Page 9 of Texting My Valentine

“Cleo, let me get these. I could use a drink. But just one. My tolerance for alcohol is about as low as my tolerance for all this schmaltzy crap.”

Cleo giggles. “I’m going to choose only to hear the first half of that statement.”

Damien serves me at the bar. He’s the sort of guy who stares a little too long. Tall, with sharp cheekbones and eyes that roam up and down my body. He gives me the creeps, to be honest.

“Hey, Victoria. What can I get you?”

“You can call me ‘Tori’, Damien. It’s what everybody else calls me.”

“But Victoria is such a beautiful name.”

Urgh. I’ve given him so many signals that I’m not interested, but he won’t take the hint. I’m relieved whenever I turn up to work and see he’s working a different shift. I knew we should’ve gone somewhere else tonight.

After ordering the drinks, I return to our table, sure I can feel his eyes on me.

“Somebody’s got an admirer,” Lily says.

“Don’t.” I take a sip of the vodka mixer, just a small one.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asks.

“I don’t know. He gives me bad vibes. Always calls me ‘Victoria’ and acts too nice.”

“Jeez,” Lily replies. “You need to lighten up. Sometimes, nice is just nice.”

“Screw that.” Cleo shakes her head. “I’m with Tori on this. The nice-guy act is always hiding something.”

“He looks like a fit, well-put-together young man.”

“Yeah, he does martial arts and goes to the gym. That doesn’t mean I have to throw myself at him,” I mutter.

“But please,” Cleo says, “throw yourself atsomebodyso I don’t feel like the odd one out.”

“Cleo, if there’s anything you’re comfortable being, it’s the odd one out,” I say.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Lily echos my thoughts.

Soon, it’s time for the main event to begin. The bar owner, Rowan, takes to the stage wearing an outlandish sparkling red dress, Jessica Rabbit-style. Several men whistle, and Rowan takes a short bow. She speaks into the mic.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is our second annual Text Your Valentine Event. We all know that hiding behind our phones allows us to be, let’s say, more risqué than we would in person.”

“Speak for yourself!” Cleo yells, and the room erupts into laughter.

“To that end,” Rowan goes on. “We have two bowls markedladiesandgents. The concept is simple: put your number in the bowl and wait for the text-a-thon to commence. We will match the numbers and put them in envelopes to ensure there are no crossovers. One person for one number. If you want to arrange anygroup activities, do it on your own time.”

We all laugh, and Rowan steps off the stage.

Cleo grabs her purse, takes out a pen, then grabs a piece of paper from the middle of the table. “Who’s in?”

“Obviously not,” Lily says.

“Well, duh.” Cleo stares at me. “Come on, Tori. It’ll be fun. It’s just texting. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“What’s the best that could happen?”

“You could find a digital Prince Charming to finally break down all these emotional walls you’ve built around yourself. You could live happily ever after.”

“Now you know she’s desperate.” Lily giggles. “She’s turned into Cupid all of a sudden.”

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