Home > Something Like Hate(3)

Something Like Hate(3)
Author: Harloe Rae

My pitiful wail is loud enough to catch more than a few stray stares from fellow patrons at Delish Dish. Melodic tweets from hovering birds replace the customary chirp of crickets in the silence that follows. I wave at the horde of gawkers and giggle when shame registers on their features. With matching frowns, they all return to eating brunch.

Two of my best friends exchange strained glances at my confession. Presley rests a palm over mine on the table between us. “What’s wrong?”

I have a forceful urge to bang my head on the plate in front of me right now. Why can’t I be satisfied with my lucrative career and generous assets? Maybe it’s because a happily ever after seems so damn unattainable. “I’m destined to be alone.”

“Um, hello.” Clea wiggles her fingers at me. “Nice to meet you, Hissy Fit. My name is Chopped Liver.”

I swipe at some stray hairs that are stuck in my eyelashes. “You know what I mean. Someone hexed me.”

“That’s only further proving your dramatics on this subject.” She tosses in a wink for good measure.

Her nonchalance won’t dissuade me. The floodgates are wide open, already spewing irrational drivel. I pride myself on being a practical person, but that doesn’t stop me from being committed to this nonsense. “Call me what you will. I’m going to grow old without experiencing love in all its decadent glory.”

Presley frowns, the smooth skin on her forehead puckering into deep caverns. “You are not.”

Too bad I’m currently lacking in spreading the positivity. “I totally am. That’s the only logical explanation for my horrific luck in the dating department. I’ve been single since the winter before graduation. That’s eighteen months, give or take. My dry spell is older than a toddler. I’ll be damned if just any guy with a dick breaks it. What’s a girl have to do these days?”

Clea cringes. “Twerk on TikTok?”

“Not stooping to that,” I mutter. Then I scrunch my nose and add, “Yet.”

“You’re only twenty-three.” Clea’s declaration is meant to be reassuring and make me feel better. But her words have an adverse effect.

The pebbles in my belly double in size and start stirring, causing an ache. Just what I need right about now. “I’m a planner, dammit. If I don’t make this a priority, thirty will arrive with my tires still spinning.”

She scoffs and swats at the air. “Oh, please. We’ll intervene long before then.”

Presley pins her with a pinched glare, then tosses a gentle smile my way. “What’s the latest disaster?”

“Worst. Date. Ever.” Those three words continue looping in my mind.

They share another withering expression. These ladies understand my unfortunate dating history better than anyone. They’ve been sitting front row through the worst of it these past several months. Even Audria—my third bestie, who relocated to freaking Iowa last year—has missed out on the latest grievances. The fact that she decided to make the move permanent is an entirely different story, which has nothing to do with my current predicament. To claim I’m unsatisfied and annoyed would be a massive understatement—not to mention sexually frustrated. I’ve been going through batteries at an alarming rate. The towel isn’t getting thrown in yet, though.

“Tell us what happened,” Clea prods.

A crinkle of static seems to cut across the patio. The telltale swoop of guilt quickly follows. “I’m being a buzzkill.”

“You’re allowed to vent. That’s what we’re here for. Just get it off your chest and plan for a brighter tomorrow.” Presley makes a rolling motion.

“That’s part of the problem.” I pick at my thumb nail while trying to leap over this mental hurdle. “It’s been somewhat of an obsession lately. Usually my persistence pays off, but the opposite seems to be true when it comes to relationships. Relying on others to fulfill their part of the deal is extremely discouraging.”

“Prince Charming might knock on your door in the morning,” Presley grins, her brows wagging at the possibility.

“Oh, please. That man resides in fairytales for a reason. I’m not expecting that level of perfection. Just a few solid qualities would be stellar. I’m willing to accept being gainfully employed and not living with his parents. Is that asking for too much?” I slouch in my seat from the load of that implication. The wound is still fresh.

Vibrant rainbows and sunshine can’t compete against her perky demeanor. “You’ll meet Mr. Right soon enough.”

“Highly doubtful. No, wait—make that completely unbelievable. It’s not like fate is actually going to swoop in and grant me a love connection. The last guy I went on a date with had bigger boobs than me. I’m almost positive he had implants in his pecs.” I provide a visual for maximum impact. “He was a total gym rat.”

Presley scrunches up her face. “Don’t let those bad swipes ruin your sparkle.”

“How’d you know I met him on an app?” Am I becoming predictable? That would be the greatest crime of all.

She purses her lips in that knowing way. “Lucky guess.”

Clea finishes off her white wine spritzer, making an awful racket by slurping any remaining liquid through the straw. “I’m perpetually single too. You don’t see me getting into a tizzy about it.”

I hike a brow full of sass. “We’re well aware why that is.”

Red blotches stain her cheeks. “Whatever.”

I’d usually take this opportunity to pivot and share the misery spotlight, but Clea’s downcast gaze gives me pause. I don’t need more reasons to feel like an awful friend. Another tortured groan escapes me as I continue treading water. How can they not be sick of me complaining? I’m tired of this pity party, and my chops are the ones flapping. That doesn’t mean I’m quite ready to stop. “Are we destined to settle?”

Presley chokes on her sip of orange juice. “Hell to the no. Look at Audria if you need proof.”

“Sure would, if she were here.” I cluck my tongue. “I’m not moving to the country.”

Her eyes widen. “That won’t be necessary. Please don’t consider it. I can’t lose another friend to long distance.”

I wave the concern away. Not even the Duke of Hastings could get me to relocate. That blatant lie singes my tongue with an ashy taste. A zip propels through me as I think of him and that damn spoon. He could get me to do just about anything. With a scoff, I find myself once again chasing fantasy into the far recesses where those dreams belong. Or until later, when I can binge on Netflix.

“At this rate, I doubt any guy will be worth sitting through an entire meal. My tolerance for bullshit has taken a hit as of late.”

Clea’s lips curve at the corners. “Careful, Van. You’re beginning to sound jaded.”

“Hey,” I clip. “It’s my job to deliver the snark.”

“Then snap out of it.” With a lift of her chin, she signals to our server that we’d like another round of drinks.

“What do you think I’m trying to accomplish?” I flail my arm to the side.

She folds her hands, pausing for dramatic effect. “The fine art of avoidance.”

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