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Sarah snorts. “The only connection you had was when he stuck his pecker in your bird hole. A dime a dozen, Trina. Let it go.”
In my uncomfortable pose, I try my hardest not to laugh at Sarah’s comment, but I do and attempt to cover it up by leaning forward and stretching my legs to the point that they scream in agony.
“It wasn’t just about sex, we flirted for weeks. He even mentioned something about visiting his mom.”
“Oh, the mom card. That’s pretty serious,” I say.
Trina nods in agreement, looking heartbroken.
With a hint of sarcasm, Sarah asks, “Uh-huh, and remind me again what happened?”
“He left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye and has avoided me ever since,” Trina mumbles.
“Okay, so put your big-girl panties on and forget about him!”
This time, I agree with Sarah. Only a loser would do that, and the worst part was, this is what I had to look forward to being single.
“I have to agree with Sarah—he doesn’t seem worth it. You’re young, beautiful, and surely could find better fish in the sea.”
“But he’s the prime catch,” she pouts.
Sarah butts in, “And tell Presley who paid for dinner that night, the cab ride back to the hotel, and the hotel room?”
Trina appears to be agitated at Sarah’s blast of information.
“It was a misunderstanding.”
“Right, as was the accidental text he sent to you that was meant for another woman about how he was going to screw her brains out the night after he left you?”
Ouch.
“Trina, do yourself a favor and seriously grab another fishing rod because he is so not worth your time.” With my water bottle and towel in hand, I stand up to head on out. “Listen, ladies, I have to get to work. Sarah, do not let her go anywhere near this douchebag.”
Sarah salutes me. “Once a douche . . . always a douche.”
***
After showering at the gym, I dress in my new designer white blouse for the very first time. It took me forever to save up for it. In fact, I had several bank accounts which I coordinated with my paycheck and finally my ‘special’ account had enough money to purchase this gorgeous blouse. It taunted me for weeks in that boutique window. I am so in love with it that I spend minutes staring at the mirror, eyeing myself from every angle. To complete the outfit, I wear my vintage grey pleated skirt. It kind of looks like those skirts we used to wear in school, but it’s my absolute favorite piece.
With my black pumps on, I shove my gym gear into my bag and quickly apply some makeup. If I’m on the market, I need to take better care of myself. Then it dawns on me, how unfamiliar it is to be alone, and the thought of finding someone new fills me with fear. Thank the lord I’m not Trina though, and being thirty-two should make me wise enough to avoid the douchebags that lurk in the city.
My hair is always quick to misbehave so I quickly run some product through it and let it out. I may control and plan everything in my life, but my hair will forever be untamed. Bouncing curls may be ideal to some; I call it a walking disaster.
It’s just before nine when I make my way into the office, and there is nothing more enjoyable than sitting in a quiet office before all the mayhem begins.
I have been working at Lantern Publishing for almost ten years, starting as a junior and working my way towards my goal of Editor. It’s not as big as other publishing houses but we retain good staff, and together, we work well.
At times, my job is repetitive, reading manuscript after manuscript with no end in sight. Occasionally, that golden egg hatches and there is nothing more exciting than holding that next bestseller in your hands.
After working long hours last week, I feel confident pitching a new manuscript to my co-editors in a few hours. My presentation is ready to go, and I have prepared myself for the usual questions or negative comments that arise.
My steaming hot tea sits on my coaster beside my computer monitor. Allowing it to cool down, I arrange my pens in order from shortest to longest and place my Post-It notepad in exact alignment with the pens. I glance over at the clock and the second it flicks to nine, I turn my computer on and start scouring through my emails.
The noise starts to invade the office floor and colleagues drag themselves in, fleeing to their cubicles as they talk above the partitions. I try my best to avoid the distraction, but office gossip is difficult to ignore especially when the office skank, Dee, starts talking about her Saturday night. Talk about loose lips (and I don’t mean the ones on her face).
I reach for my mug and throw the tea bag into the trash, pulling the mug towards my lips. I allow the steam to linger when all of a sudden my seat jerks forward and part of my tea lands on my keyboard and blouse.
“What the f—”
