This one will always be my fave.
--
"If it's some old wrinkly man, I'm gonna kill you."
My best friend laughs, shaking her head. "I promise you're gonna have a great time."
I slip the burning cancer stick between my lips, sucking in deeply. "You always say that." Puffing out the smoke, I watch as it soars high, white disappearing into the dark skies. "Turns out, you always fucking lie. The last time was a disaster. I don't even know if I should trust your word."
"Okay, so I've been awful at being your wing woman, but you're gonna love this guy. I've known him all my life. He just got out of a relationship and was happy to meet up with you."
I roll my eyes at her. Of course. Another man with his heart ripped to shreds that I had to listen to go on and on about how he didn't understand why his girlfriend, wife, or fianceé would dump him. Then I had to be the one stuck telling him the real reason why-- because he sucked so fucking bad in bed.
"Can't you ever find me a decent man who doesn't have any baggage? Oh, I don't know, maybe a virgin or something?"
"You're too much for a virgin. You'd scare the guy off in seconds. Whit is different, I promise." She reassures me. "He's not like the other ones."
I give her a knowing look. I could definitely kill her and hide her body. No one would ever suspect that it was me. "You said that about Thomas, Samuel, and Tony."
"Okay fine, but listen, he's not looking for anything serious. One time. I promise you'll never have to see him again. Help me help my friend, please."
Those stupid baby blue eyes of hers were a trap. They always got me to say yes. God, I hated her.
"I hope you realize that I'm not a man-eater or a prostitute. I can't keep role playing a therapist." I tell her, smoking the last bit of my cigarette before flicking it to the ground.
"Just meet him here and call me right after you're done. Pack an extra pair of panties. You're gonna need to change them when you see how cute he is." She shoves a piece of paper in my hand and kisses my cheek.
I stare down at the address of the restaurant, sighing heavily. "If he's so cute, then why don't you fuck him," I yell, but she's already gone.
---
The knock-off stilettos that I got on sale last week are loud against the pavement. I'm late. Not that I'm trying to make an impression or anything, but I hate being late to places. It makes me look lazy and irresponsible.
Walking through the streets of New York is a challenge. Everyone is out at night, walking to different places. Just as it is during the day, it's busy at night too. It's crowded and takes longer to get from one end to the other.
I'm meeting this Whit guy at some high-end restaurant. I learn from Google that you are only able to get a reservation with a deposit-- or if you were the President of The United States.
It's located on fifty-first street and on the other side of where I live.
Initially, I hailed a cab, but when I realized I forgot to grab my wallet, the driver made me get out. He didn't care that it was dark and cold and that I had to walk in six-inch heels.
"Take them off," he told me.
So this is why I'm running late. Clearly, it's karma for something. I don't even have a cigarette to help ease my nerves. I'm gonna kill my best friend after this night is over. I don't even know why I still allow her to play cupid and try to hook me up with emotionally unstable guys.
