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“Five ten.”
Indie nodded and returned to her knitting, her needles moving at a less frenzied pace. “Compared to shorties like Everly and me, you’re Amazonian. Plus, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Honestly, if you weren’t so nice, I’d totally be jealous of you.”
Quinn opened her mouth as if to protest, but Indie continued, “Under those dowdy clothes, you have a smoking-hot body. I saw you at the beach. You’ve got killer curves.”
As a pink hue spread across Quinn’s golden skin, I decided to step in before she made it to neon red. “What Indie’s trying to say is that you’re stunning.”
“Thank you.” Quinn cleared her throat and took a sip of her water. “Regardless of what you might think of my appearance, guys get intimidated once they find out what I do for a living. And while I’m surrounded by men at work, I prefer not to date colleagues. I’ve had bad experiences in the past.”
Our group groaned as one. We all remembered the jerk who told Quinn she should keep her opinions to herself because she was a lot less pretty when she sounded intelligent. Quinn was a data scientist. To be honest, I still wasn’t entirely sure what she did. Whenever she started explaining mathematical modeling, my thoughts kind of drifted off.
I was more of a words and images type of gal.
“Good. The trash took itself out then,” Indie insisted. “Any guy who can’t handle your intellect is a loser. Period. And, like all of you, I’ve also been unlucky in the male department.”
I was highly doubtful of that. “You go out with a new guy almost every week.”
Indie frowned. “True, but the guys I attract aren’t interested in relationships. I’m tired of ‘situationships,’ and I’m tired of not finding my Mr. Right, which is why I’ve come up with the perfect solution for all of us. We are making a dating pact.”
“A what?” I asked.
Indie leaned closer, her bright red lips curving up in a grin. “A dating pact. I propose that we team up and help each other find quality men.”
“I’m in,” Joy said. She swayed her arms and danced in her chair. “Bring on the quality men.”
I wasn’t so sure. Indie was always coming up with some grand scheme or another. Some of which were great, like adding a compost bin to the back of the garden, and others that didn’t end so well, like the time she watched a food documentary then convinced me to join her in a vegan, no-sugar lifestyle. We both cracked within half a day.
“What would this pact entail?” I asked.
“We’ll each take turns going on dates set up by the others,” Indie explained. “It’s the ultimate matchmaking situation. Individually, we all have men in our lives who might not be a good fit for us but who’d be a great fit for someone else. Sure, we could find guys on dating apps, but this way, we meet friends of friends. The guys are all pre-vetted.”
A few single dads from school sprang to mind. I taught their kids, so I’d never date them, but they seemed like quality guys. Perhaps Indie was onto something this time.
Quinn inclined her head and tapped her chin. “You’re suggesting we harness the power of our social networks to enlarge the pool of potential men and increase our odds of finding suitable partners. Probability-wise, that makes sense.”
“See? I’ve got Quinn’s support.” Indie pulled a glass jar off the kitchen counter and showed us the folded slips of paper inside. “Each of these has a number written on it. Everyone will reach in, and the number you select decides the order in which we’re doing this.”
Wow. She had this all figured out. The plan seemed logical and, for her, surprisingly normal; however, I couldn’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop. This was Indie we were talking about, after all. Like some modern-day Lady Godiva, my best friend once organized a crowd of students to streak across the football field during homecoming to protest the differences in funding for female and male college athletes.
Indie lit the four candles in front of her. “Fire always makes things a bit more exciting.” She waggled her eyebrows and then dimmed the lights in the room.
“Spooky,” Joy whispered. “All we need now is a Ouija board.”
Quinn and I laughed as knitting club took an unexpectedly weird turn.
Indie silenced us with a look as she returned to the table, then leaned forward until the candlelight illuminated only the bottom half of her face.
An icy shiver rippled down my spine.
“Oh, great spirits of the past.” Indie gazed at the ceiling and raised both hands in the air. “We call upon Aphrodite, Hera, Hathor, Frigg—”
“Wait a minute, Frigg who?” Joy asked.
“She’s naming different goddesses,” Quinn murmured. “Aphrodite is the Greek goddess of love, Hera’s the Greek goddess of marriage, Hathor is the Egyptian goddess of love, and Frigg’s the Norse goddess of fertility.” Quinn paused when she noticed Joy and me gawking at her. “Didn’t you two pay attention in history class?”
I chuckled. “Sorry, I must have missed the lecture on ancient love goddesses.”
Joy raised her hands and shook her head. “Don’t look at me. The only thing I remember from history class was Henry the eighth having six wives.”
