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As a slew of “good luck” and “be safe” texts come in from my sisters, I check my reflection. I never wear a lot of makeup, and tonight is no different—just bronzer, blush, mascara, and lip gloss. I kept my hair down like I tend to wear it since I grew it out and stopped dying it blonde. I’m sure my sister April would be disappointed that I didn’t wear something more revealing tonight, but I knew I wouldn’t feel comfortable, so I chose my black formfitting turtleneck dress and a pair of boots that are both sexy and easy to walk in. I feel like myself, and I think that’s better than me pretending to be someone else for the night.
I send Mike a message letting him know I’m parked and heading to the restaurant, then grab my purse off the passenger seat and get out of my car, locking the door. As I head down the street, I’m glad I chose to wear my long, brushed wool coat, because it’s freezing outside.
When I reach Etch, a restaurant I’ve never been to in my life, butterflies fill my stomach. I head inside, since it’s too cold to wait on the sidewalk, and walk to the podium. After letting the girl there know I’m waiting for someone, I head for the bar and take a seat on one of the stools. I order a glass of wine to help soothe my nerves and then check my phone again, finding nothing from Mike who’s been quiet since this evening when I told him I was heading into the city but probably because he’s driving himself.
“Would you like another glass?” I hear the bartender ask, and I look up at her from my phone, hating the sympathy I see in her gaze.
It’s been an hour since I took a seat at the bar, and in that time, I’ve sent a dozen or more messages to Mike and tried to call him multiple times, with no response in return. I want to believe the guy I’ve been talking to would never stand me up and something happened to him that is preventing him from calling me, but I have a feeling Mike was too good to be true and I’ve been played.
“I think I should probably cash out my tab,” I tell her quietly as I scoot off my stool.
“That drink’s on me, girl.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary.” I shake my head, pulling out my wallet.
“I know it’s not,” she says gently, then tips her head to the side. “Just so you know, whoever was supposed to meet you here tonight is an idiot for not showing up.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, giving her a smile as I pull out a few dollars and leave them on the top of the bar. When I step out of the restaurant, I give one last glance up and down the sidewalk to check for Mike before tucking my free hand in my coat pocket.
Walking toward where I parked, I feel like the biggest idiot in the world. Halfway to my car, my cell phone in my hand rings, and relief floods through my system like a tidal wave, but as soon as I look at the screen, the feeling whooshes out as quickly as it rolled in. Sliding my finger across the screen, I put my phone to my ear.
“Hey,” I greet my cousin, Willow.
“Hey, girl. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Yep,” I chirp trying to cover how disappointed I feel.
“Well, I was thinking about getting out of town for a few days after the holidays and wanted to see if you’d like to join me on a beach in Florida.”
“Yes,” I answer immediately, and she starts to laugh.
“Well then, I’m going to see if any of the other girls want to join us before I start looking for a place to stay.”
“Awesome, keep me in the loop when you buy your plane ticket so I can catch the same flight as you.”
“Will do,” she says, sounding happy, then asks, “Have you been okay? I feel like we haven’t had a chance to chat in forever.”
“I’m good,” I lie as I settle behind the steering wheel of my car. “Just busy with work and stuff. Are you good?”
“I can’t complain, and I can’t wait to hang with you.”
“Me too. Let me know what everyone says.”
“Will do, and we’ll catch up on the beach.”
“We will.” We hang up, then I reluctantly send my sisters a text, letting them know I’m heading home because Mike was a no show.
Of course they all start calling me right then, so I end up doing a group call with them on my drive home. And by the time I reach my house, April—with her husband’s help and using the photo Mike used for his profile—is able to find out that the man in the picture isn’t a guy named Mike but a man named Aiden Bender. Aiden apparently grew up in Tennessee, played soccer for Stanford University in college, then went on to play for some big-time team in London.
Since Aiden didn’t have any social media, she couldn’t find much more about him besides that. But what more was there to know? The man I had been chatting with for weeks was the worst kind of liar, and I was the world’s biggest idiot.
