‘It isn’t,’ she tells me without missing a beat. ‘Go, wash your hair, cake on some make-up, put on something sexy and just… try to have a good time?’
‘I will try,’ I promise her. ‘I mean it, I really will, I’ll give this one a go.’
‘Texting you the deets – and the confidence boost – right now,’ she replies.
As soon as we hang up the call I spring to action. I mean, she’s gone to all this trouble, and I know she really does want what’s best for me. I should go, try to have a nice time, and know that if I don’t, well, I can tell her ‘I told you so’, and she owes me.
As I go through the motions of washing and drying my hair, I try to remember what happened on my last date. Was it the guy from Matcher, who spent forty-five minutes talking about cryptocurrencies and NFTs, or maybe it was the bloke I met at my cousin’s birthday party who took me to Nando’s and told me he’s a flat-earther while we waited for our food to arrive? Obviously I stayed, I had food on the way, but I made my excuses as soon as I had finished, then dropped off the face of the earth. Pun intended.
When you think about those two, how bad can this guy be? He’d have to be a murderer or something to be worse than the guys I’ve dated in recent years.
I reach for my tea mug before reminding myself that it’s cold and grim – sort of like my love life. I’d better not make myself another one; I’ll get too cosy, and then I definitely won’t want to go anywhere.
I shake my head as I open my wardrobe. Has it really come to this?
I think about what JJ said – short, tight, low, red. I don’t think I own anything red, tight I can do (although not intentionally) and, I don’t know – could I achieve short and low by wearing something upside down?
Jokes aside, I do have a black strapless dress, which is kind of short, although not that low. It will have to do, or I’ll be late. Actually, I should check the time.
I grab my phone to see the details have come through from JJ, as promised, and if I leave soon I’ll be right on time. She’s also asked for a selfie, so she can approve my outfit. Don’t laugh, but I’m going to yank my neckline down a little, for the photo – yes, I’m sending my bestie and agent a sexy selfie – so that she thinks it’s more her cup of tea than mine. But, as I said, mine are generally cold.
I can also see that I have a message from Andy, saying that he’s alive, but so busy. That’s fine. I expected that. Plus, I’m sure that if he were here, he’d be making fun of me for going on a blind date. He’d probably try – and succeed – at talking me out of it, offering me a night of eating pizza and playing video games instead. I wouldn’t take much convincing.
A reply comes through from JJ.
JJ
Well, she approves of my outfit at least.
JJ
Don’t be late!
Whitney
I won’t, I’m nearly ready.
JJ
And Whit, remember…
I chew my lip as I stare at my phone, waiting for her next message to come through.
JJ
Do NOT spend the night talking about your book!!!!
Jeez, what does she take me for? Does she really think that’s all I think about? All I care about? Yes, it’s pretty high up the list, but I’m perfectly capable of going on normal dates and being a normal human.
Even if it is only to prove a point.
5
‘I’m obsessing over the meet-cute – I must have rewritten it a hundred times – trying to strike that fine balance of giving readers what they want, but not doing something that’s been done a thousand times. Like, I don’t know, a caffeine-induced collision in a coffee shop. So, something different, but similar, something…’
Yeah, okay, you’ve got me. I promised JJ that I wouldn’t talk about my book and here I am, talking about my book, but the man sitting opposite me, the man JJ has set me up with, is Pete, aka bestselling crime writer Peter Flack. I have a seasoned author in front of me – how am I supposed to not pick his brains? Especially when so far all I’ve done is blabber on about being a writer myself, and seemingly show him that I can’t even finish a sentence.
‘Caffeine-induced collision?’ he asks with a vague sort of chuckle.
