Page 18 of Hot Doggin'
What do you expect from a girl whose name ends with an A?
“This sucks. There’s no one here worth hitting on. Maybe I should try those dating apps you use.”
McCormick sighs. “It’s not the pussy nirvana you think it is. I keep striking out.”
I try hard not to laugh. “Maybe that’s ayouthing and not a dating app thing.”
“Whatever. Good luck.” He tosses back the rest of his beer and scopes out the tavern, making sure he didn’t skip over any eligible women.
“I think our problem is that we don’t get out enough.”
His gaze snaps back to me. “What do you mean? We’re always out.”
“Yeah, but I’m always with you or the Bitches. I only go to BALLS, the gym, and the clubhouse.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Mac points out.
“There’s only regulars here.”
“That’s what happens when you live in a small town. Slim pickings.”
“Maybe we should go to Asheville next weekend. Hit up one of those fancy bars.”
McCormick looks insulted. “Oh hell no. I’m not interested in those hippie chicks.”
“Hippie chicks?”
“Yeah, that’s all they’ve got. Hippie chicks and Starbucks girls.” I just stare blankly, and he stares back, waiting for me to get it.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Is he talking about the fancy broke girls from the laundromat?
“You know, always dressed in yoga clothes, even though they don’t exercise, driving around in their oversized SUVs running errands, and they’ve always got that Starbucks to-go cup in their hand. Fake nails, fake lashes, fake laugh. They go on and on about the stupidest shit. Makes me wanna gouge my fucking eyeballs out.”
I thought we were gonna take a trip around the nonsense wheel again, but I have to admit, he actually has a point. “So what’s your ideal Mrs. McCormick like?”
“I don’t know, maybe like Betty.”
“Betty Beasley?”
“Yeah, she’s perfect.”
Fucking figures. He’s obsessed with that chick. “Yeah, well, she’s also a lesbian, so maybe a little less like Betty.”
“Okay, the dick-loving version of Betty. Red hair, those sexy cat-eye glasses she wears like she’s smart, but not boring.”
Jesus, does he hear himself? “What kind of ginger is only attracted to other gingers? It’s fucking narcissistic.”
McCormick shrugs. “Someone who likes to knit and doesn’t think it’s weird that I do too. Someone who likes to ride on the back of my bike, or maybe they have their own. A girl who thinks a good date is coming here to the Tavern. Someone who thinks my best friend is the second most awesome guy alive.”
Un-fucking-believeable. “So basically, you want to date yourself. You just described the female version of you.”
He shrugs again. “Sounds good to me. I like what I like.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” I laugh.
His attention is back on me now, having given up on watching the door to see if anyone new arrives. “What about you? What’s your ideal girl?”
I take the last sip of my Lager, wiping my lips dry on the back of my hand. “I don’t know, I’m not picky. Pretty much anyone who can put up with my bullshit and doesn’t annoy the fuck out of me.”
