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“No,” I interrupt, “the broken penis part.”
“Yup. We’ll Google Image it later. And you now have the luxury of doing it from your new phone. You won’t regret it. Totally cool stuff.”
I burst out with a full-blown belly laugh at her awesomeness.
“Okay, all done. You’re good to go with five minutes to spare before the bastard is to arrive.”
I wear my identity bracelet for the first time, and it surprisingly fits perfectly. I am packing my black clutch with the essentials when the doorbell rings. I skip down the stairs with my deathtrap heels in hand and peek out through the security hole. I verify that it is Mark—whose head takes up my entire view—and open the door.
“Whoa,” he responds in a rush. His eyes flash with—
Approval?
The air leaks out of my lungs in record speed, as nerves get the best of me. I swallow hard, not really knowing what to say or do. I clear my throat, staring up into the dark brown eyes of my date. His jet-black hair makes him strikingly handsome, matching the shade of his three-piece designer suit. The deep maroon tie creates a dramatic effect of confidence and power. I shoot him my best charming-but-professional smile.
“Turn around.”
“What?” I gasp. I could not have possibly heard him correctly.
He clears his throat. “Let me see you.”
I stare at him in utter surprise. Is he serious?
“C’mon, do a little twirl.”
I comply but feel the bitter taste of acid inching up my throat.
“Very nice.” He hands me a large bouquet of red roses when I return to face him. “These are for you.” Smacking his lips, he mutters something about me earning it.
He leans into me and kisses my cheek, lingering a little too long for my comfort level. His cologne is strong and burns the lining of my nostrils, making me want to sneeze just to clear out the scent.
“Thank you for the flowers, Mark.”
“You look amazing by the way. Wow. Just wow. What am I going to do with you?”
Hopefully nothing but take me to dinner and back home safely. I’m already having regrets.
“Thank you.” I examine the delicate flowers, bringing my nose up to the arrangement to savor the fragrance. “Give me a minute. I’m going to put these in a vase in the kitchen. You can sit down if you want.” I gesture to the couch with a swing of my hand.
I walk into the kitchen and am glad for the chance to regroup my thoughts. My phone buzzes with a text alert, which I ignore. I quickly discard the tissue paper and cut the stems. I follow the care steps on the flower food packet and place the vase onto the island for display.
I hear muffled voices in the living room and know that Claire has joined Mark. I hastily dig out my phone from the clutch and see that Graham is the sender. I clumsily open the app, still getting used to the change in my devices.
Graham: Being a good girl?
My body heats at the sight of the words “good girl” on the screen. There is something very provocative about those two simple words. I type a quick message in response. On impulse, I slip on my stilettos and snap a picture of just my feet. I hit send.
Angie: Never.
Angie: Being bad is way more fun.
Graham: Fuck, Angie. I’m still at work.
I lean my butt against the island and type another message.
Angie: Same.
Graham: What do you mean WORK?
