Page 7 of The Music of Love

I sigh. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me actually.”

“Dude, you’ve got yourself a sugar daddy!”

That does it. I immediately open my phone and text Cal.

You’re an asshole, you know that?”

I turn my back on the racks of designer clothes while Sarah continues to fish through them excitedly. Our living room has basically just turned into a small upscale boutique for the time being.

Yeah, why’s that?

He replies almost instantly.

My roommate just said I have a sugar daddy because of you and your little surprise.

Sarah pulls out a blouse on a hanger and holds it up to herself. “Do you like this?” she asks. I shrug. “Because we’re basically the same size…”

“Take it,” I tell her.

“Hell, yeah, dude. I need to getmea rockstar boyfriend.” My phone buzzes again.

Okay, no sugardaddying. This was just a selection for tonight’s date.

I don’t know if that makes it any better or if he’s just pissing me off even more.

What even are we doing tonight?

I text back.

You’ll see =) I’ll send a car for you

“Christ,” I growl, low enough that Sarah can’t hear it. The last thing I want her to know is that I’m having reservations about saying yes to Cal’s invitation.

I glance back at her and see she’s checking the sizing on an off-white skirt with too many frills for my taste. “Hey, do you like this–?”

“No, take it.”

5

Reese

I’m tappingmy finger on the armrest of my usual chair in the living room, waiting for the car that’s supposed to be picking me up for my date with Cal tonight. I’ve been sitting here since six, and it’s seven now. I haven’t heard from Cal, and I’ve sent him three texts. After that, I stopped sending any more to preserve what’s left of my own dignity.

I even thought about just straight-up canceling on him, but I decided that would be the wrong move, as I would get no end of shit from Sarah if I did. So here I am, waiting in my designer jeans and blouse, with my red-bottom heels and my fancy belt, feeling like a total idiot who’s about to get stood up.

How can it be that designer jeans that supposedly cost more than our monthly rent come with holes in them? That just doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe I should open up my own jean company and just buy jeans from Walmart, rip them up and put my own labels on them, and charge rich people thousands of dollars.

“Still no sign of him?” Sarah asks, coming out of her bedroom.

“Nope,” I reply, shaking my head. “He probably found himself a hotter girl to hang out with tonight.”

Sarah shrugs. “Hey, if he stands you up, you still got all these free clothes out of him. You could sell them and make a shit ton of money.”

“Hey, there’s always that.”

Now I’m really starting to feel like a loser. The second date of my life, and it’s already shaping up to be another failure.

I get up from my chair and go to the fridge to get a seltzer. Yet again, Sarah has drunk all the Mandarin orange, leaving me with just the cranberry, but whatever. I pop one open and take a sip and gaze out the window into the night.

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