But really, deep down, I knew I wasn’t in love with him anymore. I didn’t even shed a tear over our breakup. In fact, I was more relieved than anything.
And then the FBI showed up.
“I ended it with him. Before I knew he was a total and complete loser,” I tack on, feeling more defensive about the situation than I care to admit. Shifting my weight on my uncomfortable wooden chair, I cross my legs at the knee and stare sightlessly out into the bar, still feeling ridiculous in ways I wish I never will again.
“And we applaud you for that,” Rina says, nudging Margot and then Aria in the shoulders, forcing them to concur. “It was the absolute right thing to do. But you’ve been miserable and mopey and very . . .”
“Anti-men,” Margot finishes for her, tossing back her lemon drop shot with disturbing exuberance. I think that’s number three for her already, which means it could be a long night. Margot has yet to learn the art of moderation.
“Right.” Aria nods exaggeratedly at Margot like she just hit the nail on the head, tossing her messy dark curls over her shoulders before twisting them up into something that resembles a bun. “Anti-men. I’m not saying you need to date anyone here. You don’t even have to go home with them. Just let them buy you a drink. Have a normal conversation with a normal guy.”
I scoff. “And you think I’ll find one of those in here?” I splay my arms out wide, waving them around. All these men look like players. They’re in groups with other men, smacking at each other and pointing at the various women who walk in. They’re clearly rating them. And if a woman just so happens to pass by, they blatantly turn and stare at her ass.
This is a hookup bar.
All dark mood lighting, annoying, trendy house music in the background, and uncomfortable seating. The kind designed to have you standing all night before you take someone home. And now I understand why my very attentive friends brought me here.
It’s not our usual go-to place.
“It’s like a high school or frat house party in here. And definitely not in a good way. I bet all these bros bathed in Axe body spray, gelled up their hair, and left their mother’s basement to come here and find a ‘chick to bang.’” I put air quotes around those words. “I have zero interest in being part of that scheme. Boring conversations with half-witted men who wouldn’t know a female orgasm if it came in their face.”
“Well . . .” Rina’s voice drifts off, scanning the room desperately. “I know I can find you someone worthy.”
“Don’t waste your brain function. I’m still not interested.” I roll my eyes dramatically and finish off my drink, slamming the glass down on the table with a bit more gusto than I intend.
Oops.
Whatever. I’m extremely satisfied with my anti-men status. Because that’s exactly what I am—anti-men—and I’m discovering I’m suddenly unrepentant about it. In fact, I think it’s a fantastic way to be when you rack up one loser after another the way I have.
Like a form of self-preservation.
I’ve never had a good track record. Even before Matt, I had a knack for picking the wrong guys.
My high school boyfriend ended up being gay. I handed him my V-card shortly before he dropped that bomb on me, though he swore I didn’t turn him gay. He promised he was like that prior to the sex.
In college, I dated two guys somewhat seriously. The first one cheated on me for months before I found out, and the second one was way more into his video games than he was me. I think he also had a secret cocaine problem because he’d stay up all night gaming like a fiend. I had given up on men for a while—are you seeing a trend here?—and then in my final year of graduate school, Matt came along.
Need I say more?
So as far as I’m concerned, men can all go screw themselves sideways. Because they sure as hell aren’t gonna screw me!
“You can stop searching now, Rina,” I suggest. This is getting pathetic. “I have a vibrator. What else does a girl need this day and age?”
All three pause their search to examine me and I realize I said that out loud. I blush at that, but it’s true, so I just shrug a shoulder and fold my arms defiantly across my chest.
“I don’t need a sextervention,” I continue. “If anything, I need to avoid the male species like the plague they are.”
They dismiss me immediately, their cause to find me a “normal” male to talk to outweighing my antagonism. And really, if it’s taking this long to find someone then the pickings must really be slim here.
I move to flag down the waitress to order another round when Margot points to the far corner.“There.” The tenacious little bug is gleaming like she just struck oil in her backyard. “That guy. He’s freaking hot as holy sin and he’s alone. He even looks sad, which means he needs a friend.”
“Or he wants to be left alone to his drinking,” I mumble, wishing I had another drink in my hand so I could focus on something other than my friends obsessively staring at some random creep. Where the hell is that waitress?
“Maybe,” Aria muses thoughtfully as she observes the man across the bar, tapping her bottom lip with her finger. Her hands are covered in splotches of multicolored paint. As is her black shirt, now that I look closer. “Or maybe he’s just had a crappy day. He looks so sad, Halle.” She nods like it’s all coming together for her as she makes frowny puppy dog eyes at me. “So very sad. Go over and see if he wants company. Cheer him up.”
“You’d be doing a public service,” Rina agrees. “Men that good-looking should never be sad.”
I roll my eyes at that. “You think a blowjob would do it, or should I offer him crazy, kinky sex to cheer him up? I still have that domination-for-beginners playset I picked up at Angela’s bachelorette party. Hasn’t even been cracked open.”
Aria tilts her head like she’s actually considering this. “That level of kink might scare him off for the first time. And I wouldn’t give him head unless he goes down on you first.”
Jesus, I’m not drunk enough for this.
“Or he’s a total asshole who just fucked his girlfriend’s best friend,” I protest, my voice rising an octave with my objection, my hands flailing outward like a chicken who has lost her way. I sit up straight, desperate to make my point clear. “Or he’s about to go to prison because he hacks women into tiny bits with a machete before he eats them. Either way, I’m. Not. Interested.”
“God,” Margot snorts, twirling her chestnut hair as she leans back in her chair and levels me with an unimpressed gaze. “Dramatic much? He wouldn’t be out on bail if that were the case. But seriously, that’s like crazy psycho shit, and that guy does not say crazy psycho. He says crave-worthy and yummy and ‘I hand out orgasms like king-sized candy on Halloween.’”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Aria says with a knowing smile and a wink.
She swivels her head to check him out again and licks her lips reflexively. I haven’t bothered to peek yet because my back is to him and I hate that I’m curious. All three ladies are eyeing him with unfettered appreciation and obvious lust. Their tastes in men differ tremendously, which indicates this guy probably is hot.