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He towers over me. I literally have to tilt my head, and he isn’t even that close. His enormous body is dressed in black from head to toe: T-shirt, jeans, and jacket. Mystery man might be handsome, sure, but I’m a little too busy focusing on the scary intensity in his gaze. Like he’s staring straight through me.
Goose bumps pebble across my skin, and an orange-sized lump forms in my throat. It feels like my tongue is velcroed to the roof of my mouth. That’s how dry it feels.
Klaus only meows louder when he takes a step closer. His deep-set green eyes move away from my face only long enough to glance at the cat before turning back to me. “Do you recommend that?” He casually gestures to the box I’m holding. At least he tries to. Nothing this man does looks truly casual. There is a darkness surrounding him that he can’t shake even when he tries.
Funny, but I’ve suddenly forgotten how to talk. I choke out something that sounds like affirmation when really, all I want to do is run away. I don’t know what it is about him. Maybe it’s the skull tattoo on the back of his right hand, which disappears as he slides both hands into his jacket pockets. “I never saw a cat like that before.”
“Oh, yeah.” I need to get out of here. Of all times for there to be nobody else around. I saw somebody at the front counter, but unless I start screaming, I doubt they’ll come over here. “They’re not super common, but I’m allergic and hairless cats are allergy friendly.” The words bubble out of me nervously.
“I had no idea.”
He didn’t major in small talk.
“Yeah…” I glance toward the exit, wondering if I should just make a run for it now.
I can’t shake the feeling this guy is bad news. I know all about being awkward and having a hard time making conversation—it’s practically my life story. So for me to think something weird is happening, that’s saying something.
His gaze slides back and forth while he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “So how long have you had your cat?”
“I’d better go. I, umm, have things to do at home. It was nice meeting you.” I grab one of the trees at random, not even checking the price before hurrying up to the register. It doesn’t occur to me until I’m outside that I probably should have walked instead of riding my bike since I now have something to carry. I manage to balance the box across the basket before slowly pedaling home.
And if I didn’t know for sure I’d end up tipping the bike over, I’d be looking over my shoulder the entire time. What a creep.
I don’t feel remotely safe until I’m a few blocks away, and I’m laughing it off by the time I collapse the bike, then carry it and the box up the stairs. “There’s a reason I hang out with you all the time,” I tell Klaus, who has also calmed down. “Sometimes, people are too weird.”
It doesn’t take long to assemble the tree, and Klaus is in heaven by the time I flop down on the couch. The invitation to the wedding is still sitting on the coffee table, where it’s been for weeks. I shudder at the memory of my earlier conversation with my mother.“You have to RSVP today. It’s the cutoff, and even then, you’re being rude by not having given your answer sooner. You realize they have to give a final number to the caterer, right? How do you think this makes me look?”
Because, of course, that’s what matters. She doesn’t want anybody thinking her daughter is a flake. It’s bad enough in her eyes that, unlike the rest of the family, I didn’t choose some big career in law, medicine, or finance. It’s not enough that working at the library makes me happy. Or that my little life in my little apartment is all I need.
Still, she’s right. I need to piss or get off the pot, as my incredibly clever father likes to say. I roll my eyes at myself, forced to imagine yet another family function where I’ll show up single. I can hear it now. The reminders from my aunts that I’m not getting any younger and my biological clock is ticking. Suggestions on how I could dress in a way that will attract men. I’ll have it pointed out countless times that everybody else in my family is either married or in a serious relationship. I’ll be the only one showing up without a date.
There won’t be anybody to stick up for me when Mom or Dad or one of my cousins decides to make me the butt of their jokes.
“What should I do?” I ask Bob, who is happily munching away on a lettuce leaf I left in his enclosure. “Short of hiring somebody, I mean.”
Wait a second.
Could I?
It’s not like it would have to be anything sketchy. It’s not like I’m going to cruise around town, picking up a guy off the corner and asking him if he has anything to do that evening. It’s probably the craziest idea I’ve ever had, but I pull out my laptop anyway and ask the internet for help, typing ‘rent a date to a wedding’ into the search box.Boy, Ainsley, you have fallen far.
Right away, I see my problem. All of these sites are men in search of women. I click on one link, another, until twenty links deep, I start losing hope. Apparently, every woman in the world finds it easy to get a date. Everyone except for me. Like I need to feel any worse about myself.
“Forget it,” I announce, and Marley squawks in response. I’m about to close out the browser before shutting the lid when one last link on the second results page catches my eye.
Rent a date. Offering male escort services for a party/work event/wedding.
100% professional and safe.
Interesting. When I click, I find it’s a classified ad placed on a website devoted to local businesses. There’s a description of my potential date: male, mid-thirties, six-foot-two. Dark hair, green eyes. Well-spoken, attractive, and available immediately.
This is ridiculous, isn’t it? Probably, but it’s the only thing close to a solution I’ve found so far. And I’m out of time. Either I do this, or I face the prospect of an entire evening filled with pitying looks and snide jokes made at my expense.
There’s an email address included, and I shoot them off a message before I can stop myself.Would you have anything available two weeks from Saturday?Then I close the laptop and shove it away because I’m too embarrassed and nervous to even review the email. Besides, Klaus needs dinner, and so do I.
By the time I sit down again with a sandwich, a new email waits on my phone.You’re on the schedule. Please confirm the details.
Wow. I’m actually doing this.
