‘Not ones I want to date.’
‘Not true. What about the guy you introduced me to last year—the one who looked like Clark Kent? God, what was his name again?’
‘Troy,’ I supply. ‘And I can’t believe I went to the trouble of introducing you to a completely nice, not to mention hot, man when you were already in love with Keir. Sneaky much?’
‘What can I say? I thought I was protecting my heart.’
‘More like fooling yourself. We’ve all been there,’ says Ella.
‘Why don’t you ask him out? Or get hot Tate’s number?’ Paisley’s eyes slide to the bar, her eyes sparkling with mischief and her fingernails twirling the straw in her glass.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I just want my orgasm back. And maybe a baby sometime in the not too distant future. There, I said it. Admitted it to myself. Time is a-ticking, and I’m tired of waiting for the right man to come along. Besides, the right man is a unicorn—a mythical beast. ‘Who’d want to marry someone who does what I do for a living?
‘Who said anything about marriage?’Oops. A slight Freudian slip. ‘We’re talking dating here. And if porn stars can find partners, you sure as hell can.’
‘Really? You make me sound as appealing as a tin of Spam.’
‘What about online dating?’ Ella asks.
‘Tried it.’ I shrug. ‘It’s like that adage; the odds are good, but the goods are odd. Or married.’ Yep, that happened one time.
‘When did you try online dating.’
‘Before we met. In fact, I found Jesus there.’ Both women laugh as I slip my clutch onto the table from the empty space on the booth next to me. ‘It’s true,’ I say, pulling out my phone to show them the snapshot of the profile of the Spanish model I’d dated early last year. I saydatedbut banged for three days straight would be a better description. It was a three-day weekend.‘His name is pronouncedJesús, but whatever.’
‘Swipe right if you need Jesus in you,’ Ella reads from the snapshot. ‘Oh my God, talk about talking yourself up. What a chancer!’
‘I can’t say I found redemption, but he nailed me well and good.’
‘Oh, the puns!’ Ella cries, clutching the blouse covering her ample chest. ‘The puns!’
‘He’s seriously hot.’ Paisley looks up from my phone. ‘What happened with him?’
‘I decided I couldn’t date a man who uses more hair product than I do.’ And that’s saying something because curly locks are no joke. Unimpressed, she shoots me herbullshitlook. ‘He was just a bit of fun,’ I add with a tight shrug. ‘We found we weren’t really compatible on our next date. Young, dumb, and full of...’
‘Eww!’ Paisley protests.
‘I was going to sayfun.’ My words are a touch smug as I pick up my glass. Ours wasn’t a meaningful connection.
‘Sure, you were,’ she responds, using the same superior tone. ‘But why is this just a screenshot? I can’t see the app on your phone?’
‘Jesús, María y José!’ I exclaim, taking my phone from her hand. ‘Nosy much? I no longer have the app because I no longer date online. I deleted it after getting this close’—I bring my forefinger and thumb together, leaving a tiny space between—‘to screwing a married man.’
I take a fortifying sip of my drink. I’ve never really had close girlfriends before. Not the kind to confide in, anyway. My friendships pre-Paisley were shallow and consisted of coffee dates and evenings out. Certainly not the sharing and emotional kind. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe those are the friendships I’ve sought. Whatever the reason, I still sometimes feel a little strange admitting to my own problems and fears. To the mistakes I’ve made or, in the case of the married man, almost made. Though my biggest mistake of all I’ll always keep to myself.
‘God,’ Paisley replies in horrified tone. ‘But that’s on him, not you. You can’t let one asshole, one bad experience, put you off.’
‘Oh, that was only one of a number of bad experiences.’ My tone is dry as I recall the date who invited me to slip into the bathroom with him to do a line of coke from his dick, and at least four others who mispresented everything on their profiles from jobs to heights and hairlines. ‘Online dating is not for me.’
In fact, I’ve found that dating full stop isn’t for me. I’ve had one serious relationship in my life, and that was enough to put me off ever getting involved again, but I persevered. Like the family motto on our crest says,Virtute et labore.By valour or exertion. Let it not be said that I haven’t tried, because I have, but it just hasn’t worked. Quite frankly, I’m done. And in fact, as I approach my milestone birthday, I’m beginning to form other plans. Big plans. Exciting plans. Plans that prove that I don’t need a man.With the exception of the one little issue I’m currently dealing with.With that thought, I open my clutch to return my phone at the same moment itbingswith a text.
‘It’s not a question of needing,’ Paisley protests, but I’m not listening.I might not need a man, but it seems my body wants one, I consider as I stare down at the phone in my frozen hand. Unfortunately, my hand is the only frozen part of me as the rest—from brain to body—turns to goo.
‘Flynn?’ My God, Paisley has the vision of a hawk. ‘Does that say Flynn?’ Her words are like little bullets of excitement as she tries to swipe the phone from my hand. But I’m quicker.
‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ she demands as I move the phone from her reach. ‘You dark horse! How long has this been going on? Don’t need a man, my ass,’ she adds gleefully. ‘Could that be because you’ve already got one?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I slip my phone into my clutch, steadfastly ignoring how my face has begun to heat.
