Even as we were walking out to our respective cars, Brock continued to regale me with his impressive lifting stats. We split the bill, although he didn’t seem to think leaving a tip was necessary, so I went ahead and padded mine to make up for it.
Harley and London pore over his profile, scrolling through his pictures, both wearing matching unimpressed expressions. There are a lot of pictures. Of him. Posing in front of the mirrors at the gym. There are also a few pictures of food, but otherwise it’s selfie central.
“Yeesh, I’ve never seen a guy do the duck face before. It’s…”
“A lot like Blue Steel?” I supply.
“Exactly!” Harley covers her mouth with her palm and snorts a laugh.
“I’m so sorry I encouraged you to go out with him.” London slides the phone back to me, and I drop it in my purse.
“Eh, it could’ve been worse. I have to admit it was fascinating to count the number of times he looked at his own reflection in the window. By the end of the date, he’d checked himself out a hundred and seventy times.”
“That’s beyond excessive.” Harley looks appropriately shocked.
“Do you want to hear the best part?”
“Best as in worst?” London asks.
“He invited me back to his place and seemed legitimately surprised when I said no. Like, he was honestly dumbfounded and asked me three times if I was sure I didn’t want to go home with him.”
“No!” London and Harley say at the same time.
“Oh yes, and then he told me I’d be missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and asked whether I wanted to reconsider.”
Harley leans forward in her chair. “What did you say?”
“That I appreciated his offer, but losing out on that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity was a risk I was willing to take.”
London arches one perfect eyebrow. “I feel like that wasn’t the end of it.”
“You would be absolutely correct.” I lean back in my chair, remembering how confused he seemed. “He told me I shouldn’t send mixed messages and that my dress was a green light for a good time.”
“He did not.” London slaps the table, rattling the charcuterie board, causing a loose grape and several chocolate-covered almonds to roll off. She covers them with her hand before they can do a swan dive over the edge of the table. “Please tell me you told him off. You had to have told him where to go. There is absolutely no way you would ever let someone say something like that to you and get away with it. And that dress isn’t a green light for anything but looking sexy. And since when is it a crime to have great legs and a fabulous, toned body?” She huffs indignantly.
I love London. People who don’t know her well sometimes think she’s pretentious, or maybe even a bit stuck-up, but in reality, she’s full of fire and incredibly protective. She likes to keep things close to the vest, and as a result, she’s a bit more reserved than me or even Harley. Being the middle child of three girls puts her in a weird position. She’s always been a pleaser and a mediator. If our parents suggested an after-school activity, she would sign up. If I wanted to play soccer after school, she’d come outside and stand in as the goalie, even though she doesn’t like playing sports. And if Harley wanted to play babysitter, it was always London who’d play the child. She was always happy to step into whatever role was needed. And she was always there to stand up for us, just like she is now.
“Of course I told him off, not that it made an impact. I honestly think this guy had three brain cells to rub together and all of them were on vacation.”
“Are you going to try again?” Harley asks, slathering goat cheese on a cracker and topping it with a sliced fresh fig. “Obviously not with Brock the Rock, but someone else? Maybe London and I can help vet someone new and not base it solely on the fact that he’s hot and plays sports.”
“I don’t know. It was such a waste of my night, and I missed a really good game.” I checked the score in the bathroom twice and spent a good part of my date watching it in the reflection of the window while Brock watched his own reflection. “There has to be a better way to meet guys outside of freaking dating apps.”
“Are there any non-friend-zoned options on your rec soccer team?” Harley asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe? I haven’t ever really checked them out.”
“Might be a thought,” London says. “At least you know you have something in common, and you can better assess their intellectual competency before you agree to a date.” I love that this is the way her mind works. If there were ever a person who could create a math formula to help find the right date, it would be her. Or Declan.
“It’s a possibility.” And one I honestly hadn’t considered before now, likely because my friend group makes it tough to flirt. I’m also super competitive when it comes to sports and very much focused on the game, not the players.
* * *
The condo is quiet and empty when I get home. It’s not unusual for Declan to be out on a Saturday night, but I figured he’d stay in tonight since the guys were over and we have an early morning. Maybe they hit up the club and decided to pretend they’re still twenty-one-year-old frat boys.
I get ready for bed, pull my trusty vibe out of my nightstand—my only sure thing—and get myself off. It’s the best action I’ve had in a long time, which isn’t saying much considering how little action I get. It’s too bad I can’t absorb some of Declan’s prolific sex life through osmosis. I try to wipe that thought from my brain because the last thing I need is the image of Declan doing his thing with some random as I’m drifting off to dreamland.
My alarm goes off at seven thirty. I hop out of bed and peek through the blinds. The forecast was right; it’s pouring rain, and based on my weather app, it’s not going to let up anytime soon. At least we’re taking Declan’s SUV, which is built for this kind of weather—and off-roading.
I head to the kitchen to set a pot of coffee to brew before I take a shower. As I open the cupboard door, I nearly step on a black lace thong. I frown at the underwear, aware they mean one thing: Declan brought someone home last night. He’s been doing that a lot less lately, so this takes me by surprise.
His parents divorced when we were sophomores in college, and they didn’t end on the best terms. Their tumultuous relationship and his being constantly in the middle of their fights means he’s relationship averse and unlikely to settle down anytime soon, if ever. I don’t blame him; if I’d been involved in their screwed-up relationship, I’d probably never want to settle down either.
I get the coffee going before I grab a pair of tongs and pick up the discarded panties his fun time must have left as a parting gift. As I pass through the living room, I notice a woman’s jacket and a pair of sky-high black patent stilettos. Which means whoever he brought home last night is still here.
I hang the panties on his doorknob and leave the tongs on the floor for him to deal with later.
I knock on his door. “Hey, Declan, you still coming with me today?”
All I get is a muffled grunt and a feminine groan, followed by a giggle.
“For fuck’s sake.” I head back to my room to shower and get ready.