by Emma Hart
What? How had this gone from getting me a date to pimping me out online?
This was escalating quickly. I wasn’t a fan of this. I wasn’t the only single one here. Why was I on the end of this?
I wanted to stamp my feet and scream into a pillow. This had not been my plan for girls’ night—I’d wanted pizza, wine, and trashy TV. What the hell had been put in the wine to give these hooligans such ideas?
“This is a terrible idea,” I said, scooting forward on the beanbag. “You cannot put an ad on a website like Craigslist and expect that I get a date.”
“No, wait.” Madi put one finger up. “A girl I work with’s sister did it. She put up an ad saying that she wanted to be someone’s date for the weekend because she was bored. She dated the guy for like eighteen months before they broke up because his work relocated him to Canada.”
This was… Wow. This really was escalating.
I wasn’t going to lie; this was getting uncomfortable. Severely so.
I took two big mouthfuls of wine. Why hadn’t I put this to a stop straight away? They were getting carried away. I couldn’t believe that they’d been talking about getting me a date for the last hour.
We’d eaten two and a half pizzas between us, and we were on wine bottle number three. Even Cara was awake and snorting to herself in her pram, sucking passionately on her pacifier. That was how riveting this conversation was.
A six-week-old baby had woken up for it.
Thankfully for me, it looked like she was on my side because the sound of the world’s biggest wet fart came from her direction.
We all froze as a rancid smell came our way.
Iz sighed, getting up. “I’ll take her upstairs and change her. Jesus, that’s like a sack of dead fish,” she muttered to herself as she grabbed the change bag and the baby.
Was this it? Had Cara done her aunt a solid and freed me from this Craigslist dating nonsense?
“Are we doing this, then?” Madi asked Tina as soon as Iz had left. “Let’s put her online looking for a date!”
Well, that was a big fat no.
“A fake date.” I was going to get my input before they got carried away. “If you’re going to pimp me out to the Internet, you can make it a fake date.”
Tina paused. “Like an escort?”
“Not like an escort,” I quickly corrected. “I’m not going to be paid. Jesus, what the hell do you think of me?”
Madi snorted wine up her nose. “Okay, no payment. So how do we word this, and where do we post it? Facebook? Instagram? Twitter? Craigslist?”
“What is your obsession with Craigslist?”
“You can get some good stuff on Craigslist. Don’t diss it ‘til you’ve tried it.”
“Great. So now I’m just good stuff?”
“All four,” Tina said brightly, putting an end to our bickering. “Why not? It’ll maximize our chances of getting Lauren the virgin over here a date.”
“A fake date!” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Oh, my God. Okay, fine. We’ll do it, but when I’m done with this shit, we’re doing the same for you two.”
“As long as I get laid, I’m good.” Madi held up her hands.
Tina wrinkled her face up. “Fine. Fair is fair.”
I pulled my laptop from under the coffee table and hauled myself over to the sofa, taking the middle cushion. Tina took the chair to my life while Madi readjusted herself on the right side of me.
This was a terrible idea. It was going to be a horrible mistake. I didn’t have to be a genius or a fortune teller to know that. All I could do at this point was ride the wave my drunken best friends had conjured up and go with it.
If I agreed, I had some form of control over this horrid idea.
Oh, God, what was I doing?
I signed into my computer and opened up a new document in Notepad. I wished I could take a moment to savor the taste of my wine, but I couldn’t because it tasted like sadness and regret.
“You need your name, age, job, and a little about yourself.” Tina shuffled in closer to me. “Start with your name!”
“No, really? I thought she should start with her cup size,” Madi drawled.
“All right, all right, I got this. This is only a draft, anyway.”
Yep. Regret was not a strong enough word for this…
Name: Lauren Green
Age: 25
Profession: I’d have to kill you if I told you
“Cute,” Madi said. “Keep some suspense.”
“How is bartending remotely suspenseful?” I asked her. “The biggest question I get asked is how much a fishbowl costs.”
Tina rested her head on my shoulder. “Well, they won’t know that you can drink them under the table. That’s a nice surprise.”
Yeah. It hadn’t been a nice surprise for my cousins at my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. The sailor and the cop had been drunk under the table by little old me.
I was simultaneously proud and ashamed.
“Okay, about you. What can we say about you that doesn’t tip them off to the fact you’re a raging bitch for five days each month?” Madi slapped her lips together.
“A photo of a man,” Iz said dryly, perching on the arm of the chair with Cara gurgling on her chest. “She’s a woman. It’s a given.”
I glared at my sister. “Ugh. I don’t know. I’ll put something quirky.” I hit the Enter key twice.
Offering my services as a fake date for one night only. Got a wedding you need a date for? I’m a classy girl in public with a dirty side in private. How about a family get-together where you’re the only single grandchild going? This blue-eyed brunette with a passion for pizza is the one you’ve been looking for. Or if you’re heading to a party and need to make that one person jealous—I’ve got an ass you could crack diamond on.
Contact me at [email protected] with your needs.
And no, I’m not charging.
But I’m not buying my own drinks either.
“There,” I said, pushing the laptop over my thighs to my knees. “How’s that?”
“Can’t see,” Iz said, positioning Cara on her shoulder to burp her.
“You might wanna move,” I muttered to Tina as both Madi and I moved up.
Tina eyed the baby speculatively and used one of my cushions as a barrier between them. Madi read the ad copy out loud, stopping to snort at the mention of my ass cutting diamond.
It couldn’t. The only thing my ass could cut was my dreams of fitting into a size eight pair of jeans.
A size ten, too, depending on whether or not Mother Nature was making her monthly visit.
A girl could put on the pounds when that bitch stopped by.
“Perfect,” Iz said with a nod. “At the very least, anyone who responds to that will have a similar sense of humor to you.”
“A warped one,” Tina piped up.
“Hey, that’s funny!” I pointed at the screen. “I’d date me.”
Madi nudged me. “That’s the point they’re making. For what it’s worth, I think it’s fucking hilarious, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “I guess I’ll post it.”
“No, you don’t guess. You will.” Tina took the laptop from me, nestling it on her own legs, and opened the internet browser.
I took the cushion she’d been using to separate her and Cara’s spit and pressed my face into it. It was, thankfully, baby spit-free. Unlike my sister’s shoulder that had a tasty trail of white-yellow goo over it.
Unbothered, Iz put Cara back down in the pram and used her foot to rock it back and forth. Madi eyed her for a moment, but Iz shut her down by saying, “Don’t judge me. She’s gonna wake me every two hours for boob juice.”
That was the end of that as everyone turned their attention to the screen. Tina’s fingers flew across the keyboard like little lightning bolts as she typed in what I’d written. At least, I hoped that was what she was typing.
Copy and pasting didn’t require that many keys.<
br />
“Done!” She hit the left mouse button with a flourish and turned the screen toward me. She’d corrected a couple of typos I’d made and added in a couple of extra words, but it was otherwise exactly the same as the one I’d written up.
“Post it. Go ahead.” I shook my head and leaned right back on the sofa.
Right in time for Henry to bound up onto the back of the sofa, pad his way along, and sit his fat ass on my head.
That about summed it up.
***
From: Kirsty Jackson ([email protected])
To: Lauren Green ([email protected])
Subject: Fake Date Ad
Hi Lauren,
I saw your ad on Craigslist early this morning when I was browsing. My brother is looking for a date for his ten-year high school reunion this Friday night. Are you free then?
Best,
Kirsty
I blinked at the email.
Holy shit, this was for real.
Henry meowed his displeasure as I sat up in bed, dislodging him from his sleeping place in the crook of my knees.
Someone had actually emailed me about that stupid ad that I’d been talked into placing last night. Why hadn’t I thought that it would happen? I hadn’t actually taken it seriously, but now, here I was…
Staring at an email from someone who was apparently emailing me on behalf of her brother.
I had no idea how I felt about this.
So, I did what any slightly-hungover, tired, and hungry woman would do. I opened up my three-way chat with Tina and Madi and sent them a screenshot.
TINA: OMG!!!! Are you doing it?
MADI: *ten laughing emojis*
LAUREN: This is no joke. What the hell do I say????
MADI: Yes.
TINA: Yes.
I groaned. How did I know they were going to say that? I picked up my phone and slid out of bed, typing my response as I headed for the bathroom.
LAUREN: I don’t even know if I can. I think I’m working Friday’s shift. Stella has a date.
MADI: I saw her yesterday in the store and she was on the phone complaining about guys. Text her and see if she’ll swap.
I really didn’t want to text Stella. I liked her, but she was the kind of person who was larger than life. She had the brightest, bubbliest personality and she could talk the ears off of Dumbo. Working with her was hell because, while she was a hard worker, she tended to get wrapped up easily in conversations. Luckily, our boss knew that, so it wasn’t often we worked together.
I didn’t have a choice, though. If she would swap her Saturday shift for my Friday one—
Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t really going to do this, was I?
Judging by the way my fingers pulled up the messaging app on my phone before I’d even gotten my ass off the toilet, apparently, I was.
LAUREN: Hey, Stella. Do you still have that date on Friday?
I was mid-way through brushing my teeth and thankfully no longer on the toilet when my phone lit up with her reply.
STELLA: Hey. No, I don’t. It fell through. Why?
LAUREN: I might have one Friday and was wondering if we could swap our shifts this weekend. I have Friday 6-close.
STELLA: I have the same Saturday. I’ve got no plans. I don’t mind swapping. Did you ask Pete?
LAUREN: No, I wanted to ask you first. I’ll text him now.
I did just that before I headed downstairs. I was halfway through a bowl of cereal when Pete’s name flashed on my screen with a message saying that he was fine with us swapping as long as I changed it on the roster when I went into work.
That was it, then. I was actually doing this.
I needed to see a psychiatrist.
CHAPTER THREE – MASON
Rubbing one hand through my hair, I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my yawn. The banging at my door was fucking relentless, and that meant there was only one person on the other side of it:
My little sister.
I paused to look through the peephole. Yep, sure as fucking shit, Kirsty was standing there, looking fresher than a field full of daisies.
Morning people like her needed to be shot.
I turned the key in the lock and undid the deadbolt before I tugged it open a crack. “What?”
She grinned, her dark brown eyes sparkling. “I have a surprise for you.”
“No.” I pushed the door shut and turned around.
“Mason!” She banged on the door again. “I’m going to stand here and bang until you let me in!”
I groaned and stopped mid-step. If it were anyone else, I’d leave them there looking like an idiot. The problem was, I knew my sister, and I knew she wasn’t damn well lying. She’d set up camp outside if she had to.
Not to mention that my neighbor, Mrs. Allerton, was the nosiest woman on this planet. She loved nothing more than looking through her peephole at the comings and goings of everyone in the building, and since I lived opposite her, I was her primary target.
She also hated noise, being interrupted during her TV shows, and just about everything else.
“Fine. Just stop banging,” I called, going back to the door. I yanked it open at the same time the door on the other side of the hall did.
Oh, fuck it.
Mrs. Allerton hobbled out, her stick tapping extra loudly against the floor. Her beady dark eyes were hidden behind huge spectacles that took up half of her wrinkled face, and her white hair was still styled in rollers.
She clutched her robe tighter to her chest. “Mason? Mason, is that you making that racket?”
Kirsty swallowed. “Sorry, Mrs. Allerton. That was me knocking on his door.”
“Knocking on his door?” She leaned in to see her. “Oh, Kirsty. Couldn’t you call? I thought it was a bombing.”
Sweet Jesus…
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No, no, it’s fine. You young people have no respect for the news anymore. I only wanted to see what was going on in the world, but here I was, thinking I’d be on the news tomorrow.”
She’d started it now.
“Do you know there’s a fellow at the water plant who got poisoned with syphilis?”
“I did not,” Kirsty said politely.
“Mmm. I’ll have to see how he got poisoned. See if I can do that for noisy neighbors.” She adjusted her glasses and looked at us both. “Keep it down. Reruns of Wheel of Fortune are about to come on, and I don’t like to be interrupted in them.”
I held up my hands. “No more noise, Mrs. Allerton, I promise. I apologize for my sister’s rudeness.”
“See that you’re right.” She grunted and, after a painfully slow turn, shuffled back into her apartment, her stick still thumping against the ground.
“I’d hate to live beneath her,” Kirsty muttered, shoving past me into my apartment.
“Mmph.” She had a point; the woman liked to complain about noise, yet she was the noisiest one of everyone in the building. “What do you want, Kirst?”
“I have a surprise for you,” she repeated, this time a lot brighter. “You’re going to love it.”
“I doubt that.” I scratched my balls and walked into the kitchen ahead of her.
“Do you have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Scratch your balls when I’m around.”
“Yep.” I reached down and did it again for good measure. “You banged on my door and you woke me up. You can handle me having an itch, Kirsty.”
She wrinkled her face up in disgust. “You’re gross.”
“Yep. What do you want?”
She put her purse on the kitchen island and hopped onto one of the stools. “I have some good news for you.”
“I doubt it.” I switched the coffee machine on.
“No, it is, I swear.”
“Again, I doubt it, but I’ll humor you.” Turning, I leaned against the counter and folded my arms across my chest. “What’s the so-calle
d good news?”
She leaned right forward and grinned. “I got you a date for Friday night.”
She did what?
I blinked at her. Was I hearing her right? Was she seriously telling me that she had me a date for Friday night? For the high school reunion I was only attending because my also-single best friend was making me?
Fuck me dead. My sister had lost it.
“You did what?” I finally managed to say.
“I got you a date,” she said, seemingly unbothered by the fact I was not happy.
Actually, she probably knew, she was just fucking ignoring me. The little shit.
“Kirsty, I don’t want a date,” I said slowly. “I planned on going in, showing my face, and getting the fuck out of that hellhole.”
She shook her head. “You need a date.”
“I beg to differ.” I hit the button on the coffee machine. It spat steam before it released the milk that came out before the coffee. “I don’t need a date. I don’t need anything. I’m going with Trev.”
“You can’t go to your reunion with your best friend. You’re not a woman.”
“I also can’t go on a first date there with a woman.”
“Ah, see, this is the best part! It’s not a real date.”
She was going to give me whiplash by the time she left.
“What are you talking about? Did you drink an espresso again? You know those make you hyper.” I pulled my cup from beneath the machine and added two sugars.
Kirsty groaned. “Listen—I was on Craigslist—”
“No good story ever started with that.”
“And I was browsing, as you do, and I found this ad that made me laugh. Hold on, let me get it and I’ll read it for you.”
