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A sexy, badass mystery with spiky black hair and a wide grin and scruff and tattoos and…
“You need a makeover!” Brylee declares as she marches out to prepare for another night out, while I open my laptop again and stare at my unfinished post. “And then pursuit!”
A makeover. Yeah… so I may be somewhat nerdy. So what? Is that so bad?
I wish my buddy, Connie, were online, to tell her all about what happened and fangirl and rant and sigh together. Connie gets me, unlike Brylee, who mostly wants to fix me.
Brylee doesn’t know me.
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
Pushing my glasses up my nose, I type two words in my post, delete them, and finally smile as I launch into my steamy, improved encounter with J-One. On screen, he can be whatever I want him to be—do whatever I want him to do. He can be loving and wild and forceful and into me, and into J-Two, and make us both come and then spoon us in bed while a fire burns in the fireplace and a storm rages outside.
Yeah, perfect, I think, sitting back and surveying my post before I hit “publish.” Hey, what can I say? Can’t beat fictional boyfriends. They’re the best.
***
“Good night,” Brylee mutters right behind me, almost giving me a frigging heart attack, and giggles. “Don’t overdo it with the boyfriends. Don’t want you worn out tomorrow.”
“Why? What’s tomorrow?” I’m still trying to catch my breath while glaring at her perfectly made-up face, perfect dress, perfect—well, you get the picture.
I mean, I do like Brylee, don’t get me wrong. I really, really do, even if she drives me nuts. She’s an amazing friend. But sometimes, when I’m being honest with myself in the dark hours of night, I wish she were a little bit less perfect, know what I mean?
“You forgot. I knew you would.” Brylee wags a finger in my face. “Tomorrow. Park. Concert. With Ryan. Ring any bells?”
Yep. Ringing all over the place. “I don’t know, Bry.”
“It will be great. You need to get out more. Get over Liam.”
“What? I don’t need to get over Liam.” Why are we even speaking about my ex-boyfriend? “There’s nothing to get over from.”
Except I miss sex. I really do. This nerdy girl had some pretty wild times before Liam, but since him I seem to have… given up? Maybe. Given up on finding someone who can make me feel as good as my own fantasy can.
“You’re coming to the concert with me,” Brylee says, cocky as you please—as cocky as Joel Kingsley. “And you will let me make you pretty,” she adds.
“Yeah.” I blink. “What? No.”
I turn to look at myself in the mirror nevertheless, in sudden doubt. With my hair caught in two braids, a long Indian dress and a T-shirt on top that says, “I Heart Vader,” don’t I look, I dunno, okay? I mean, this is my I’m-at-home-relaxing attire. Am I supposed to be in a dress and heels for that?
“You will let me prettify you. If not for me, then for you. You will meet actual real guys. Living and breathing ones. Let go of your fantasy. Become the fantasy.”
Wow. That was deep. I guess.
And she goes, leaving me feeling vaguely offended and annoyed, her heels clacking on the floor, as I frown at my screen. I need prettifying?
Being nerdy may not be the problem, after all. Maybe I’ve become rather… lax about my appearance.
Happens when you don’t have a man in your life to dress for, okay? Why waste time when the only male staring under your skirt is the neighbor’s manic Chihuahua? Why wear lace and shave your legs for the crazy fluffy bastard, huh?
Going to a concert by some unknown indie group from out of town doesn’t feel like reason enough, either. But Ryan is going, so of course Brylee wants to go.
Brylee insists she’s in love. She works with Ryan, at the investment firm where she’s landed her first job as accountant. He likes rock music, and Brylee believes they are soulmates.
Have I mentioned she hates rock music?
But hey, who am I to judge? It’s not like I believe in love, not really. Wouldn’t know what it was if it bit me in the ass. I know lust, and Brylee is clearly a case of bad lust. I hope they hop into bed together soon, so she can get over it.
The reason I can’t get over J & J, I decide as I open a new post in my browser and copy-paste the review I prepared for the last book I read and loved—Cora Brent’s latest—is that they are a fantasy.
