Aside from being moderately attractive, all of the guys I’ve talked to have been too grabby or too drunk or way too eager. Not once have I even considered picking one for practice sex. I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I did not think it would be this hard to even find anoptionto get back on the proverbial horse with. I haven’t even had the chance to be nervous about my elevator pitch I rehearsed.
Maybe my standards are too high? I really don’t think they are.
Although…
It’s possible Clark Kent from a few weeks ago has set an unfairly high bar in terms of looks. Sometimes I think I made him up. Like my brain needed something else to focus on that day and delivered what I would consider a perfect specimen to obsess over for a little while.
Why can’t he be here tonight?
It comes out as another whine in my head and I almost physically pout just thinking it. I know it’s still early, but I’m feeling so hopeless I might call it a night. Too bad my fancy matching lingerie is going to waste. At least I got to show off my new chunky thrifted boots. I kick them out from my stool to admire them. Guess I should tell Dev I’m ready to go.
I’m startled from my personal boot-admiring session when the bartender drops two fresh mojitos in front of us.
“From the guys over there,” he says with a quick point to two guys at the other end of the bar. They look mid- to late-twenties, and fine, they’re cute, but there is just something missing. I don’t feel excited looking at either of them. Neither is particularly…superhero-y.
Dammit, Ellie.
Normally there’s at least a little rush of pleasure at the attention when you get hit on, but I now feel so committed tonotpracticing with anyone here that I don’t really feel anything.Well, maybe some frustration at now having to deal with these drinks and those men. I mean, what is the protocol? Do we say thanks and drink them and hope they don’t want some kind of reciprocation? Or do we refuse drinks that have already been set in front of us and look rude?
I feel so out of practice. I know, poor me, getting free drinks. But it feels like a lose-lose when you don’t want the extra drink, the extra attention, or the potential extra responsibility of handling someone’s fragile masculinity.
I look over at Dev so we can game plan, but she’s smiling at one of the guys that sent us the drinks.
Well, then.Guess I’ll be sticking this one out. I follow her lead and hold my drink up in thanks before taking a quick sip and putting it back down. Avoiding eye contact like it’s my job, I grab my phone to check the time. Barely ten. We’ve only been here an hour.
“You trying to go home?” Dev asks me.
I put my phone down and give her an angelic, guilty smile. “That obvious?” I laugh.
“Only to me.” She winks.
“I can just walk home though. You don’t have to bail,” I tell her, feeling bad for cutting her night short too.
“No way, I’m leaving if you do. My bed sounds amazing right now,” she says. “Wanna finish these and then head out?” She lightly shakes the new mojito.
“You’re the best.”
“I know,” she says while she bats her eyelashes dramatically. “So now that you’ve been here for a bit, you still liking the neighborhood? You missing Boston? I’m gonna feel bad if I sold you on Minny and you hate it.”
I laugh at Dev’s nickname for the city. “She’s pretty different from Boston, but it’s been good. Neighborhood’s close to work and takeout options are awesome. Those were my only tworequirements. So check and check.” I joke with her, even though thatismostly what I cared about when choosing a place. “And I miss some specific things, yeah, but it’s okay. Minny treats me well.”
“Okay, phew. I obviously love it here, but I’m biased of course.” Dev’s parents immigrated to Minnesota from India when she was three, so it’s home to her. She only left here for nursing school in Boston, where we met just before we graduated. Once we became friends we both wished we’d gotten closer sooner. “All right, let’s get outta here. Just give me a sec.”
I watch her slam the rest of her drink, get up from her seat, and walk over to the guys who bought them. She pulls out her phone and, presumably, either gets the hotter guy’s number or gives hers to him.
Devna Mathur is a boss.A petite, dark-haired, cute-as-a-button boss. Don’t tell her I said that.
I quickly take a few more sips of my drink and signal to the bartender that I want to close our tab. Dev makes her way back over and starts putting her jacket on while I’m signing. I watch her pull up an app to call a ride on her phone.
“You sure you don’t want to share with me? It’s fucking freezing and I doubt they’d mind dropping you on the way,” Dev offers.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s only a couple blocks.” I grin at her and jerk my chin at the bar. “You gonna call him?”
“Eh, not sure. My vibratorhasbeen a little boring lately,” Dev says as she looks up from her phone at me with a mischievous smile.
I laugh at her candor and feel a swell of warmth that I have a friend like her here. Dev is bold and fun and extremely kind. She often surprises me with her honesty, but I’ve found she’s still never anything but nice.
“You could just get a new toy,” I tell her as I pull on my beanie.
