Page 37 of Dear Pink

“No, not one of those.”

“So you’re single?” He grins, and I swear he licks his lips.

“Very, but not interested in dating.” Definitely not this smarmy guy.

“Oh, one of those?”

“One of what?”

“A man-hater?”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. I want to say, “Sorta.” I’m desperate to scream, “I don’t want to be a man-hater, but you men keep turning out to be disappointments.”

Chapter 11 - Gabe

Forgetting your wallet is a dick move no matter how you look at it. I know it. Hannah knows it. Sasha and Natasha know it too. They probably made excuses for me, but there’s no valid excuse. The one hope to salvage this date is a fast return. I pedal quicker.

Sasha laid it on thick tonight. I wince, replaying the date. She was worse than my sisters. Ever since Natasha told her Elise dumped me, she throws women in front of me every chance she gets. I bet she’s the one behind all the yoga pants at the clinic. I should have told her it was our first date. I’m surprised she didn’t propose to Hannah for me.

“This is my friend, Hannah.” I cringe with the memory of how her face fell. I said it so Sasha would lay off. Why didn’t I call her my date? I’m such a jerk. Am I stuck in the friend zone now? Oh, hell. After this wallet mistake, she won’t want to be my friend either. I’m 0 for 2. One more strike and I’m out.

And I want another chance with Hannah. She’s funny, beautiful, and she doesn’t play games. I’m tired of games. In retrospect, the cracks in my relationship with Elise were obvious. Elise wanted an Instagram relationship, not a real one. Her entire life was by design. She even posted the food she ate on her social media pages. “Experimental dishes get the most likes,” she told me once, so we ate exotic menu items like carbonated fruit, restructured corn, and dehydrated bacon. I’m open to new foods, but her adventurous palette had nothing to do with taste and everything to do with public appearance. I can’t believe I lived in set-design hell for a year. Our entire relationship was a giant photo op, a fact I didn’t understand until too late.

I turn right at the corner and let out a breath. Almost home. Elise and I lived in a swanky but sterile high-rise. I moved out when she moved on. Six brick townhomes comprise my new neighborhood. Allen Court is a real community. In fact, my neighbor Jon is with his beagle on the lawn when I stop in front of my apartment door.

“I thought you were on a hot date tonight?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Really?” Jon glances behind me. “Did she fall off her bike?”

“If only that was the problem.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t talk. I have to find my wallet.” I punch in my code on the door and fall into the living room, dropping my bike on the threshold.

“Dude”—Jon follows me inside, stepping over my bike—“you forgot your wallet on your date?”

“Yeah, it’s bad.”

“It’s over. No self-respecting woman will forgive that dick move.”

“It’s not over if I return to the restaurant fast. Now, help me look.”

“Hate to tell you, Gabe, but no way she’s still there. She bailed after you left.”

“I hope not.” I get on my hands and knees to hunt under the sofa.

“I once let a woman go Dutch, and she never spoke to me again.”

I ignore his rambling and keep searching.

“Well, I did release a huge fart during dinner. I swear, I held it in forever. It almost killed me. With every bite I took, the effort to hold it in got harder. I excused myself to the restroom, but when I stood, the fart ripped out of me. Must have been the pressure building. Smelled terrible.”

“Jon, can you please help me?”

Buddy, Jon’s beagle, wanders through the open door. “Buddy’s got a keen nose,” Jon says. “What does your wallet smell like?”

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