Getting changed as quickly as I could, I clipped on her lead, and we headed out. The sun was sinking rapidly behind the clouds, casting the city in a soft glow. As we strolled down the street, Roxy sniffing at any lamppost within reach, I pulled out my phone and clicked on the dating app.
I’d selected the most modest photos of myself, notwanting to attract the wrong kind of guys, and kept my bio short and simple.
A few guys had messaged. Most were the same generichi.Putting the ball back in my court to make all the effort. God,men were so lazy.I scrolled through until one caught my eye.
There were no fish or shirtless pictures in his profile, and he actually started the conversation by asking me how I was. It wasn’t the most original conversation starter, but he seemed genuine. And his cheekbones rivalled Timothée Chalamet’s, so that was a bonus.
Roxy halted next to a small tree, looking back at me. Her ears perked, and her head tilted.
‘You think this is a good idea?’ I waved my phone in her direction. ‘I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s one date.’
Predictably, Roxy didn’t answer. Head cocking from side to side as she did her best to understand me. Deciding to give up, she locked eyes with me and squatted to shit.
My nose scrunched up. An unsettling sense of apprehension pinching my ribs. ‘That’s not a good omen.’
8
‘That’s good, pretty, but sensible.’
My eyes narrowed on the phone perched on top of my dresser.
‘Since when was sensible a good thing?’ The pair of high-waisted black jeans clung tightly to my hips. I rotated, looking at myself from all angles in the mirror with a growing frown.
‘Since you’re desperately trying to avoid getting a tattoo.’ The amount of unrestrained glee in Fallon’s voice was unsettling. After chatting to a guy on the dating app over the last couple of days, I’d quickly arranged a date—the sooner, the better—and thankfully, he wasn’t put off by my eagerness and had agreed to a date the very next night. I still wasn’t sure if how easily he agreed was a good thing or not. In a couple of hours, I would find out.
The white button-down blouse was precisely what she’d said. Sensible.
‘No. I look like a nun about to take her vows.’
‘Not sure nuns wear jeans so tight you could see your flaps,’ Fallon pointed out, taking a sip ofcoffee. She was sitting at a kitchen counter, her pink hair piled up in a loose bun on top of her head.
‘Excuse me, my flaps are perfectly tucked.’
‘Lucky,’ Fallon grumbled. ‘I get carpet burns when I get out of bed too quickly.’
I removed the matronly blouse and spun around to my bed, where half of my closet lay in disorganized clumps. Roxy sprawled on top of half of them, on her back with her legs in the air, fast asleep.
‘Ah, this is the one.’ Holding the piece of material aloft in triumph, I unbuttoned my jeans to change into the bodysuit.
‘That one is the opposite of sensible.’ Fallon rolled her eyes.
‘Then it suits me perfectly.’ Tugging back on my jeans, I waltzed over to the mirror. This time, the reflection staring back at me felt more recognisable. A strapless, black lace bodysuit with a sweetheart neckline that made my ample chest look incredible. With the right understated jewellery, it was the ideal first-date outfit.
‘When are you coming back?’ I came over to the dresser where my phone rested and put in some simple gold earrings. ‘A week was long enough. We’re edging towards ten days. You need to come back now.’
A light laugh worked its way up her throat. ‘It’s not my fault the club had signed Oliver up for a bunch of speaking engagements.’
‘Excuse me, but your boyfriend is a multi-millionaire. I’m sure he could have figured out how to get you home.’
‘He’s not Batman, Rosie.’
‘He wishes,' I murmured. Taking the piss out of her boyfriend wasn’t unfamiliar territory for us, and Oliver gave as good as he got. When Fallon’s eyes darted to the side and her forehead creased, I froze.
‘What’s wrong?’
Her eyes snapped back to mine, hearing the anxiety in my question. She forced a small smile to her face, and in a voice far too high-pitched, she said, ‘Nothing.’ Without pausing for me to dissect her forced nonchalance, she continued, ‘Look, we’ll be back two days, and since you booked us both in for yoga, for god knows what reason?—’
‘I’m trying on the health and fitness aesthetic. And if I’m going to look like an idiot, you’re doing it with me,' I cut in. It had been an impulsive idea to sign up for a yoga class—another decision I made after too much scrolling Instagram late at night when I couldn’t sleep.
