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Amelia - This better be good, I was in my pjs already.

Everyone sends a thumbs-up emoji, and all is right in the world again. It was a short time away, but I missed then more than usual. I change into comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater, pull on my favorite Adidas sneakers and try to tame my hair. The wind outside has made sure it has a life of it’s own today. I check my emails, texts and other social media that was blocked and ignored while I was at the hotel.

I get sucked down the TikTok rabbit hole — it’s thirst-traps and boyfriend applications and silly dances — I hate that I even have to try do any of this shit. It is, however, endless, mindless entertainment. I scroll and find Asher the barman, singing — he can sing! Really sing. He’s good at it. I thought he was just an asshat. I hit follow, if nothing else it can be book fodder for later. Got to find inspiration where I can.

Maybe tonight after wine I’ll be more inclined to make a fool of myself. It’s on the list of things I have to do — create content. I already create people and their world from nothing, now I must create content. Ugh.

My Uber driver honks outside, and I jolt, I wasn’t even paying attention to the notifications, too busy watching TikTok videos. It’s an addiction. Two bottles of wine and my purse under my arm, I lock my door and head over to Charlotte’s house. Her house is like Dion’s, kids and chaos, except she pays a nanny, a housekeeper and actually does groceries. She’ll probably order a one hour wine delivery before we get there, but I brought some with just in case. The more there is the more we will drink, that’s how it works. My Uber stops outside her house, and I hop out, closing the door with my butt. Very graceful, but dropping the wine would be a sin. Amelia arrives at the same time I do, also with an armful of wine. Her smile is cheeky as she walks towards me, and I just know she’s dying to ask about the blind date she set me up on — the one that never happened. I’m surprised her ‘friend’ didn’t tell her how it went already.

“That was a quick trip to your bat-cave,” she says. I usually stay away for longer than a month. “You wet your bed or something?”

“Or something,” I say as we get to Char’s open front door. We walk in without knocking, as is our way.

“You can’t say that and not elaborate!” Amelia exclaims, announcing our arrival.

“Wine first.” I wiggle the bottle at her.

“Fuck that, start talking.”

“Talking about what?” Dion spins around on the barstool when we walk into the kitchen.

“Something,” Amelia says, “chased Olivia out of her hotel, and I need details.”

I put the wine and my purse down with a sigh. “I finished the book.”

“In less than a week?” Charlotte asks. “Is that even possible?”

“It is, and I did it. I just needed to get out of my own head and force the words to flow.” Kerry is making food, that’s her thing when we’re together. Amelia finds wine glasses, and pours them full to the brim with red wine.

“Start talking,” she says, handing me a glass.

“First of all,” I pointing at her, “You set me up with the troll from under the bridge, and the he stood me up! What on earth made you think I’d like him?” Charlotte has the giggles, and Kerry has stopped mid-kitchen with a tray in her hands.

“Single beggars can’t be choosers, the good ones are all gay or ugly — sorry to break it to you.”

“Or married,” I add for good measure. “Fucking hell, Amelia. He walked into the bar, looked at me, and left!” I’m still annoyed over it. “Left! No text, no call. NOTHING. He looked at me and left. What sort of dickhead does that?”

“He’s not that bad,” Amelia says, and her disbelief irritates me.

“No, he’s a real peach,” I snap. “It’s like you don’t even know me.” Like I would ever date that guy. “It’s fine, though. I had my world, and my bed, rocked by someone else.” Dion chokes on air, Kerry drops her spoon and Charlotte is shocked silent, which is a rare thing.

“You see now, you can’t say that then stop talking,” Amelia says sipping her wine, I think she lives on gossip alone. “Who, where, when, how?” She keeps going. The girls gather around the giant kitchen island, waiting for me to tell my story.

“Technically it was his bed, but whatever,” I say. They could just read the book and they’d know everything.

“We need more than that Olivia,” Dion remarks. “Details, girl. Details.”

“Well, Amelia’s matching-making skills left me stood up at the hotel bar, and funny story, the barman was the biker dude who drove over your bunny, Dion.”

“That’s not a funny story. I’m sleeping with the vet and the bill was huge!” Dion snorts.

“Anyway, his landlord, I think it was his landlord, was there giving him hell for having an orgy or something. I couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but after I got stood up I was mad. I also needed that date to help with the fucking book.”

“There’s no bed-rocking, get to the juicy bits,” Kerry says.

“Calm down. So the landlord guy, his name is Harlan, offered to have dinner with me and answer my questions.” I sip my wine, watching the cogs in their brains turn. “Then I spilled wine all over him, choked on nothing, and we had dessert and sex in his room.”

“Bullshit,” Charlotte laughs. “That’s the PG version.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter because he’s got a person. A wife, girlfriend, I don’t know, but I saw his phone and she was upset that he’d stood her up for dinner, and breakfast. So I ran.”

“What a douche,” Amelia scoffs.

“A douche who knows what he’s doing with a lady’s body though,” I sigh. Sadly, I’d totally overlook that he’s taken just to have him in bed again, it was that good. And it leaves me wondering, what does that make me? Pathetic? Sad? Destined to be alone forever because no man will (probably) never come close to Harlan?

“You like the douche!” Kerry states. “You don’t like anyone.”

“It doesn’t matter if I like him. He’s gone and he’s taken, and my book is finished. It was the inspiration I needed.” It really inspired me, so much so that I’m worried about what I’m going to do when I start my next book.

“Was he hot?” Dion asks, wriggling her eyebrows.

“Not like Mika. More of a grumpy, broody sexy look, but he did it for me. Ticked my boxes, and tapped my toktik, if you catch my drift.”

“You haven’t had sex in a month of Sundays, anything is hot when there’s a drought.” Charlotte makes a point. “What’s his name so I can find him and see if you were sex blind.”

“Harlan Waters, but don’t bother. Other than his work website he’s a digital ghost.” I know, I looked, and looked. I’m good at finding shit on the internet — I have a love-hate relationship with the dark web — and I came up empty. Dion, Kerry and Char start their stalking while Amelia just looks at me like a dog waiting for a treat. She wants the dirt, and by dirt I mean all the sordid details. She wants to know what went where and how, and how hard, and how fast, and how often, and I’m not sure this is an experience I can survive retelling. Then again, Amelia will kill me if I don’t tell her everything. Either way, I lose, and in the game of love, what’s new?