I look again at the diminutive black, strapless number she threw over one of the little twin beds —my twin bed— and I frown.
There’s no freaking way in heaven or hell my boobs will fit into this thing and if they by some miracle do, it would be because my ass is showing. Thank you, but no thank you.
I turn to stare at my roommate –looking impeccable as usual in the vertiginous heels, little dark green tube-top and black denim mini-skirt that’s one inch from showing her crotch– and glare at her.
“Veronica, if you expect me to wear that, you’re crazier than I thought.”
She rolls her green eyes at me and huffs, tossing her long black hair back. “First of all, it’s Nica or Vero, not Veronica, how many times must I remind you?! Veronica is so passé… and second of all, why do you have to be such a party-pooper is beyond me, sweetie, can’t you try to be fun for once in your life?”
I smirk at the ‘Vero/Nica’ thing.
It’s one of her latest ridiculous ideas: she read some influencer’s blogpost going on and on about truncating longer names down to shorter monikers if you really want to be hip with the times and she’s been nagging the heck out of me for days to stop calling her ‘Veronica’ and use her glamorous nicknames.
“Be as it may, Vero-Nica, but I wouldn’t wear this thingy to bed, let alone put it on for a night out. If you want me to come and keep an eye on the guy, I will, but I’ll wear whatever the fuck I please or the deal’s off.”
She stomps toward the bathroom. “Whatever! Suit yourself! Look silly in one of your sundresses if you please, sweetie, or wear leggings and pink sneakers like a twelve-year-old, why don’t you?! Let’s just get out of here, we’re about to be unfashionably late.”
—*—
I’m freaking seething, I can’t believe her. She’s such a conniving bitch, ugh!
First, she said her online guy, Victor, was waiting for us at the bar in a ‘nearby restaurant’ that turned out to be an open-air beach club with loud pounding music, drunken revelers, and half-naked girls who think this is some sort of tryout for Spring Break all over the place.
And then… well, she really did save the worst for last.
I’m so mad, my hands are shaking and I’m sloshing the probably spiked drink all over the place to my unexpected blind date’s disappointment.
I swear to God, I’m this close to getting up and leaving. One more pervy leer toward my tits and I’m outta here.
I wasn’t meant to be a third wheel or stop her from ending up dead in a ditch somewhere, after all, oh no: Victor brought a buddy along and they needed a fourth.
She’s such a liar, I can’t get over any of this.
At first, I felt bad for the guy, I mean how fucking horrible it can be to think you’re going on a double date that’s all planned and then find out the girl who is supposed to spend the evening with you has no clue whatsoever this had been set up?!
Took me two minutes in Barry-Whatever’s presence to get over feeling sorry for him or his friend for ruining their evening with my reluctancy to be sociable.
For one thing, these guys may be good-looking, in a sort of smarmy, psycho-stay-away-from-me way, but they are like in their late forties and we’re twenty-one.
I don’t think age should stand in the way of true love or anything, but this is hardly the case here: I could spot the tan lines from their wedding rings a mile away.
But still, I figured I could put a big metaphorical ‘not interested’ sign up and still be a good-sport and act amicable toward the guy since my roommate is determined to fall all over herself to be with Victor.
Boy, did my plan nosedive or what!
I’m not that experienced with dating and men in general and much of my positive knowledge about love comes from the one too many romance novels I’ve read but are dudes really this horribly crass?!
This weirdo with a wife —and probably kids and a dog— at home waiting for him, was barely done with giving me his name before he started making innuendos about us going away together and disgusting little comments about my breasts.
Then when I don’t respond like he expects me to —I honestly don’t know what he wanted me to say besides calling him a rude prick which is what I did— he stalks away, only to come back with a drink, an apology for ‘jumping the gun’ and a serial killer little fake smile.
Like I’m gonna drink a single drop of this crap. I might be willing to give people chances, yes, I’m an optimist at heart after all, but despite what both my stepmother and my roommate believe, I wasn’t born yesterday!
I firmly put the drink down on the little oval corner table and look up at Mr. Creep. “I’m not thirsty, thank you.”
The asshole looks me up and down and purses his lips. “I paid for it, you know.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for a drink, you took it upon yourself to get me one. Also, I haven’t touched it so you can totally drink it yourself, can’t you?” I pick the glass up and offer it to him.
He looks at the cocktail and then back at me. “I’m the designated driver, I can only have one drink.”
I scoff, such a dirtbag. “Right,” I say slowly, and push further away from him until I’m about to fall from the stool.
I look toward where I last saw my roommate dancing with her date, hoping I can persuade her to leave this place and the two jerks behind, but they are nowhere to be found.
Great.
My eyes roam across the makeshift dance floor over the warm sand, looking for a hint of Veronica’s bright green top to no avail.
I feel a warm sensation run through my spine and the little hairs on the back of my nape stand all of a sudden. I turn to the side and my eyes widen when they meet the penetrating gaze of a tall, handsome man, maybe in his early thirties, standing at the counter under the little wall-less cabana working as a bar station a few feet away.
I gulp down air as my heart picks up speed and the whole world around me just stops spinning.
The man at the counter fits the Tall, Dark and Drop Dead Gorgeous bill to perfection. Even in the dim lights, I can see how striking his features are, the full lips, the pronounced brow, the square jaw, and the close-trimmed beard, dark brown as the wavy short hair on his head.
He is so very big, he must be over a foot taller than my short self: Barry would look like a scrawny teen standing close to him, but his eyes are the thing that draws me in the most, the dark color seeping into my blood until I start feeling dizzy, like the air between us is buzzing in a continuous low hum of electricity.
Am I losing it here or is he actually looking straight at me?
I feel my cheeks blush and hold his intense stare until my breath becomes short and my chest starts to heave as my hands shake.
Holy Shit!
What is this?