The Dating Games Series Volume One

by T. K. Leigh

  He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then steps back. “You can stay in the apartment until you find a place of your own. I’ll be working long hours over the next month anyway. I’ll sleep on the couch for the time being. You’ll barely notice I’m even there.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” I practically screech.

  “Don’t say it like that. Technically, it is my place. I pay the mortgage. My name’s on the title. But there’s no rush. We can be roommates until you’re able to find your own place.”

  “Roommates?” I ask, still unable to wrap my head around this.

  “I don’t want this to ruin our friendship. We started out as friends. I hope that doesn’t change.”

  I shake my head, at a complete loss for words. How can we be friends after this? I’m pretty sure we crossed that line, oh, about eleven years ago when he told me he couldn’t imagine his life without me. I still can’t imagine my life without him. Why did he suddenly change his mind?

  “I’ve got to get back to the office,” he says after stealing a glimpse at his watch. “I’ll see you...” He stops short of saying anything more than that. Then he turns from me, everything about his stride confident, as if he didn’t just end a twelve-year relationship.

  Chapter Two

  Heart pounding and fists clenching, I burst through the doors of a bar a few blocks from Columbus Circle, finding Chloe, Nora, and Izzy sitting at the bar, a drink in front of each of them. Chloe’s about to take a sip of her martini when I plop into the empty chair to her left.

  “I need tequila.” I wave down the bartender, Aiden, ignoring the inquisitive stares coming from the women who’ve become my best friends since I uprooted my life and moved to New York for Trevor. And for what? For him to break up with me because I may not be as stuffy as the other wives and girlfriends of the people he works with?

  “The usual?” Aiden’s brows furrow as he assesses my appearance. There’s a benefit to being a regular at your weekly happy hour watering hole. However, right now, that benefit allows Aiden to realize something’s off. I’m not sure how to explain the events of the past hour. It still seems surreal, like I’ll wake up and all of this will be a nightmare.

  “Yes. And a shot of tequila.”

  He eyes me skeptically at first, then fills my order, placing my manhattan in front of me, followed by the shot glass filled with a clear liquid. Thankfully, he remembers I like the silver stuff best.

  Without offering a single word of explanation, I grab the shot and raise it, meeting my friends’ confused expressions. They should be confused. I’m supposed to be out celebrating my engagement to my fiancé, possibly drinking ridiculously expensive Champagne in a suite at the Ritz he booked for the occasion. Instead, I’m sitting at the bar I go to every Thursday night, trying to reconcile the drastic turn my life’s taken.

  “Here’s to wasting nearly twelve years on a man who no longer wants to be with me because I’m not serious enough.” Rolling my eyes, I down the liquid, grimacing as it burns my throat. I bang the glass back onto the bar, asking Aiden for another shot. The only thing that will make tonight better in comparison is waking up tomorrow with a hangover that will leave me cursing the gods who invented alcohol.

  “He broke up with you?” Chloe asks, aghast, her nose scrunched up in repulsion. Her medium-length, gray and lilac ombre-colored locks still hold the perfect beach wave, her makeup freshly applied. There isn’t a single wrinkle on her black pencil skirt or silk blouse, despite having worn it all day at work.

  I met Chloe when I started working at the magazine several years ago. Her cubicle is next to mine, and we became fast friends. She’s the go-to on all things involving every celebrity out there. Hell, I haven’t even heard of some of the people I hear her discussing. Thanks to our friendship, I also grew close to Nora, Chloe’s college roommate, who now runs a yoga and meditation studio in the Village, and Izzy, Chloe’s childhood best friend.

  “Happy fucking birthday to me!” I lift my next shot, throwing it back, this one burning a little less.

  “Why?” Nora inquires, her doe-eyes wide, strawberry blonde hair perfectly coifed.

  “I thought you were happy,” Izzy adds. I’m thankful she’s here, so I’m not the only one who looks like the didn’t just step off the runway, like Nora and Chloe do. She’s still dressed in her scrubs, evidence that she must have come here straight from the hospital, where she works as a pediatric oncology nurse. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. She doesn’t wear much makeup, but she doesn’t need it, her Latina heritage giving her a naturally tanned complexion.

  I face my friends, offering them a tight smile as I smooth my frazzled red hair. “I guess I’m not serious enough for him.” I roll my eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Chloe presses, her lips formed into a tight line.

  “Start at the beginning,” Nora instructs. “I want to know everything.”

  The last thing I want is to rehash what just happened. I’m surprised I made it out of that sushi restaurant without having a complete breakdown. There’s no telling how much longer I’ll be able to keep it together. At least I’m in a place with an endless supply of alcohol.

  “When I got there, he was sitting at a table in the corner. His legs were bouncing as he chewed on his nails. I thought he was nervous about popping the question. I guess the first clue should have been when I leaned in to kiss him and he turned so I kissed his cheek instead.”

  “He did not!” With wide eyes, Nora slams her hands on the bar, drawing the attention of several people.

  “He’s working on a huge case and the trial starts next week. I figured he might be worried about getting sick. I didn’t even think twice about it. He always turns into a germaphobe right before trial. When I sat down, he was still visibly anxious, which was absolutely adorable. I mean, he was about to propose. At least that’s what I thought.” I take another long sip of my manhattan, the effects of the alcohol loosening my lips.

  “Then he grabbed my hand and toyed with my ring finger. Or maybe I imagined he did because, in retrospect, there’s no way he’d do that. It doesn’t make sense. Anyway, he went on and on about how he’d been thinking about doing this for a while but didn’t know how I’d react, blah blah blah. I mean, the entire lead-up…the way he held my hand, the way he was so excitable, the way he made it sound like this was a monumental time in our relationship…made me think this was it. He was finally going to pop the question.”

  The more I speak, the louder my voice becomes. Gone is the heartbreak that consumed me when I watched Trevor walk out of my life without a single glance back. Now I’m annoyed. Annoyed that I gave twelve years to a man who tossed it aside because he didn’t think I was serious enough to be the wife of a partner at some stuffy law firm. Annoyed that I put so much effort into being the perfect girlfriend I believed he deserved. Annoyed I didn’t see the signs he wasn’t happy.

  “What did he say next?” Nora pulls her left hand away, hiding the engagement ring on her finger. When she first told us she was getting married, we were all shocked. She’d only been dating her fiancé for three months, not to mention he started as a Tinder hookup that turned into more than a one-time thing. Although I doubt I’d personally be able to overlook the idea that my partner had been a player before me, he makes Nora happy. That’s all I care about.

  “What do you think? I was so wrapped up in the moment, it didn’t register he broke up with me at first. I was about to squeal ‘yes’ at the top of my lungs, but as I opened my mouth, I replayed his words in my mind. That’s when I realized he wasn’t reaching into his jacket for some ridiculously expensive ring. Instead, he said it was time we both went our separate ways. That if he wants to be partner, he needs to be more ‘serious’,” I explain, using air quotes.

  “More serious?” Chloe’s voice is laden with disgust. As far as friends go, she’s the cynical one. Nora’s the romantic one. Izzy’s the career-driven one. And me… Well, I’m not sure w
hat I am. They’d probably say I’m a mixture of all three.

  “Apparently, he doesn’t consider a woman who writes about sex and dating for a living as serious, at least not to his standards. But that’s complete bullshit! I’m serious! Look at me.” I gesture at my business attire. Then I raise my martini glass. “I’m drinking alcohol out of a glass with a stem. If that doesn’t say maturity, I don’t know what does. If I were immature, you two would be holding my legs in the air while I did a keg stand or something like that.”

  “I don’t think he means you’re immature,” Izzy assures me with all the sympathy and compassion I’ve come to expect from her. “You’re sophisticated, motivated, not to mention talented. Don’t mistake immaturity as having a sense of humor. You have the latter in spades. Regardless, you’re also driven. How many other people can claim to be doing exactly what they set their mind to when they were just a teenager?”

  I shrug, brushing it off.

  “You made your own way in this industry,” Chloe adds. “The only reason I got the job I did was because my dad works for the Times and made phone calls. Not you. You didn’t know a soul. You got in on talent and drive alone. So don’t let Trevor make you think you lack motivation.”

  “Oh, but I do.” My voice oozes sarcasm. “Obviously, since I have a degree in English, I should be doing something more than writing articles about sex. But I like having a sex and dating column.”

  “He’s a prick for not supporting you, especially if you enjoy what you do. I don’t see you giving him a hard time for not making partner yet.”

  I scoff. “Well, according to him, at least he has a real job.” I dig my fingers through my hair, yanking at it, groaning in frustration. “Couldn’t he have chosen a different day? Any other day? Now I’ll forever equate my thirtieth birthday with the day he broke up with me.”

  I reach for my drink, about to take another sip, when I spy a handsome man in a suit walking past the bar, his hand on the lower back of a beautiful woman wearing a cocktail dress. The alcohol loosening my inhibitions, I call out to him. “Hey! You!”

  Surprisingly, he pauses, both he and who I assume to be his date looking at me. They probably stopped here to grab a drink before heading off to the theater or some romantic dinner. Hell, he may even be proposing tonight.

  “You look like a person with good judgment, someone who’s not a complete moron.”

  “Thank…you?” he replies with a wavering smile, unsure what to make of my statement.

  “Would you ever break up with your girlfriend on an important date, say… I don’t know. I’ll just pull something out of thin air. Her birthday?”

  “God no.” He laughs, peering down at the woman beside him. There’s a warmth and affection between them. I had that. At least I thought I did. Now what am I supposed to do?

  I don’t know life without Trevor in it. I’ve never imagined the possibility. Am I supposed to pretend I’ll be okay, that I can fall out of love as quickly as he did? We were together longer than most married couples. At least longer than Brittany Spears’ marriages.

  He looks back to me. “I’d never live to see another day if I did that.”

  “Thank you, sir!” I lift my glass, toasting him. “You are a gentleman. My boyfriend, well…ex-boyfriend is not. It’s my thirtieth birthday today.”

  The bar erupts in applause and congratulatory shouts of happy birthday. I’m not sure why, but something about the combination of their applause and the alcohol flowing through me has me standing and curtseying to my new friends.

  “Thank you. Thank you. And do you know what my boyfriend of twelve years gave me as a birthday present?”

  I scan the bar area. Now that it’s close to seven on a Thursday night, the booths and tables in the remodeled industrial space are filled with a mixture of locals and tourists. Despite that, the background chatter has become almost non-existent, everyone interested in what I have to say. I suppose learning about a stranger’s pathetic heartbreak is infinitely more interesting than discussing the unstable markets.

  A woman calls out from the opposite end of the bar. “It better have been a ring!”

  I point at her. “After this long, I thought it would be. I earned that much. We met during my freshman year of college. The instant I saw him walk into my history class, I no longer cared about the Battle of Bunker Hill. I just wanted him to bunk my hill.”

  A roar of laughter tears through the space, causing me to smile for the first time all evening. I look at my friends, who wear amused expressions on their faces. Maybe this is what Trevor referred to when he said he needed to be with someone more serious. I thought he liked the fact I’m on the eccentric side, that I don’t mind being the center of attention. After all, I minored in theater. Hell, my bold personality is what caught his attention all those years ago.

  “When he smiled at me that day…” I trail off, placing my hand over my heart, sighing. “I swore I heard music. I know what you’re thinking,” I add quickly, hoisting myself up onto the bartop so I can address the crowd.

  Aiden doesn’t stop me. A smirk forms on his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest. Too bad he’s gay. He would be a great rebound, if I were into that kind of thing.

  “That I had probably just come from a meeting of what we called the 420 Club.” I lock eyes with a table full of twenty-something men, who nod in understanding. “You guys know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” They lift their beers, laughing, as I address the rest of the bar once more. “But honestly, I heard music. If hearing music in your head doesn’t mean you’ve just found your fucking soul mate, I probably belong in a straitjacket. Which may be the case anyway, but I digress.” Grabbing my glass, I take another sip of my drink, before continuing.

  “I’ve always been a planner. My mother claims I was the one who put her on a schedule for my feedings as a baby, not the other way around. So even when I was a little girl, I knew the type of man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Just my luck that man went to the University of Nebraska, too.”

  “Go Huskers!” a voice shouts, and I look in its direction.

  “You’re from Nebraska?” I ask a man I estimate to be in his mid-fifties. His skin is pale, gray hair thinning.

  He nods. “Kearney.”

  “Ah, so you had electricity.”

  Chuckling, he nods once more. “Most days.”

  “Well, I grew up in a little town called Hickman.” I pause for emphasis, which I learned in some of my acting classes. “Let me repeat that for you. Hick…man, Nebraska. I mean, if that doesn’t scream we marry our cousins, I don’t know what does.”

  Laughter fills the space once more. I glance behind me, meeting Aiden’s eyes as he leans against the back counter and winks. He probably didn’t expect there to be an opening act for the band scheduled to play later. I hand him my glass, an unspoken request for him to fill it. Two manhattans and two tequila shots in the span of less than an hour isn’t a smart idea, but being smart isn’t in the cards for me tonight.

  “Now, something I should mention is that I have a slight affinity for the number three.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t ask. And no, I’m not OCD and have to lock and unlock the door three times. Except on the third day of the third week of the third month of the year.”

  There’s another burst of laughter and applause. Once it dies down, I continue. “I like to think it was a sign when Trevor walked into my history class at exactly 3 PM on September third and proceeded to sit in the third row of the lecture hall… Which also so happened to be the row I sat in because, well, it was the third row. I always sat in the third row.”

  I feel a tap on my back and glance behind me to see Aiden handing me a fresh drink. I thank him with a smile, then take a sip before placing the glass beside me on the bar.

  “Our relationship began like all good relationships do… By me pretending to be inept at U.S. history so he’d tutor me.” I bat my eyelashes, passing everyone a demure look. “But after our first
test and he saw I got the top grade in the class, he realized it was all a ploy. So he asked me out, and the rest is history.

  “Fast forward four years. Trevor graduated with a degree in finance. I graduated with a degree in English and a minor in theater, which is probably why I have absolutely no problem telling a bar of complete strangers about my breakup. And my mother said theater would be useless.” I roll my eyes, my expression oozing sarcasm. “I’m proving her wrong this very second. Anyway, after graduation, Trevor was accepted into Columbia Law here in New York. There wasn’t even a question in my mind. I would move to New York with him.”

  A nostalgic smile lights up my face as I recall those early days of living in the city. For the longest time, I thought I made a mistake, especially when I was forced to take a cold shower in the middle of winter because the building superintendent hadn’t fixed the hot water heater. Or when the smoke alarm went off anytime I tried to cook because it was placed right above the stove. Or when we lost power on Christmas and had to order Chinese takeout because the meal I’d planned was a lost cause without electricity. At the time, all the disasters made me long for the comfort and space of Nebraska. I now look back on everything and laugh.

  “I worked as a bridal assistant for a wedding planner during the day. Honestly, it was the perfect job for someone as obsessed with planning and organization as I am. Essentially, I was the bride’s bitch. ‘You need Voss water instead of Evian? At your service.’ ‘You don’t want your maid of honor to look better than you, even though she’s prettier on the inside and out? That can be arranged. We’ll be sure to pick a dress style that doesn’t complement her body type.’ ‘Don’t want the groom to find out you had one last fling with his best man the night before the wedding? There’s the morning-after pill for that.’