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“That’s true,” frowned Monica, hesitating for a moment. “But seriously, it’s not right. I don’t like the way he treats you because you’re always an afterthought to him. Plus, aren’t you starting to pay for him, now?”
The sad part was that it was true. With my take home from the Donkey, I had some extra cash and had begun springing for Don sometimes when we went out. Of course, when I paid Don splurged on his orders, getting expensive dishes like the wild Alaskan salmon and the coq au vin instead of the entree salad. But food was food, and Don would always be Don. Still, Monica still wasn’t done.
“Listen,” she said, plunking onto the couch beside me. “You can always look around while you’re dating him. He doesn’t have to know,” she said conspiratorially.
I opened one eye and glanced at her suspiciously.
“You mean, cheat?” I asked archly. Might as well call a spade a spade.
“Well, it’s not really cheating,” my buddy said, quirking an eyebrow. “I mean you’re not seeing each other exclusively.”
I sat bolt upright on the couch.
“Excuse me?” I huffed, turning to her. This was a shock.
“Oh shit,” Mony said, covering her mouth with her hand. “I thought you knew. Don’s going out with Katie this weekend, and I think they’re seeing the new Ironman movie. I think it’s as more than just friends too ...” she said, her voice trailing off.
Holy shit. No wonder Don had been so asshole-ish recently. He was seeing other women on the side! I slapped my forehead at how dumb I‘d been. Don was too much and honestly, I was relieved I wasn’t his “one and only” so to say. Being his special friend was better a job shared.
But the city is a big place and suddenly a wave of loneliness crashed over me, bringing a lump to my throat.
“I guess Don and I aren’t an item. Well, maybe we never were,” I choked out. “But he kept the boogeyman away, you know what I mean?” I mumbled. “I don’t want to die alone with wolves feasting on my dead carcass.”
“Oh please,” laughed Monica, giggling on the couch. “We’re young, so it’s too early to throw in the towel. Plus, there’s all this on-line dating stuff going on, so you can always start looking on the web. You should still dance with him at school, but you know, check out other guys too. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”
That piqued my interest. Of course, I know about the dating sites, but I’d never actually tried them.
“Why?” I asked curiously. “Is dating on-line fun? Do you actually meet people?”
Monica rolled her eyes.
“Girl, what rock have you been under? This is the modern age, and yes, it is a ton of fun, and yeah, people actually do meet,” laughed Monica. “Here, I’ll show you,” she said, flicking on her phone and handing it to me.
Dubiously, I took a look. On a site called Matchy, a cute girl was pictured with a blond guy as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Okay, they were just models, but it looked like it had potential.
“Okay, what do I do?” I asked.
“It’s easy,” Monica chirped. “You just enter your name, your age, your sex, and your location, and then Matchy starts matching you up with people.”
“Really?” I said dubiously. “That seems a little too easy. I mean, I could be an axe murderer or something.”
Monica paused for a second.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true but no one is,” she said cheerily. “Come on, let’s look through my matches.”
Now, I had to see. Monica logged into her profile and a man’s photo popped up. He was nice looking with light brown hair, friendly eyes, and an inviting smile. Plus, he held a furry dachshund in one hand.
Monica studied his pic and suddenly swiped left. The picture disappeared and a new guy took his place.
“Wait, what did you do?” I asked. That had been quick.
“He’s not my type,” she said airily. “He’s too clean cut, and too Midwestern-looking. Besides, what guy has a dachshund for a dog? I’m looking for danger, men with a streak of bad, that kind of thing,” she said saucily.
I just shook my head, laughing. Trust Monica to ding someone for owning the wrong type of pet. But now my friend was staring at another profile which featured an older guy with salt and pepper hair. He seemed okay-looking, but then my buddy burst out laughing hysterically.
“What, what is it?” I asked, curious. There was nothing wrong with the pic. Yeah, her match was like fifty or something, but he put himself together well enough with a nice sweater and friendly smile.
“OMG … it’s … it’s my high school English teacher,” she sputtered, bent over double cracking up. “Mr. Smith. Holy shit, what is he doing on here?”
