs her curves. She’s wearing a little bit of eye makeup, but the rest of her face looks natural. Even though I can’t smell her, I remember her light floral scent from the hotel room. My body stirs to attention at the memory.
“You should go back out and take yourself on the kind of date you want. You look great. Don’t waste all that effort on some loser. Do it for you.”
She sighs. “I know you’re right, and I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s late and I’m tired. Plus, I think I would just feel pathetic and lonely knowing I’m only out on my own because I got rejectedagain.”
The implication that I was the last person who made her feel this way stings, but we both know there were legitimate reasons for that. It’s baffling how anyone else could ever walk away from her.
“Take me with you, then.” The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about them. When she scrunches her brow, I clarify, “I’ll stay on the phone. You won’t be alone.”
“Surely, you have something better to do tonight than babysit me.”
I really don’t. “Sadly, no. Just icing my elbow. And I was planning to binge some old sitcom reruns. This will be way more entertaining.” She narrows her eyes at me, but I push a little more because I get the sense she needs it. “Go on. You know you want to.”
She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth as she considers. “Honestly? I’d rather just get out of this dress. Shapewear is not for the weak. Excuse me a second.”
She repositions the phone to face the opposite wall as she walks toward her closet, which I can see in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall her phone is now facing. I cough to try to get her attention, but she’s too far away to hear me.
I try not to watch as Shelley peels off her dress, revealing a matching black lace bra and panty set, along with some tight contraption around her middle, which does look really uncomfortable. It’s fastened with about a dozen tiny hooks, and it takes her a few minutes to twist it around and unhook them all. She moans in relief as it falls away, and even though I don’t have a full view of her front, I strongly consider moving the ice from my elbow down to my lap.
When she reaches behind her back to unhook her bra, I speak up again. “I can see you, Shelley.”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and she bites the corner of her smile. If she didn’t already know, she does now, and she’s teasing me on purpose. Little brat. I put my hand over my eyes, peeking only a little as she slides on a silky tank top. Then she pulls on a pair of pastel sleep shorts covered in rubber ducks. She walks toward her phone and my eyes lock on the two hard peaks visible through the fabric of her shirt until her face is in full view again.
“Do you want to walk me through what else happened on this date?” I ask, pushing through the lump in my throat and trying to be here for myfriend.
“Um, okay. If you think that will help. But I’m telling you, it was a disaster.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t all bad. Start at the beginning.”
“We met at the restaurant, and it was your typical second date. I’d met him for coffee once before. There was small talk, I tried to start up a little bit of banter, but he didn’t really seem to get my jokes.”
I ignore the pang of discomfort I feel at the thought of this idiot getting a second date from her. “What kind of jokes were you making?”
“Good ones, obviously.”
“Like what? I’m trying to figure out if he’s as dumb as I think he is.”
