Page 5 of Texting My Valentine

“I wouldn’t be thetopclinical psychologist in the world if I couldn’t read between the lines.”

“That sounds like a slight exaggeration…”

He grins. “So, do we have a deal?”

He might have a point. Ever since all the stuff with Elliot’s mom… I don’t let my mind go there.

Damn.

Maybe his point is even more valid than I realized. We arranged this night to have some fun, but my mind won’t stop going to negative places. It’s like there’s something inside me hungry for darkness.

“I can practically hear the cogs in your mind turning.”

I laugh, playfully flipping him the bird. “Fine, just this once, I’ll be your wingman.”

He may call me dramatic, but he’s the one who punches the air.

Julian leans against the bar, gesturing to the end of it with a big grin on his face. “What about them?”

I look down the bar. The place is all decked out in red. A large inflatable Cupid sits above the bar, holding a bow and arrow with a heart on the end. Even the placemats have a Valentine’s theme.

“They seem a bit…”

“What?” Julian interrupts. “Fun?”

“Young?”

“Pfft, don’t give me that. You’re the one in your forties. We’re talking to them…”

As he drags me over, I remind myself of my promise. I agreed to be his wingman. Tonight is about having fun, after all,notgetting lost in the implications of what could happen.

Sometimes, it’s as if I think I can surgically dissect life, but that’s just not how it works. I need to let go.

“Ladies, I’msosorry for interrupting,” Julian says, smoothly sliding his elbow onto the bar.

The two women turn to us, all smiles, looking as drunk as my friend. They look college-age, wearing outfits that don’t leave much to the imagination. Not that I’m judging them. I’d just like my future partner to…

I stop myself. I’m not here to meet my future partner. Neither are these women, most likely. We’re all here for the same reason. I refuse to look at the seediness of the situation.

“Could I be so bold as to ask your names?” Julian says.

The women giggle, apparently not finding this one of the cheesiest ways he could’ve made this request. I try to hide the fact that I’m cringing. Hard.

“You can call me Tinker,” the tall brunette says.

“And you can call me Belle,” the woman with pink hair says as they turn to each other and giggle.

Julian glares at me, which tells me my expression is probably not as inviting as it should be. I plaster a smile to my face—or my best approximation of one.

I have to remember. Tonight, no grumpiness.

“And what do you do, Belle?” Julian says, but he’s looking at me, making wild eye gestures toward Tinker.

“Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that…”

When Julian loops his arm around her waist and leads her toward a table in the corner, that’s my cue to pick things up with Tinker.

“So, what’s your real name?” I ask.

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