Cutting my eyes to Sloane, I gave her the fiercest scowl I could summon up. “No dating apps.”
“Oh come on!” she argued. “I’ll even set your profile up for you. You won’t have to do anything but go on the dates.”
Dropping the washcloth, I spun around on my cushy little velvet stool. “You aren’t making the case you think you are, babe. Knowing you, the headline above my profile pic would be ‘DTF’ or ‘Up for Anything’.”
“Nothing wrong with either of those statements,” Alma said from her makeup station a few chairs down from mine, shooting me a wink as she touched up her glossy red lips. “At least then you could clean the cobwebs out of your . . .” She circled her finger in the general direction of my crotch and gave a little whistle.
“I don’t have cobwebs, you asshole!” I decreed on a laugh, throwing my damp cloth at her head while the rest of the girls in the backstage dressing room joined in on the teasing. “I’ve barely had a chance to be single after a three-year relationship from hell. There’s nothing wrong with taking a little break from men for the time being.”
I looked to my friend Charlotte, hoping she’d agree with me, especially considering she was the one who’d taught Frank the majority of his lesson and graced him with a permanent limp. “Tell them, would you? There’s nothing wrong with staying single for a while.”
She pulled her lips into a wince, hesitating for several seconds before answering. “Well . . .”
“Oh come on!” I smacked my hand on the table, making the mirror and all my cosmetics rattle around. “Not you too.”
“It’s all that domestic bliss,” Sloane said with a giggle.
“And all that D she’s getting from that fine-as-hell man of hers,” Alma added, making everyone burst into laughter again, me included.
“I’ve officially turned into one of those women I never thought I’d be,” Charlotte lamented. “I’m so stupidly happy that I want all my friends to be as well. But if you aren’t ready to put yourself out there just yet, there’s nothing wrong with waiting.” She reached over to place her hand on top of mine, giving it a comforting squeeze. “What you went through would make any woman hesitate.”
“It’s not that,” I admitted. “I’m not holding on to any trauma. At least I don’t think I am.”
“Then what’s the hold up?” Sloane asked.
I gave her question a bit of thought before answering. “I’m just not in the mood to suffer through a string of bad dates in an effort to find that one good one.”
“Hate to break it to you, babe, but there isn’t a crystal ball that’ll tell you which dates will be bad and which ones will be good,” Alma insisted. “It’s the not knowing, the anticipation, that makes it fun. When’s the last time you went out on a real date?”
“A long time,” I answered flatly. I’d been with Frank for three years, and even before we got serious, he hadn’t been the type of man to wine and dine. I hadn’t really thought anything of it back then. Sure, I sometimes wished he’d make more of an effort, but I’d loved him—or at least that was what I’d convinced myself of. Hindsight really was a bitch. Looking back on that relationship now, I cringed at all the stupid choices I’d made, all the red flags I’d ignored and bad behavior I’d let slide or made excuses for.
Never again.
“Then you don’t really know what you’re missing out on.” Sloane chided. “And you won’t know until you try.”
“I’ve never been a fan of meeting up with a total stranger,” I continued to argue, even though I could feel myself losing.
My other friend, Layla, jumped in just then. “All right, then no dating app. But what if we set you up with someone? At least that way we can vouch for the guy beforehand.”
My top lip curled up, my face pinching like I’d just smelled something funky. “You mean like a blind date?”
“It’s better than some dude none of us have met, right?” Charlotte pointed out.
I let out a defeated sigh and dropped my head back. “You guys aren’t going to let this go until I agree, are you?”
The room filled with resounding noes from all directions.
I spun around in my chair to face my so-called friends. “Fine,” I relented, rather gracelessly. “I’ll go on one blind date. That’s it. But if it turns out awful, I’m blaming all of you, and you have to promise to let it go. Deal?”
“Works for me,” Layla said cheerfully. “And I have just the guy. You’re gonna love him!”
“Ugh! I hate this.” Standing in my bathroom, I shimmied this way and that, trying to get the dress up over my ass. Finally, I got the stupid thing in place and turned to look in mirror. “I hate this!” I repeated on a pathetic cry. “I look like I just stuffed myself into a sausage casing!”
“Will you stop being so damn dramatic?” my sister’s voice rang out from the other side of the door. “I swear to God, you’re acting worse than Erika.”
“I’m not being dramatic!” I shouted. “When I asked you to bring me a few dress options, I didn’t think you’d raid my niece’s closet. This thing is indecent!”
“Stop being a baby and come out already. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.”
With a disgruntled huff, I flung the bathroom door open and stomped out. Tali was stretched out on my bed, lying on her stomach and flipping through one of the romance novels I kept stacked on my bedside table. She lifted her gaze off the page, her eyes growing so wide I thought they’d fall right out of her skull as soon as they landed on me.
Her stifled laugh came out as a loud snort just before she curled her lips between her teeth.
“I told you it was bad,” I decreed, throwing my arms wide.
“I stand corrected.” Then the cow burst into laughter.
“All right, it’s not that funny,” I grumbled.
“Oh my God,” she laughed hysterically. “You look like a tin of biscuits that’s just been popped open.”
I pinched the material at my belly, trying to pull it away from my body, only to have it suction to my skin like a freaking wetsuit. “What the hell is this made of?”
“Lycra, I think.”
I wrinkled my nose. “When did you ever fit into something this small, Tal? 1993?”
My big sister scrunched her lips to the side in thought. “I’m pretty sure I bought that dress when I was pregnant with Erika. It was supposed to be inspiration to get back to my pre-baby body. That was back when the emaciated runway model look was all the rage.”
Slamming my hands down on my hips, I shot her a killing look. “You stopped being small enough to wear something like this as soon as you hit puberty.” We both favored our mom’s genes, meaning we’d developed curves all the way back in middle school.
She shrugged, slapping the book closed and pushing up to sitting. “I had pregnancy brain when I bought it. I wasn’t thinking rationally back then. You remember what I was like.”