Page 47 of Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire

"Yeah, from the ad." He sits next to me. "I was just curious."

"So, I did date a guy, he used to make animal balloons for kids’ birthday parties," I say, making a face, thinking of Shamus.

"Oh, cool. And he was good?"

"No, he sucked. He couldn’t make any animals."

"Wait, what?" He glances at me and lays his palm on my thigh gently. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he was a con artist. He had ads that said he could make all these different types of balloon animals from photos he took off Google. And then, when he would get to the party, he would have all these balloons and then he couldn’t make any animals. But then he’d start singing and dancing and doing all sorts of stuff to try to get the kids’ attention onto something else."

"Wait, what?" Ethan scratches his forehead. "So, he was an animal balloon party con man?"

"Yeah. He was a jackass, and yet I still dated him." I shake my head to rid myself of the memories. "My radar was off that day."

"Please tell me you didn’t know he was an animal balloon party con man when you first started dating him."

I press my lips together. "Can I plead the fifth?"

"Oh, please, tell me you did not know." He looks shocked.

"Let’s just say I was at a birthday party for a friend’s kid that I went to because she begged me to attend. I hadn’t even wanted to attend because it was going to be boring with a bunch of snotty spoiled kids in Connecticut. But I digress. There I was, at this party, and there he was. Standing there, looking like a tall, skinny hunk. He was supposed to be making giraffe balloons, yet he wasn’t. And I did kind of notice he wasn’t making them, but I told myself he was distracted because he was attracted to me and the reason why he’d been unable to make them was because he was too busy trying to flirt with me." I pause. "Anyway, long story short, we dated for a couple of weeks."

"Oh, wow, long time." He laughs as I stick my tongue out at him. "Why did you break up?"

"Because he told people that I was a trapeze artist."

"What?" He looks astounded.

"Don’t ask. Basically, he told people we met working at a circus and I was a trapeze artist. And lo and behold, he was getting money for me to do a trapeze act in Central Park at some party. Me, who can barely walk a straight line on the ground," I say, thinking back to that embarrassing day. "Yeah. So that was great."

"He sounds like a winner," Ethan says sarcastically.

"Total winner."

"Was he at least good in bed?" he asks me.

"I know you didn’t just ask me that, Ethan." I’m appalled that he would go there with his questions.

"I mean, was he as good as me?"

"I’m not answering that," I say, shaking my head. I’m not going to tell him that I never slept with Shamus because all he seemed to want to talk about was the different parties he was going to be performing at and how he was going to be a big star.

"And what about the time-share salesman?"

"Oh, you don’t want to hear about him."

"I do," he says. "You did post it. I want to hear more."

"Basically, my friend and I won a trip on a cruise."

"Oh, that sounds fun."

"Well, the story isn’t that fun. We got a letter in the mail, basically saying we won this cruise for a week to The Bahamas for ninety-nine dollars."

"Okay," he says. "So, not exactly free."

"Anyway, we have to call the number to get the details."

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