I’m taking them home? No. I need to fix this right now.
“I’m sorry. This is a mistake,” I start.
“Yes, it is a mistake. This whole night was a mistake.” Tina interrupts me for some more over-the-top ranting and sobs, “My whole life is a mistake.”
Okay, that is a whole lot of drama. Dammit. How am I gonna get out of this one? What address did she say? 43 Poplar Street. I know where that is. It’s not far. It’ll probably be easier to just bring these girls home and be done with it rather than stir up any more problems. Besides, this may actually work out better for me anyway. It’ll buy me more time, and when I get home, I can make up a story to Jenn about how great my date went. I might even lie and say the bouquet of flowers was a big hit. With an internal grumble, I put on my imaginary Uber cap and pull out from my spot in front of the bar, praying that none of my colleagues at the firm ever find out about this accidental side job.
“I didn’t even like him.” Fresh tears emerge from the back seat. “I’m never going to meet the right one. I’m going to be single forever.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being single. I’m single too,” Amanda reminds her friend while also inadvertently informing me.
“I’m done with men,” Tina shouts, and the girl next to her stirs, making me realize that the third girl in the back who’s been quiet is already passed out. Please don’t be a puker.
“You’re not done with men. You just haven’t found the right one yet,” Amanda says. She’s such a voice of reason. Levelheaded and secure. It’s surprising that she’s still single.
“From this day forward, no more men. I’ll become a nun or a lesbian or a lesbian nun. I’m the unluckiest person in the world.” Tina lowers her voice, staring out the window, ranting to her own reflection. “I should have just told him.”
“Told him what?” Amanda twists in her seat to give her friend her full attention. I’ve got one eye on the road, the other taking in my passengers.
“Everything.” Tina shrugs, all cried out and still fixated on her window. “He thought he was so perfect. God’s gift. But he was far from it. I should’ve been honest with him, told him a thing or two.”
“Aw, sweetie.” Amanda’s perfectly glossed lips frown the appropriate sentiment but turn upward into an alluring smile when she notices my sideways glance in her direction.
It’s a quick trip. Almost too quick. Before I know it, I’m pulling onto Poplar Street, stopping in front of a brick townhouse with black shutters. Once my car is parked, the third girl passed out in the back wakes up and takes a few seconds to place where she is.
“Are we home already?” she asks groggily.
“We’re at my house.” Tina’s voice is cracked and raspy.
“Oh, Ti-ti, don’t cry.” Passed out friend returns to earth and wraps her arms around her. “He’s not worth it. Remember all those things you couldn’t stand about him. The teeth thing. The coffee slurping thing. Just be glad it was only a few bad dates you wasted on him. You’re so much better off.”
“I know he wasn’t the one, but I just can’t take any more bad dates with the wrong guys. There isn’t a normal guy out there anymore. It’s like they all need to go back to school and take Stop Being an Asshole 101 so they can learn how to act.” Tina’s voice muffles as she crashes onto her friend’s shoulder. Her mop of curly hair bobs up and down with fresh sobs.
“Amanda, I’m gonna stay here tonight with Ti. She shouldn’t be alone.” The third girl, whose name I never learned, turns her attention to me and tries to get a read through squinty eyes. “Is this guy okay? Do you trust him to get you home?”
“Yeah, Jackie, I think he’s fine. I’m just a couple of blocks away.” Amanda gives me a flirtatious wink and smiles. “Would you mind?”
“Uh, no. That’s fine. I’ll take you home.” I can’t crap out now. Plus, this has been a rather riveting ride home. Who knows? There could be some potential here.
“Do I have to put it in the app so you get the fare?” she asks.
“No. Actually….” I don’t finish. Was this more of a carjacking or a kidnapping? Either way, maybe I should just keep quiet for now. “It’s fine. I’ll get you home safely.”
“Thank you for putting up with me tonight, guys. I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Tina says, opening the door without even a look in my direction. “I really should have said something when I had the chance.” Those are the last words said before she slams the door and hurries up the stairs to her home with her friend in tow.
“Sorry about that.” Amanda pushes a few strands of pale blonde hair behind her ear. “Tina’s just had a string of bad luck this year when it comes to men. That Todd was awful. All she did was complain—of course never to him, just about him.” I notice her eyes dart down to my hand as if looking for a ring.
“Okay.” I swallow. “Well, let’s get you home. What’s your address?”
“I’m on Dunlap Street. Go back out the way you came and make a right.” Her voice is a sexy whisper.
It’s quiet in the car now that the screaming meemie is gone. I follow Amanda’s directions and try to give myself an internal pep talk before arriving at her house. What have I got to lose? If I ask and she says no, no problem. She doesn’t even know my real name.
My breaths are a bit staggered as I pull in front of her home and park. This is it.
“Thank you so much. Sorry you got stuck with us tonight.”
“No, it was no problem at all,” I say with a cough to clear my throat.
“Oh, and here, thanks again.” Amanda stalls for time, folding the twenty she had promised before, tossing it into my cup holder.
“No, I can’t accept this.” I grab the twenty and tuck it into the front opening of her purse. “But... there is something I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, sure.” Amanda lowers her lashes and bites down on her lip.
“Do you think I could get Tina’s number?”
A Surprising Trick
“Wait? Explain this again, please.” I heard what Amanda said, but I just can’t seem to understand it. “The Uber guy is not an Uber guy. His name is actually Henry Barclay, and after watching me scream, cry, and carry on in the back of his Mercedes that we accidentally hijacked, he asked you for my number?”
“Yes. Looks like I played my cards wrong, ’cause I was hoping he’d ask for mine.” My gorgeous best friend grimaces over her very first taste of rejection. “But of course I didn’t give it to him. Instead I asked for his number and said if you were interested, you would contact him. So are you?”
“Am I what? Interested?” I laugh. “No. Of course not.” Yes, I may be lonely and in need of some romance. Yes, I would like to meet a man where I feel there is an actual future. Yes, I would like a chance to meet a man who doesn’t walk all over me. But still... no. Random men lurking outside of bars pretending to be Uber drivers is where I draw the line.
“Why not?”
“Because….” I reflect back to what I remember of the guy who drove us home, ready to list my reasons. “I mean he was kind of cute, I think, but—”
“Cute? No. He was not cute. He was gorgeous. Hot.” She raises her brows, clicking away at her phone.
“So you’re saying I should actually call him?” I say, a bit stunned. My phone vibrates, and I look down at the incoming text from the friend seated next to me.
“There’s his number and his email. You do what you want.” She continues to click and then two seconds later a picture pops up on my phone. “But I googled him, and just a reminder, that’s what he looks like.”
“Oh.” I look down at the gorgeous hazel eyes staring back at me. “I didn’t quite remember him being so….”
“Yeah. Exactly. So like I said, do what you want.” She taps her lip. “Or are you still contemplating becoming a lesbian nun?”
“A what?” It returns to me. Oh God. My car ride rant. Not my finest moment. “Why would this guy want my number? It
does not make sense.” I keep my eyes fixed on the dazzling smile and chiseled chin in the picture.
“Well then, text him and find out.” Amanda makes it sound so simple when it really isn’t. At all.
“What the hell would I even say?” I understand why my friend didn’t give out my number, but it would have been easier if she had. “I don’t want to be the one to make the first contact. That’s so awkward. And then what if I text him and he doesn’t respond right away? Ugh, that’s so much more awkward. Just waiting to see if he will or won’t even reply.” I spend another few seconds analyzing before making my final decision. “No. Forget it. It’s stupid. He probably just wants to get laid and thinks because I was drunk, down, and dejected that he can easily hone in on what he assumes is a sure thing.” Which makes perfect sense for why he wanted my number over my non-crazy, pretty friend’s.
“Then send him an email instead.” Amanda ignores my point, but nonetheless her new suggestion is a brilliant one.
An email. Hmm. That’s not a bad idea.
It’s more formal. It doesn’t scream that I’m some desperate chick looking for a casual fling. Plus, I won’t have to stress if he doesn’t respond right away or if he doesn’t respond at all. With an email, if there’s no reply, I can always tell myself that it was never received or it was lost in a sea of spam. The number won’t be programmed into my phone, where after countless anxious days of waiting to hear back, I’ll have to delete it and pretend like I don’t even remember whose number it was.
Geez, can you tell what kind of year I’ve had?
An email. I can do that.
“Fine, I’ll send an email, but I’m just gonna say let’s meet for coffee. A public place, during the day, so there’s no room for misinterpretation.” I open up my email account and paste in the new address. “Should I start it Hey or Hi?”
To: [email protected]
Subject:
“And what should I say for the subject? Coffee? Or maybe… no, coffee is good. That’s what I’m gonna write. Right? And should I apologize for the other night? For the Uber confusion and my craziness. What do you think? Amanda?” I look up from my phone. “Amanda?” She’s gone. Probably in the bathroom fixing her perfect hair that never needs any fixing. It’s fine. I don’t need her help anyway. Just keep it quick and simple. This is probably going nowhere. Don’t overthink it. For once I need to just do something without overthinking the entire thing.
Subject: Coffee?
Hi Henry,
This is Tina from the other night. My friend gave me your information and said you’d like to meet up. If you’re available, let me know. We can find a suitable place and have coffee.
Thank you,
T. Rick
Send.
“Did you email him?” Amanda is back.
“Yes. I just sent it.” I pull it up from the sent folder and present her with my underthought, simply stated message. She reads it, hands the phone back to me, and laughs.
“Suitable? Really?” She coughs out another laugh at my expense. “Are you applying for a job at his firm?”
“No good?” Dammit, why didn’t I wait two minutes before pressing send?
“Not really. But hey, I’m not this guy’s type; you are. So I’m sure it’s fine.”
“I’m not his type either,” I all but shriek. “The man doesn’t know anything about me. What could it be about me that he liked? That I don’t wear waterproof mascara? That I have no problem openly weeping in front of strangers? Oh God, this was such a bad idea. I shouldn’t have emailed him.”
Amanda laughs at my maniacal outburst as I flop restlessly onto the couch.
Whatever. I don’t even care. I mean, what kind of guy doesn’t speak up and say he’s not the Uber driver, drives strange girls home, and then asks for the psycho girl in the back seat’s number? A lunatic, that’s who. If he never replies, that’s perfectly fine. I roll my eyes before glancing back down at my phone.
Inbox—1 new message.
Damn. That was quick.
A Non-Date Trick-accino
I walk in to Cafe Cino ten minutes late. This place was all the way across town and not easy to get to in the short amount of time I’m allotted for lunch, but I didn’t want to put him out. His office building is right across the street from this place.
I scan the small quarters and my cheeks flush when I see the handsome face of Henry Barclay. He recognizes me instantly and stands up, dressed in a dark gray suit that probably costs more than my new monthly mortgage payment. He grins, waving me over.
I chose my outfit carefully this morning before work: my favorite white blouse paired with a formfitting black pencil skirt. I even broke out my new high-heeled boots without properly breaking them in. Blisters be damned; I wanted to look my best, especially after how he saw me the other night. But even at my best, next to this prominent man with his chiseled features and expensive suit, I feel underdressed.
“Hello, Tina. I’m Henry.” He extends his hand to me in a businesslike fashion. A bit strange, but I place my purse down and shake his hand. “We didn’t properly meet the other night,” he says, taking his seat once I’m seated. I notice two coffee cups already on the table. One is his, and the other is in front of where I’m sitting, an array of condiments neatly arranged next to it.
“I’m sorry. It was a rough night for me. I’m not usually….” I don’t finish the sentence. We both know what I was. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you wanted to go on a date with me after the other night. Most men would probably go running in the opposite direction after witnessing a scene like that.” I’m nervous, so I laugh.
“Well, first off, I’m not like most men,” he delivers smoothly. “And secondly, this is not a date.”
“Oh, um.” Ouch. This isn’t a date? I have no clue what to say, but it doesn’t matter as he continues on.
“It was something you said the other night that made me want to see you again.” His hands are folded in front of him on the table and his unbelievably golden-green eyes grab hold of my confused gaze. “You said you wondered how Todd didn’t know what an asshole he was and then later said you wished you had told him.”
Oh my God. Kill me. He knows Todd.
“Todd was no one. Just a guy I dated a few times.” Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. “He wasn’t even that bad. I didn’t mean what I said. Is he a friend of yours?” I never should have contacted this guy. I knew it didn’t make sense. This is some type of payback or revenge. I control myself as best I can while the blood coursing through my body shoots upward to my face.
“Relax. No, it’s nothing like that. I assure you, I have no idea who Todd is.”
“Then what is this? I don’t understand. What do you want?” I’m tempted to just get up and leave. It’s daytime; we’re in public. It’s not like he would make a scene or chase after me.
“I need your help.”
“Help?” I push back my chair, ready to flee. What the hell kind of help could this polished man need from me?
His eyes leave me briefly, showing just a momentary hint of vulnerability before regaining their confidence. He leans in and lowers his voice. “This is a bit of a delicate matter, but I think I may be… an asshole too.”
Is this 2003? Am I on Punk’d? I swivel around in my chair to see if the other patrons in this establishment are actually my friends and family, dressed up in disguises and ready to jump out so they can point and laugh at me. They are not.
“What?” I lean in and whisper back, “What are you talking about?”
“Listen, I know. This sounds crazy. But lately I’m having some issues with women, and I don’t understand why. It’s not my looks.” He sits back in his seat and motions from the top of his head downward. “Or my physique. Just look at me.” He tugs at his tie. “It’s not my job. I’m very successful.” He runs a hand through his thick sand-colored hair. “So it must be something else. Something I’m doing. That’s why I need you.”
“
You need me so that I can tell you if you’re an asshole or not?” I say cautiously, still waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out. “But I don’t even know you.” However, some early signs are pointing to yes, he is indeed an asshole.
“Exactly. And that’s what I need. I have a sister at home champing at the bit to tell me all my flaws, but she’s too close to take advice from seriously. I don’t want dating advice from a sibling. I need someone who doesn’t know me. Someone fresh and new, who I have no interest in, to go on a few dates with me and tell me all the things I’m doing wrong.”
No interest in. Lovely. But at least it’s starting to make more sense now why he wanted my number over Amanda’s.
“Why me?” I reply with a bit of a bark. Insulted. Offended. Bitter. “I’m sure there are plenty of other women out there who you have no interest in.”
“I told you, it was what you said. You said you wished you had told him. It sounded like maybe that was something you struggle with.” He takes a sip of coffee. “Well, here’s your chance. You help me figure out my dating flaws, and in turn, I help you become more assertive with men. Plus all the non-dates are my treat.”
My jaw drops slightly, but I catch it. I take one packet of sugar and shake it before tearing off the top and dumping it into the coffee cup in front of me. I need time to think. To process. Henry watches me carefully as I pour one small half and half container into the cup next.
Although I’m a bit hurt by the offer he’s proposing, I do admit that perhaps I could use a little help in the assertiveness department. Also, it might be fun to point out the shortcomings of this striking man. Something tells me there’s going to be a lot of them. And I don’t exactly have anything else going on at the moment. A few nice dinners on him wouldn’t be the worst thing.
“Okay, fine, I’ll help you,” I reluctantly agree.
“Terrific. We’ll start right away. Friday night, 7:00 p.m. at The Hudson House,” Henry dictates, and I am already blisteringly aware of flaw number one. “They serve an incredible salmon dish with capers. I already have your address. I can pick you up at six forty-five. What do you think?”
Whiskey Trick Page 2
