“You look hot,” he tells me, eyes roaming up and down appreciatively. “Am I gonna need to stop by girls’ night and make sure no one tries to pick you up?” He shoots me a wink.
“You’re going to need to get the kids bathed and showered, Brad and Ford through their homework, obviously feed them, all four of them to bed, and the house picked up is what you’re gonna need to do.”
His face pulls at the chill in the air around me. The way I’m not giving in to his flirty bullshit.That’s right, Chance. I’m not two-stepping at your little hoe-down tonight.We’re back tomyrules, buddy.
“I know how to take care of our children for one night, Chrissy, I have them to myself practically every weekend when you have clients. What the fuck?”
My heart cracks at the confusion, the hurt on his face, like the fact that I have to lay out for him the basic steps of a night of being a parent insults the very core of his being, his soul.
Some small part of me recognizes that he does this routine damn near every night with them, plenty of times without me even present, but logic isn’t the main driver in my head tonight. My heart is. And she’s full of passion, spice, and spite, and she’s got a thirsty appetite for avenging me where I’ve been slighted.
It’s been a while since I let her have free reign.
She’s taking the wheel tonight.
“I’ll be back.”
And I’m gone.
* * *
“C or larger cup size,only. No flat asses or saggy tits, please. Must love Creed, have a fondness for reptiles of all kinds, know how to cook at least three different types of cuisine, and make close to six figures, ideally more.”
Howls and peals of laughter erupt around the table. My sister’s raucous one, Lola’s uninhibited guffaw, and Ellie’s softer giggle. I wish Roxanne had been able to make it tonight, but it was too short notice for her.
Jenny, my older sister by five years, holds up her phone to show us the offending poster’s photo and the cackling at the table reaches an inappropriate volume, but I can’t even be sorry for the other patrons around us.
Like his misogynistic, dillhole post looking for a partner wasn’t bad enough, his picture is not making it any better. This guy doesnothave his pick of women. Let’s just say, twenty years from now, if there’s a Netflix documentary made about what he keeps in his basement, I won’t be surprised.
“Well, I fit two of his criteria,” drawls Ellie. That chest of hers iswaybigger than a C-cup, and her bank account is just as thick.
“Fuck, I don’t fit any!” Jenny practically screeches.
“Look at this one!”
Lola is laughing so hard she can hardly get the words out, tears rolling down her face.
“Just a Fabio looking for his leading lady who wants her bodice ripped off.”
The picture of this one bears an alarming resemblance to that guy fromNapoleon Dynamite,the gif of the scrawny kid with glasses and a mustache pumping his fist in celebration, you know the one.
Jenny does a double take, then shrugs with her face.
“Send that one to me, I like his sense of humor. I’d give him a shot.” A shoulder pops up in nonchalance.
Ellie’s head drops into her arms, which are folded on the table, her body wracking with silent laughter.
The two single ladies at the table—my sister, the perpetual spinster, and Lola, the divorcee who’s navigating the dating scene after forty—have been regaling us with horror stories from the singles groups they’re in on social media, showing us some of the best (aka worst) posts they’ve seen lately.
“I swear to God,” Lola starts, knocking her glass back and draining the last of her margarita. The ice hits her in the face as she gets the last few drops out, but she isn’t fazed. “Randall was a two by the end of our marriage, but I would’ve kept sucking that sad whiskey dick for years if it kept me out of this CESSPOOL that is dating in the modern age.” Her voice raises on the word, drawing a few suspicious eyes, but none of us bother quieting down.
This is girls’ night, and it’s so fucking overdue.
“It’s a literal shit show.” Lola throws her arms in the air in exasperation. “Like at this point, I could start an OnlyFans with the number of dick pics I have saved on my phone. It’s gotten to the point where when I get an unsolicited one sent to me, I just pick a prettier one from my camera roll and send it right back. Make ’em feel bad about their lil’ shrimp dick.”
Ellie is wiping tears from her eyes, and when we share a glance, I think we’re both pretty glad we’re not wading in those waters right now.
“It. Is. Hopeless. Out here,” Jenny agrees solemnly. “I don’t even bother trying. At least you still have that bit of hope, Lolita. I know there’s nothing out there for me. I’m just looking to get mine wherever I can now. I actually won’t go on a dateunlesshe’s sent me a dick pic and I know what he’s working with. My hopes are so fucking low, that if I’m not even going to get one decent night with him, I don’t bother.”
