6
I’m stuck in my office, staring through the tiny, single-pane window that faces a parking deck as I wonder how unprofessional it would be to have a whistle I could blow like areferee.
For the past ten minutes, Ben and Megan have argued over toilet paper and toothpaste. When the timer sounds, I couldn’t be happier. I turn around, quickly grab a worksheet about listening and hand them each acopy.
“I want you both to read this and answer the questions on the back as honestly as you can. We’ll discuss it next week. I think it may give you both a better understanding of what’s important to theother.”
“This is a waste of time…” Ben stands and walks to the door, slinging itopen.
“You see!” Megan points at him and shakes her head before following him out, their argument continuing down thehall.
Toothpaste. Spreadsheets. Sometimes I wonder why people bother with marriageanyway.
I finish up my notes, then lean back in the chair with my phone in hand. “Well, look who’s popular today,” I say sarcastically when I notice the three notifications on my HookUpapp.
I tap the icon and open the first message, only to be greeted with a not-so-impressive, veiny dick pic. No note. No hi. Nothing. Just a penis. “For fuck’ssake.”
Sometimes I wonder if guys sign up for these dating appsjustto send pictures of their genitals. I ignore it and go on to thenext.
Anotherpenis.
But, at least this guy included a request:I showed you mine, now show meyours.
This is the pool of men I have to draw from? They’re like scavengers.Do I even want to go to the third?Three veiny appendages in one day are three too many… I bet Elijah doesn’t do these dumb dating sites. Of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to. He can walk down 5thAvenue and pull any woman he could possibly want. He’s above sending photographic evidence of how well he’s hung—at least that’s what I want tobelieve…
Just as I click on the last message, a text pops up on my screen.Steph: Don’t Killme.
I ignore it and go to the HookUp app. Tom Brown:Excited to meet both you and Stephanietonight!
I stare at the communication in disbelief. If she set me up on a blind date, I’m going to killher.
Ding.Steph: Charlie! I see your read receipt! I’m coming to get you atseven.
I quickly type out:I hateyou.
Steph: No youdon’t.
With a sigh, I drop the phone to my desk and recline in the chair, massaging my temples and wondering if everyone else’s best friend is this meddlesome andneurotic.
_____
Eight o’clock at night,and instead of being cozied up in my bathrobe with a tub of ice cream, I’m dressed in a short, red dress and those damn wedges, wandering aimlessly through some deserted part of Manhattan with Steph. Heat wafts through the grate in the sidewalk, and my skirt goes flying up around my ass like Marilyn Monroe. I swat it back into place while the deep rumble of the subway passing underneath passes through mybody.
To make this entire ensemble even worse, I let Steph do my makeup, which means I have on more contour than a Kardashian, magnetic eyelashes, and some lip stain I’ll need turpentine toremove.
Steph makes a sudden turn between two buildings, her gaze fixed on the navigation map on her phone. “It says the bar’s on the other side of thisstreet.”
“This is not a street, Steph. It’s analley.”
“Well, Maps tells me it’s ashortcut.”
“This is how people get murdered,” I grumble, following her into thedarkness.
“No one’s gettingmurdered.”
“Just so you know, it happens every day. Especially in the shadows of the inner city. You do realize you have no survival skills,right?”
“Sure I do. Just walkfaster.”
