Page 30 of Single-Minded
“Of course I was,” she replies. “I’m always right. About what?”
“I need sex, apparently.”
“Say no more,” she says. “I’ll be at your place around nine-thirty or ten. I’ve got a congressman who’s in trouble and I need to save his ass, and then I’ll be over. Fucking Republicans, they preach all this high-and-mighty pro-marriage, anti-sin shit and they’re the first ones to get caught in the men’s room at Dulles with their pants down and their dicks in a hole.”
I’m tempted to ask her who, but I know she’ll never tell.
My doorbell rings at nine-thirty and Michael, Samantha, and Darcy are on my doorstep. It seems weird that Michael would ring the doorbell, but he doesn’t live here anymore, and I guess it’s what people do.
He smiles as he comes inside and my heart skips a beat. I wonder if there will ever be a time in my life when I’m not in love with him.
“What’s with the Tony Stark facial hair?” I ask. Michael looks different every time I see him now. Tonight he’s sporting an elaborate goatee. He grins but doesn’t respond.
As usual, Darcy has brought a nice bottle of wine. Sam grabs some glasses from the kitchen and the four of us gather around the dining room table.
“Prepare yourself for the horrid world of online dating,” she says.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for online dating,” I say. “It seems so desperate and gross.”
“Desperate and gross it is,” she quipped. “But online dating is basically one big man market. It’s the fastest possible way to track down those nine guys you need before you meet Mr. Right.”
“Definitely.” says Michael.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Michael, “but we’ve only been divorced for three days. Do you really think you’re an expert on this particular subject?”
A sheepish grin washes over his face.
“I’ve made significant progress in the area,” he says.
“Eww,” I reply. “Too much information.”
“You mantramp!” exclaims Darcy, raising her glass to Michael. “With the Cuban guy?” He winks as he returns the toast. He has club stamps on the back of his hand. More than one.
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he says. “But yes, let’s just say that I am now approaching mantramp status.”
This is a shock for me. First, because Michael always seemed pretty satisfied with once a week, although what the hell did I know about that. And second, it crushes me that he’s moving on so fast without me. Doesn’t he miss me at all?
“Seriously?” I ask.
He gushes, “It’s like I’ve been parched in the desert for all this time, and now there’s sparkling water all around me.” My heart sinks, as I never really thought of my lady parts as comparable to the Sahara. I’m trying very hard not to feel pitiful, unwanted, and left behind. Screw him, I’m moving on.
He sees my expression and reaches out to pat me on the arm. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I know this must be hard on you.”
“Nobody’s hard on her,” cracks Darcy. “That’s the problem.”
I roll my eyes and the four of us start cracking up.
Darcy yanks my laptop out of my bag and sets it up on the dining room table.
She opens up the page to Match.com, types in some details, and then pushes the laptop over to me so I can start filling out my dating profile.
“We need a photo,” says Darcy. “A good one.”
“You can just pull one off my website,” I say.
“Terrible idea, Dr. Wiggins,” says Darcy. “We’re not trying to get a man to hire you for a consulting project. We’re trying to get him to want to sleep with you. Or at least take you out for martinis.”
“What’s wrong with the photo on my website?” I ask, slightly offended.
