AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If you say so.” She grabs the TV remote and turns on one of her favorite crappy reality dating shows. I try to ignore it, but eventually the hot couples looking for love grab my attention. Especially when they start making out with each other at random.
I squint at the screen as a couple streak across the screen in the dark, naked, jumping into a hot tub. “What is this?”
Her eyes are so glued to the screen that at first, I don’t think she heard me. Then she mumbles, “Match-a-Rama.”
“What’s the hook of this one?” Not that it matters. All of them are essentially the same.
“They can’t talk the entire time. They have to make their connections in other ways.”
I tilt my head. No wonder there’s no dialogue. Just a lot of tongue-wrestling and splashing around naked in hot tubs.
“Do people who go on these shows actually think they’ll find meaningful, lasting love?”
She shrugs. “It’s probably better than meeting people randomly on an app.”
Touché. Look what I’ve found on the app. Nothing but trouble.
“Where’s Joe tonight?” I ask.
“Business trip in San Diego. Some people have all the luck.” She picks a piece of eggplant off the pizza and licks it. “Ugh. I need real food. You think if I called China Wok, they’d deliver fast?”
I shake my head.
She gets up and grabs her phone anyway, disappearing into the kitchen to make the call. When she returns, she pokes at the pizza. “I ordered extra noodles for you.”
“Thanks. Why didn’t you go with him?”
“Joe? I wish! I couldn’t get off work, which is bullshit. No one’s buying or selling right in the dead of winter but my boss wants me there just in case …”
I smile. She works for a tyrant real estate agent down in Portland, posting listings and picking up his slack.
“So Joe asked you to go with him?” I ask “It’s that serious?”
She lifts her pizza off the plate, the melted cheese leaving a long string that she scoops up with a finger. “I don’t know. It’s better than nothing.”
Better than nothing? She’s the one who’s been sounding like she’s been having the best sex of her life, every night, so much so that I feel like I haven’t seen her in two weeks. And it’s better than nothing?
“Okay …”
“I mean, he’s cute and everything. Sort of. He has a comically big chin. But from the nose up, he’s a solid seven. Maybe an eight,” she says, blowing on the pizza. “Speaking of hot. What I want to know is, who’s the guy that moved in next door? Did you see him?”
I’m surprised she’s noticed. She’s been so obsessed with Joe.
“That’s the doctor. Doc Mansfield,” I say. “The one I matched with on the app. Remember?”
She blinks and tosses the pizza down, uneaten. “What? When were you going to tell me?”
I give her a look. “When have I had a chance?”
“Oh.” She smiles. “So wait … he’s the guy you knew when you were a kid? Your brothers were friends with him? You said he tormented you … ?”
“Uh-huh.” I look back at my book. I don’t want to talk about it.
“He moved in next door … why? Did he know you lived here? Is he stalking you?”
“No. I think it was just fate laughing at me.”
She rubs her hands together greedily. “Details!”
“Nope. There’s nothing to tell.”
“So … you didn’t wind up going out for drinks then.”
Oh, no. We did. And much, much more. But I’m certainly not telling her that. I lift my book higher and pretend to be engrossed in it, even though there’s drama breaking out on the television and everyone’s stripping down to wedge themselves into the hot tub.
“Sad,” Mad sighs, shaking her head. “I can’t believe he lives right next door. What are the chances? And you’re single. He’s single. You matched. It feels like a wasted opportunity.”
“Hmm,” I mumble. It doesn’t feel like that to me.
In fact, it feels like an opportunity I overindulged in.
But the man’s already occupied far too much mental real estate in my life.
I refuse to think about him anymore.
The episode ends on a cliffhanger, making it look like an orgy is about to ensue. It switches to the next one in the series, and a recap.
Mad runs for the stairs. “I’m gonna get my PJs on, too. Answer the door if my food comes.”
“Sure thing.”
When she’s gone, I reach over and take a taste of the pizza, little tendrils of fake cheese slipping down my chin.
There’s a knock at the door.
China Wok must be stepping it up. That or they’re slow tonight because this is a record.
Holding my finger between the pages of my book as a bookmark, I shuffle over in my pancake slippers, trying not to trip over the extra layers of fabric of the giant, zebra-striped wearable blanket hanging from my body.
