Page 10 of Captive Audience
“Enough about work. I want to hear about your date,” Daisy said, scooping guac with a chip and popping it into her mouth.
I groaned. “What date? The jerk stopped answering my messages and blocked me.”
“Wait.” Beth frowned. “Didn’t the one before that ghost you, too?”
I snorted. “Yeah. And the one before that.”
I didn’t date often. With research for the podcast, recording, and editing, I had little time for men. But a girl still needed to get laid every once in a while. That had never been a problem in the past.
Daisy’s brows shot up. “Three in a row? Wow. That would bruise even my self-esteem.”
Beth smacked her lips. “Nope. I call bullshit. Your self-esteem is indestructible.”
“True. Maybe I’ll find out one day, if a man ever rejects me. I’m sure it sucks, though, sweetie.” Daisy patted my hand.
I didn’t tell Beth and Daze that it wasn’t just three dates that’d stood me up. I’d been too embarrassed to tell them about the others.
I’d been ghosted, stood up at the last minute, and flat-out rejected. One douchebag had even told me he’d been diagnosed with a terminal illness, then shown up on a different dating app a week later.
“I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with me.” I glanced between my friends. “Am I too old? Oh my God. Am I stillbangable?”
Beth snorted. “Bitch, you’re only twenty-eight.”
“Yeah, but have you seen the children I’m competing with on the dating apps? They make me feel like I belong in a nursing home.”
“Age is just a number, baby. Demi Moore is over sixty, and everyone wants to bang her. Me included.” Daze slurped the last of her drink and placed the empty glass on the table. “You know what you need to do?”
I shrugged. “Give up on men? Buy a new vibrator?”
“You need to get laid.”
“Thanks, genius. I haven’t been braving the apps for true love.”
“What’s wrong with true love?” Beth crunched on a chip.
Please. A relationship was the last thing I wanted. If life had taught me anything, it was that men couldn’t be trusted and love was just an annoying cocktail of brain chemicals that drove you to make dumb decisions.
Beth was one of the lucky ones. She and Aaron had met in high school, had fallen stupidly in love, and hadn’t spent a day apart since. Aaron had worked while Beth had gone to med school. And when she’d graduated, he’d started his own construction company. They were both driven in their careers yet supported one another. A true equal partnership.
But I wasn’t deluding myself. A love like theirs was rare. One in a million, maybe.
“No thanks. Men are only good for one thing. After that, they’re disposable.”
“Oh, come on.” Daisy laughed off my comment. “You don’t really mean that.”
“Why not? When your car needs service, you take it to the shop. You don’t marry the mechanic. If I get lonely, I’ll rescue a cat and save myself a lifetime of ironing some chump’s clothes and fluffing his fragile ego.”
Daisy frowned. “That’s depressing. Why do we invite you for drinks?”
I folded my arms. “To remind you that it’s not our job to fix emotionally stunted men.”
“Aaron’s not emotionally immature.” Beth snatched up a glassof water and stabbed ice blocks with the straw. “Although sometimes he gets an annoying case of correctile dysfunction.”
Daisy made a face. “Isn’t there a pill for that?”
“She means mansplaining, Daze. Pretty sure Aaron’s dick works fine.” I held my palms up. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Not wrong,” Beth said. “Twelve years together and he still gets a boner if I bend over to tie my shoelaces.”
