Page 2 of I Accidentally Summoned a Demon Boyfriend

“It’s okay, it really is.” It took everything not to roll my eyes at her. “I just need about six months to erase the image from my mind and feel stable enough to try this again.”

“Bae, you coming?” a deep voice called out in Keri’s background.

“Is that Brandon?” I asked about the man who’d walked into my best friend’s life eight months prior. Since the first time he flashed his bright smile at her, she’d been lost in the sauce of his love. The two barely spent any time apart, and it only got worse after he moved in with her.

“Yeah, we’re headed out to see a late movie.” Keri couldn’t help herself. The goofy love smile stretched across her face.

“I guess the ladies will have to wait for your recap.” I waved her off. “Go enjoy your mans.”

“Seriously, all jokes aside, are you going to be okay?” Keri asked. “You’ve had a truly concerning string of bad dates lately.”

“Yeah, I’m just going to conjure me up a boyfriend.” I chuckled at the thought. “Eliminate the headache of all this.”

“What?” Keri gawked. “Conjure a boyfriend?”

“Girl, it’s nothing. I’m just joking… mostly. There’s this fantasy book I read where the main character said this spell and boom, she had the perfect boyfriend.” I thought of the magical storyline that had the perfect solution to modern dating. “All it took was a special candle, some oils, a feather, and a dance in moonlight. Then, just like that, the love of her life knocked on her door the next day. If only it were that simple.”

“Well, let’s not jump to using magic just yet.” Keri shook her finger at me. “You know I don’t play about stuff like that. My grandmother gave me more than enough warnings.”

“I’m not that desperate…yet.” I picked up the phone from the dashboard. “But you know, it would be nice if we could all get together. You know, a girls’ night? We haven’t done that since I became the last single girl in the group.”

“Of course. I think we could all use it.” Keri picked up her phone and started walking through her home, turning the lights off as she went. “We’ll set something up for this weekend. I’ll drop details in the group chat.”

“Cool, have fun at the movie.” I gave a quick wave as the call ended and turned my attention back to the tainted seat in my car.

Call me crazy, but I was determined to make the seat spotless, no matter how badly my arms burned. Maybe if I could get the damn thing clean enough, it would erase what happened, and all the previous bad dates along with it. Like the guy who massaged my hand and gave me a headache that lasted a week. Or the one who got mad at me for beating him in arcade games and took my rewards card so I couldn’t get a prize.

But I knew no amount of scrubbing would erase the image of the man who wanted me to nurse him. Yes! He wanted to latch on to my titties like a newborn baby and nurse! I know I’m not a part of the itty-bitty titty committee, but that doesn’t mean I want to be a wet nurse to a full-grown man!

The internal recordings of my mother’s nagging played in my head. Every time we spoke, she went on and on about those damn fish in the sea. What she failed to realize was that the modern pollution of dating apps, social media, and #relationshipgoals had mutated the fish! As many times as I’d said it before, I really wanted to call it quits. Maybe that’s what I needed: a nice long break from fishing. Part of me wished to keep the hope of catching a good one alive, but the cynical side of me was growing more and more with each disgusting encounter.

“Fuck it. I’m buying a new car. This one is ruined.” I slammed the door and headed inside to the oasis that awaited me in my bathroom. That was where I ran to recover when my days weren’t as great as I’d hoped.

I’d worked hard building two careers, one in the arts landing my work in galleries around the world, and one as a digital marketer to Fortune 500 companies to give me a life of leisure. I took a nice chunk of my income to work with a designer who gave me the bathroom of my dreams, complete with a massive tub, heated stone flooring, a luxurious sauna shower, and yes, a bonnet warmer. You haven’t lived until you’ve slipped a warm bonnet over a fresh twist down.

I expected to share the life I built with someone special, thought I’d have a partner to celebrate my wins with and even confide in when things didn’t go my way. The older I got, the more I asked myself: was it so bad to enjoy it alone? I had a wonderful home, a flexible schedule, good friends, and loyal clients who kept my bank account full.

I may not have been able to get the car clean enough, but I would damn sure step into my shower and turn on that full body shower system to scrub the ick of the night from my skin, even to the detriment of my precious melanin. I hoped the shea butter gods would forgive me.

A week later, I sat alone with a ball of anxiety growing in my gut. “These bitches better not ditch me here!”

10:00 PM

The time popped up on my phone screen, and I rolled my eyes after checking the door again. It wasn’t even my plan, meeting at this overpriced bar at eight on a Friday night. Something in my gut told me it was too good to be true. This was prime time for newly booed-up couples to go out on their cute little dates. Yes, I wanted the outcome to be different, but it’d be a lie to say I was surprised by those heffas bailing on me.

After sitting alone at the bar for nearly three hours reading a series of “I’m running late,” and “I won’t make it” text messages, I threw away any hope of seeing my girls. Each tap of my nail against the rim of the glass in front of me was another point of realization. I had to get used to this new life as the last single girl in the group.

We’d always promised each other that when we got into a relationship, we wouldn’t forget our friends. We’d retain a sense of independence and connection with the girls. Liars. If any of them had been truthful, I wouldn’t be nursing a drink alone in a bar while trying not to sneeze from all the competing scents of cologne.

The last thing I wanted was to have to go out and make new friends. At thirty-whatever, it was so hard to find genuine connections with people, and that wasn’t limited to men. The idea of making new friendships as an adult sounded as appealing as detangling my hair with a fine-toothed comb. With everyone bringing their own bag of drama and prejudices, tiptoeing around them became a nightmare.

As a scuzzy guy in a cheap suit made his way back to my side of the bar, I peeped the quickest route to the exit. I’d avoided his advances twice already, and I didn’t see how I would get away from the terrible breath and BO a third time without at least having to give out a fake number.

After a quick goodbye with Darryl, the bouncer who knew Keri, I made it to my car. When the door closed, I relaxed and silently celebrated having successfully avoided any more awkward interactions with the male species. I drove home ignoring the string of notifications on my phone. I guess they finally realized no one showed up.

“Maybe I’ll get a cat,” I muttered as the garage door lowered behind my car. There had been a stray cat lingering in my backyard before I got the fence put up. Maybe I could find him and give him a home. I glared at the soiled passenger seat. There wasn’t a visible stain, but I knew what happened there. I’d never forget it.

Inside my home, a three-bedroom, two bath, corner lot beauty I got my hands on just before the market exploded, I got myself into a good mood. One bottle of cherry Moscato and a 90s R&B jam session later, and I was dancing around my home to Deborah Cox and feeling fuzzy. When the room started spinning, I flopped down onto the plush white sofa that cupped my ass like the horny boyfriend I wished I had.

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