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I glance at the windows that make up the front of the shop and bite my lip when I notice that the sun is going down.
Shit. Shit. Triple shit!
I quickly snatch my phone from my cardigan pocket and check the time. My shoulders drop. I still have a few hours to get ready for my date. A little unread notification pops up on the dating app another customer recommended, Cummies 4 Dummies, and my gut twists. Fuck. I bet he’s canceling last minute. It wouldn’t be the first time. Dating in your thirties is hard and the more I do it, the clearer my consensus has become: Men suck donkey dicks.
With immense relief, I breathe out when I see his message confirming our plans to meet at a bar in the town over at eight. My stomach twists, and I drop into my favorite overstuffed green velvet chair with a nervous moan.
“Crud-muffin,” I mutter under my breath as all the usual pre-date jitters start to kick in.
Lyric shoots me a worried look and I try to offer her a reassuring smile. She hates when I’m upset. Waving her off, I quickly tap out a response to Bud, letting him know I’m still coming. My pussy tingles and I smirk. If I have it my way, I’ll definitely be coming tonight.
“What’s wrong?” Lyric asks as she starts working through closing tasks. “Why do you look like you’re going to puke—” she breaks off, her eyes narrowing as she takes me in. “Wait. That’s your horny face. You’re going to puke and for some reason, that makes you wet…”
She shudders and my mouth drops open. “I am not horny!” Lies. “I’m not going to puke, either!” Lies. “I’m fine.” So many lies. “Great, actually. Just sleepy.” I force a yawn, picturing the way I’m going to burn in a fiery pit of deception.
She scoffs. “Right. And I wouldn’t give both my tits and ovaries for a chance to fuck Jamie Fraser.”
We share a knowing look. Lyric is obsessed with highlander men. I’m pretty sure she’d give more than that for a chance to have sex with a real Scottsman. Not that I blame her. I can see the appeal in a kilt. Easy access and all that. But for her, it’s more than the kilt. It’s the rippling abs and flowing red locks. The whole, deliciously Fabio-esque package.
So not my type.
The ache in my honeypot grows as an image of my dream man fills my mind.
First off, there’s no way he’ll ever have better hair than me. My shoulder-length bob is thinner than a coked-up, vegan bikini model in Boca. My dream dude’s hair is minimal and discrete, not flowing down to his bubble butt in angelic waves. He’s tall, but not too tall. Just large enough for me to feel small, not overwhelmed. The idea of a man lording over me makes my skin crawl.
I love big men, not tall men.
A shudder works its way through me, and I shove up out of the chair, hoping she doesn’t notice. Clearing my throat, I move to draw the curtains, giving her my back. “I have a date tonight,” I say flatly, though my body tenses for her reaction.
Three. Two. One.
“Oh, holy fuck-nuggets, Story! What the shitballs?!”
I cringe at her shrill voice. Slowly, I turn to face her. My bestie may be five years younger than me, and a few inches shorter, but right now, the angry look etched across her sweet face is enough to make me feel like a child again. Thoroughly chastised and unfortunately disappointing.
“What the shitballs, what?” I murmur, barely resisting the urge to run and hide. I hate confrontation. “Something wrong, love of my life?”
She scoffs. “Don’t loml me. We’re in a fight right now!”
I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest. “A fight? What? Why?”
“You know why,” she hisses, pointing a finger at me. “You’re on a dating ban! You promised you’d get off that app for a while.”
“You’re on the app,” I point out, deflecting.
“I’m not the one with an addiction to finding shitty men and hoping to cure them with my cooter!” I jerk back as though I’ve been slapped, her diagnosis of my mental-state, all too accurate. With a sigh, her finger drops and her expression softens. “You’re supposed to be healing, not humping.”
Grimacing, I shuck off the thoughts of my ex, Chadwick, before they can take root. “I’m all done healing.”
“Did you read that book I got you?” She asks gently.
“Of course.” The first three chapters, at least. It was boring, but I got the gist of it easily enough. Psychology’s not that difficult.
She nods. “Good. I’m proud of you.” Her head tilts and she grins. “You are doing remarkably well considering it’s only been—”
“It’s been six months, Lyr,” I interrupt. “I’m fine.”
Totally fine.
