Page 126 of Last First Date

“Well, good riddance,” Janie huffed, her usual calm demeanor replaced with a flash of frustration. “You don’t need an explanation. You know your worth, Waverly.”

Meredith leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with an idea. “You know what we should do? We should have a ‘Self-Love’ day! A day where we pamper ourselves and remind ourselves of our own worth. No men, no modeling, just us girls.”

As the night drew to a close, Janie hugged me, her genuine concern evident in her eyes. “Waverly, just promise me you won’t let anyone pressure you into something you’re not comfortable with. Your well-being matters more than any fleeting fame. The money isn’t worth it. A week of modeling and look at what it’s done to you.”

I nodded, grateful for the unwavering support of my friends. “I promise, Janie. I won’t let anyone push me into something that doesn’t align with who I am.”

“Good,” she said and squeezed my shoulder gently before releasing me.

“You’re not alone,” Meredith said. “You’ve got us!” She held up her wine glass in a toast. “To us, the unstoppable trio.”

We all laughed, lifting our glasses and clinking them together. The discussion had been intense, but it had brought us closer.

We talked a bit more about their jobs and what they were doing. Meredith worked in IT tracking down scammers. We often joked about her ability to send shivers down the spines of her coworkers when she busted someone.

Janie talked about one of the new people in her morning yoga class. This was why I could never leave Utah. I needed my girls. They were my support system. We’d been friends through so much. I would be trading real connections with people I loved for fame and fortune, which would disappear in a few months or a year. It wasn’t a trade I was willing to make.

After a few hours, they headed out, leaving me alone. I cleaned up the pizza boxes and rinsed the blender before going to bed. While I was lying in bed, my phone vibrated. There was a new message from an unknown number.

What followed was a series of lewd comments, so absurd and outrageous that I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. The messages were more goofy than predatory, talking about wanting to eat cake off my ass or use my toes as spoons. It was a strange mix of rudeness and humor, an odd attempt at flirtation that left me both bemused and irritated.

“Who does this person think they are?” I muttered to myself, my hot-headedness rising. I had reached a point where I had zero tolerance for such antics, even if they were meant to be funny. Enough was enough.

I snorted, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. I typed a quick reply, telling the stranger to find someone else’s toes to eat with. No sooner had I sent the text than another one came in.

“I want to see you in ribbons and nothing else,” the text read.

Another came right behind it. “What’s your feeling on feet in general? Can I suck your toes?”

My lips curled as the messages kept coming, lewder than the last.

I rolled my eyes, letting out a small chuckle of disbelief. “This guy’s got a fetish for sure.” I decided to answer in kind, my fingers dancing over the keyboard.

“I’m afraid your request has been denied, as your bizarre interest in my toes is not attractive in the slightest,” I shot back, hitting send with a triumphant smirk.

There was a sad face emoji reply. Once the emoji came across my screen, I knew we had stepped into new territory. As expected, that emoji was followed up with the proverbial eggplant and peach emojis, causing me to break into laughter. This wasn’t some suave ladies’ man with smooth lines. This was a bumbling fool amusing himself with his own ridiculousness.

“I’m afraid your understanding of romantic overtures is as mature as a hormonal teenage boy,” I retorted, my fingers flying over the screen.

I didn’t know why I was bothering to engage. It was probably a stalker, and by even replying back to them, they were getting the idea I was enjoying this.

Just as I was about to delete the conversation and block the number, another message rolled in. “You’re no fun,” it read.

“Unsolicited rudeness is not my idea of fun,” I replied, tossing my phone onto the bed, irritated more than amused now. The hilarity had worn off, replaced with a familiar sense of annoyance that gnawed at me.

I knew this wasn’t something I should have entertained, but the ridiculousness of it had caught me off guard.

Before I could do anything else, the phone vibrated once again. For some stupid reason, I opened it.

“You know I could make you scream. I’ll show you how a real man handles a woman. You need a man, not a pretty boy.”

This was enough. The person, who I assumed was a man, was not going to stop. I didn’t know how he got my number, but I didn’t want to have to change it.

I decided to take matters into my own hands and called the unknown number back. If they wanted to play games, I was going to make sure they knew I would go straight to the police and file stalking and harassment charges.

With each ring, I half-expected the person on the other end to ignore my call. To my surprise, a familiar voice answered, sending a chill down my spine.

“Hey there, gorgeous. Did my messages get your attention? Want me to come over?”