Page 53 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

“I need to tell you, guys, something,” I say, the confession suddenly burning to get out.

Alex perks up at the smell of gossip, but Crispi throws up his hands. “Wait! First, we finish clearing all the debris. Then we can have your little confessional or whatever. Deal?”

I nod.

“Fine,” Alex says, already turning back to the branches. “But first, tell me, what did you mean when you said I was obsessed with my hair?”

SONNY

I lasted less than an hour back in Arizona before I caved and called my friend John. I thought about getting more work done, but after the character-development embarrassment, I figured I needed to purge Cai from my system before I do something stupid like getting her name tattooed on me.

He answers with zero greeting. “Holy shit. Is this a butt dial? Did the apocalypse finally happen, and you need me to teach you how to talk to women before society collapses? Are you still in Miami?”

I rub my temple. “I’m back. You free tonight? I was thinking… maybe we could go out. Grab drinks. I don’t know… meet some people?”

Dead silence.

Then John absolutely loses it. He laughs so hard I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

“Wait—you? Mr. ‘I’d rather debug legacy code than make eye contact with a stranger’ wants me to take him out on the prowl? Bro. Did you get hit by lightning down in Miami? Did a palm tree fall on your head?”

I sigh. “Just… take me out. Please.”

A few hours later, we are at a crowded rooftop bar downtown. John is in his element, scanning the crowd like a predator. I’m nursing a whiskey and feeling like I’d made a terrible mistake.

True to his word before we came in, John doesn’t pressure me to tell him more about this uncharacteristic outing. I figured this was just the distraction I needed, but the task seems trickier than I thought.

“Okay, target acquired,” John says, nodding toward a group of women near the bar. “Red dress, ten o’clock. She’s cute. Go.”

I look. She is pretty. Tall, confident, nice smile.

But her hair is straight and sleek. I’m looking for something wilder and curlier, that looks like it has just survived a wind tunnel.

“Too polished,” I mutter. “Her hair should have… personality. Like it’s been through three boss fights and still looks amazing.”

John slowly turns to me. “You’ve been here eight minutes, and you’re already being difficult?”

I took another sip. “I’m just saying.”

A few minutes later, another woman smiles at me as she orders a drink. Brunette, great laugh.

John nudges me. “She’s into you. Go say hi.”

I watch her laugh again. It’s nice. Polite. Controlled.

“Her laugh should be louder,” I say. “Like she can’t help it. It takes over the whole room.”

John pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

By the third attempt, a woman who comes over to ask what I’m drinking, I am fully done even pretending to be interested.

“She was wearing too much makeup,” I observe. “I want a girl who doesn’t try so hard. Like she’s comfortable in her own skin. That’s… really hot.”

John stares at me in disbelief. “We’ve been here forty minutes now, and you’ve rejected three perfectly nice women because none of them are meeting these weirdly specific criteria. You’re not even trying.”

“I am trying,” I protest weakly. “I just… keep seeing her. The way she gets all flustered when she’s lying. The way she lights up when she talks about stories. How she hugged me like she was afraid I’d vanish.”

John is quiet for a second. Then he sighs, long and dramatically.