Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“Tori?” Mom says. “I didn’t think you were going to answer.”
Surprise, surprise, she sounds drunk. Yet, I’m at a bar. But who am I to judge? She’s gone through a rough breakup. Just because it’s her second of the year, it doesn’t make it any easier.
Come on, Tori. Be a good daughter.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
“I was devastated.”
“Was?” I ask hesitantly.
“But I’ve reinstalled Tinder, and now things are looking better.”
Is she serious?
“Oh.” It’s all I can say.
“I’ve matched with a man. Very polite, very charming. He’s a stockbroker, and he wants to meet tomorrow. Can you believe that?” She says, full of enthusiasm. Gone is the sullen, crying woman from not even a half hour ago.
“I’m not sure rushing into a relationship is the best idea.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic,” she snaps. “True love is out there. It’s just waiting for me to seize it. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Why? Because I’ve sworn to do my best to avoid romance for my entire freaking life?” I say sarcastically. “Is that why I should be an expert?”
“Relax, Tori. Jeez. I just meant because of where you are this evening.”
I feel like a jerk. “I hope it works out.”
“You do?” She sounds surprised.
“I always hope it works out, Mom.”
It just never does. I don’t add that part, though.
“Thank you. I know we had a little thing earlier. Can we put it behind us, please?”
“Just don’t rush into making moving plans with this one. And maybe check if he’s married.” She doesn’t reply, so I say, “I love you, Mom.” Sure, that statement probably has some guilt in it, but I mean it.
“I love you. Thanks for always supporting me.”
I return to the bar. Lily is texting with a grin on her face, which means she’s texting Clive, her fiancé, ‘one of the good ones,’ as I call him. Maybe he’s the only good one. Pre-vetted through my friend’s approval.
“Finally. I was about to send out a search party. They would’ve turned out to be stripper-grams, but still,” Cleo says with a grin.
“Do you have to be so seedy all the time?” I sigh.
“No, but it’s Valentine’s. Cut me some slack.” She finishes her drink.
“Cleo, let me get these. I could use a drink. But just one. My tolerance for alcohol is about as low as my tolerance for all this schmaltzy crap.”
Cleo giggles. “I’m going to choose only to hear the first half of that statement.”
Damien serves me at the bar. He’s the sort of guy who stares a little too long. Tall, with sharp cheekbones and eyes that roam up and down my body. He gives me the creeps, to be honest.
“Hey, Victoria. What can I get you?”
“You can call me ‘Tori’, Damien. It’s what everybody else calls me.”
“But Victoria is such a beautiful name.”
Urgh. I’ve given him so many signals that I’m not interested, but he won’t take the hint. I’m relieved whenever I turn up to work and see he’s working a different shift. I knew we should’ve gone somewhere else tonight.
After ordering the drinks, I return to our table, sure I can feel his eyes on me.
“Somebody’s got an admirer,” Lily says.
“Don’t.” I take a sip of the vodka mixer, just a small one.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asks.
“I don’t know. He gives me bad vibes. Always calls me ‘Victoria’ and acts too nice.”
“Jeez,” Lily replies. “You need to lighten up. Sometimes, nice is just nice.”
“Screw that.” Cleo shakes her head. “I’m with Tori on this. The nice-guy act is always hiding something.”
“He looks like a fit, well-put-together young man.”
“Yeah, he does martial arts and goes to the gym. That doesn’t mean I have to throw myself at him,” I mutter.
“But please,” Cleo says, “throw yourself at somebody so I don’t feel like the odd one out.”
“Cleo, if there’s anything you’re comfortable being, it’s the odd one out,” I say.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Lily echos my thoughts.
Soon, it’s time for the main event to begin. The bar owner, Rowan, takes to the stage wearing an outlandish sparkling red dress, Jessica Rabbit-style. Several men whistle, and Rowan takes a short bow. She speaks into the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is our second annual Text Your Valentine Event. We all know that hiding behind our phones allows us to be, let’s say, more risqué than we would in person.”
“Speak for yourself!” Cleo yells, and the room erupts into laughter.
“To that end,” Rowan goes on. “We have two bowls marked ladies and gents. The concept is simple: put your number in the bowl and wait for the text-a-thon to commence. We will match the numbers and put them in envelopes to ensure there are no crossovers. One person for one number. If you want to arrange any group activities, do it on your own time.”
We all laugh, and Rowan steps off the stage.