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This was a terrible idea. It was going to be a horrible mistake. I didn’t have to be a genius or a fortune teller to know that. All I could do at this point was ride the wave my drunken best friends had conjured up and go with it.
If I agreed, I had some form of control over this horrid idea.
Oh, God, what was I doing?
I signed into my computer and opened up a new document in Notepad. I wished I could take a moment to savor the taste of my wine, but I couldn’t because it tasted like sadness and regret.
“You need your name, age, job, and a little about yourself.” Tina shuffled in closer to me. “Start with your name!”
“No, really? I thought she should start with her cup size,” Madi drawled.
“All right, all right, I got this. This is only a draft, anyway.”
Yep. Regret was not a strong enough word for this…
Name: Lauren Green
Age: 25
Profession: I’d have to kill you if I told you
“Cute,” Madi said. “Keep some suspense.”
“How is bartending remotely suspenseful?” I asked her. “The biggest question I get asked is how much a fishbowl costs.”
Tina rested her head on my shoulder. “Well, they won’t know that you can drink them under the table. That’s a nice surprise.”
Yeah. It hadn’t been a nice surprise for my cousins at my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. The sailor and the cop had been drunk under the table by little old me.
I was simultaneously proud and ashamed.
“Okay, about you. What can we say about you that doesn’t tip them off to the fact you’re a raging bitch for five days each month?” Madi slapped her lips together.
“A photo of a man,” Iz said dryly, perching on the arm of the chair with Cara gurgling on her chest. “She’s a woman. It’s a given.”
I glared at my sister. “Ugh. I don’t know. I’ll put something quirky.” I hit the Enter key twice.
Offering my services as a fake date for one night only. Got a wedding you need a date for? I’m a classy girl in public with a dirty side in private. How about a family get-together where you’re the only single grandchild going? This blue-eyed brunette with a passion for pizza is the one you’ve been looking for. Or if you’re heading to a party and need to make that one person jealous—I’ve got an ass you could crack diamond on.
Contact me at [email protected] with your needs.
And no, I’m not charging.
But I’m not buying my own drinks either.
“There,” I said, pushing the laptop over my thighs to my knees. “How’s that?”
“Can’t see,” Iz said, positioning Cara on her shoulder to burp her.
“You might wanna move,” I muttered to Tina as both Madi and I moved up.
Tina eyed the baby speculatively and used one of my cushions as a barrier between them. Madi read the ad copy out loud, stopping to snort at the mention of my ass cutting diamond.
It couldn’t. The only thing my ass could cut was my dreams of fitting into a size eight pair of jeans.
A size ten, too, depending on whether or not Mother Nature was making her monthly visit.
A girl could put on the pounds when that bitch stopped by.
“Perfect,” Iz said with a nod. “At the very least, anyone who responds to that will have a similar sense of humor to you.”
“A warped one,” Tina piped up.
“Hey, that’s funny!” I pointed at the screen. “I’d date me.”
Madi nudged me. “That’s the point they’re making. For what it’s worth, I think it’s fucking hilarious, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “I guess I’ll post it.”
“No, you don’t guess. You will.” Tina took the laptop from me, nestling it on her own legs, and opened the internet browser.
I took the cushion she’d been using to separate her and Cara’s spit and pressed my face into it. It was, thankfully, baby spit-free. Unlike my sister’s shoulder that had a tasty trail of white-yellow goo over it.
Unbothered, Iz put Cara back down in the pram and used her foot to rock it back and forth. Madi eyed her for a moment, but Iz shut her down by saying, “Don’t judge me. She’s gonna wake me every two hours for boob juice.”
That was the end of that as everyone turned their attention to the screen. Tina’s fingers flew across the keyboard like little lightning bolts as she typed in what I’d written. At least, I hoped that was what she was typing.
Copy and pasting didn’t require that many keys.
“Done!” She hit the left mouse button with a flourish and turned the screen toward me. She’d corrected a couple of typos I’d made and added in a couple of extra words, but it was otherwise exactly the same as the one I’d written up.
“Post it. Go ahead.” I shook my head and leaned right back on the sofa.
