by Hart, Cary
Contestant #25 — Kicked out. Lied about girlfriend.
Contestant #27 — Picked his teeth with a straw.
“Clover, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” An extremely attractive, taller gentlemen dressed to impress comes walking up with his arms open wide.
I started cutting off the contestants who get a little too handsy with a handshake, but this one isn’t creepy or looking at me like I’m his dinner. This one just seems like he wants to wrap me in his arms, and I’m okay with that. After all, I could use a hug right about now.
“You must be number thirty-one?” I wave before he pulls me in.
“I’m Derek Fulkerson.” He squeezes me tight, and I practically melt in his arms.
“Nice to meet you.” I begin to bring my hands up between us, but Derek is already breaking free. The perfect gentleman.
“So, Derek, I have to admit, I know absolutely nothing about you.” I walk around to my side of the table.
“Well, I’m thirty-two, work on Wallstreet, and have one thousand four hundred and thirty-two kids.” He smiles.
My jaw drops.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, and no, I wasn’t careless one thousand four hundred and thirty-two times.” He pulls out a wallet out of his suit jacket—or what I thought was a wallet—until he flips it open and its pages and pages of picture collages. “I donated my sperm to help pay my way through college, and thanks to those boxed DNA tests, they’ve found me.
“Interesting.” It’s all I can say. I’m speechless.
“I know! I made it possible for over a thousand women to have their little miracle baby. To be a part of that feels amazing.”
“That is one way to look at it.”
A part of me wants to turn on my mic and shout my safe word, but is this really that bad? I mean, men have donated or sold their sperm for years, why should this be any different?
“Clover, it’s a great feeling, to be a dad, and even though I’m retired from the sperm selling business, I can’t help but to still be a part of that.”
“How so?”
I need to know. These two minutes aren’t about me. I need to know how this story turns out. I’m invested.
“Well, funny you should ask.” He reaches inside his other pocket and pulls out a plastic roll. “I came up with the Sperm Shooter.”
Nope. Definitely not a plastic roll.
“Wow.”
“I know.” He reaches across the table and pulls up his sleeve. “Feel the muscles in my wrist.”
“Okay.” I wrap my finger and thumb around his wrist while Derek flexes his hand.
“Feel that?”
“I do.”
“Well, that is what pumping a cock correctly for over ten years does. Luckily, I developed a technique that was easy on the wrist, but some guys had to give up the money because it was costing them more. Carpal tunnel is a bitch, and I created this device to save them from the years of pain and suffering.”
He hands me over the little device. “Go ahead. Squeeze the sides.”
“I’m not sure about this.” I turn it around.
“Clover.” Derek sighs. “We are both adults and this is a vagina. You have one, and I love them.” He winks.
“Has this one been used?”
I look at the pale pink device, wondering where it’s been and how many penises it’s milked for reproduction.
“I have three of the best engineers on my team and five patents that prove this device has a self-sanitizing system that is world class.” He flips the switch and the roll—er—vagina—makes a sucking sound. “Of course, it’s been used.” He winks. “When I travel, it gets lonely out there.”
“Derek, you are an attractive man. I’m sure all you have to do is snap your fingers and women will fall into your bed.”
“Oh, they will,” he agrees. “But are they safe? The Sperm Sucker assures you will have safe sex one hundred percent of the time.”
“So, let me get this straight, you’d rather have sex with this machine than—”
“Oh-em-gee!” CJ runs up to the table. “Is that the Sperm Sucker model 2593P?”
“I tried to stop her.” Mal tugs on CJ’s arm, giving me an apologetic look.
“Seriously, you guys, this guy was on Shark Tank. When they passed him up, some investor from Indonesia climbed aboard and then this electronic pussy went viral,” CJ rambles, looking between me and Derek. “This man is a genius. This machine.” She grabs it from Derek and flips the switch. “Look at the suction on this baby.” CJ sticks her finger in there and moans. “This feels so good. Just imagine if this was a dick, it would be exploding right now.”
“Clover? Is everything okay?” Austin comes through the headset, but instead of turning on the mic, I just twist around and give him a thumbs-up. “I’m not even going to ask.” He rubs his hands over his face as Owen looks like he’s giving him an earful.
“Did you hear that?” CJ snaps in front of my face. “There is a storage compartment for the sperm sleeves. Those little plastic bags is where all the magic happens.”
“CJ is it?” Derek leans in a little closer.
“Short for Carly Jane.” Mal’s smile is tight and forced. Something has happened behind the scenes, but I’m not about to get into that now while I have over twenty more contestants to see.
“Snap it, Mallory.” CJ narrows her eyes, daring her to say another word.
“CJ, would you like to see this baby in action?”
Derek, the father of all of New York’s children, who is supposed to be interested in me, is now propositioning my friend. And CJ is falling for it. I never thought I would see the day.
“Thanks, D-Man.” CJ turns with the travel vagina in hand. “I know just the person.”
“Hey! Come back!” Derek hurries and grabs his wallet of kids and runs after CJ. “Susie is mine.”
“So, I’m guessing he’s a no?” Mal winces.
“You would be right.”
Contestant #34 — Lives in his mom’s basement…he’s forty-two. (what does he do down there?)
Contestant #35 — Single dad looking for more. Am I ready for this? Maybe someday.
Contestant #38 — Plastic surgeon. Very attractive, stable, seems to appreciate the female form. (move him to the top of list.)
Contestant #40 — Silver fox guy? I could be down with that.
“Hi, Clover.” A cute, older man with a hot dad bod, maybe in his late thirties, early forties, comes strolling toward me with flowers in one hand and coffee in the other. “I’m Joey Tribbianni. How you doin’?”
Please God no. Let this be some kind of a joke. Joey Tribbianni is a character from one of my favorite television shows of all time—not contestant forty-three and standing in front of me. How weird.
“I’m finnnne.”
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” the guy otherwise known as Joey 2.0 smiles as he hands me the flowers, “I’m not that guy. Many have said I resemble Matt LeBlanc, but…I don’t see it.”
I’m not even going to touch that comment.
“Thank you.” That seems safe enough. After all, Joey 2.0 is the only man to come bearing gifts. “These smell great.”
“You’re welcome. And a little birdy told me this is your favorite drink.”
I take a sip, and it is. Well, it’s my favorite coffee from a week ago. I’m always switching it up depending on my mood.
“I didn’t know we had friends in common.” I wrack my brain, trying to figure out who in the heck he would know. I would remember a name like Joey Tribbianni.
“We don’t. I looked you up on Facebook and apparently, you kept checking in at Cuppa Joes. So, I went there and told this really kind barista…”
“Oh! I love Monica! She always remembers my drinks.”
“Yes, but wrong one.”
“Huh?” I’m confused between Joey 2.0 recounting the story and his hands flying around having a conversation of their own. I’m afraid I’m not following o
r missing a key element here.
“I was telling Monica, the barista, about this girl I was hoping to impress. When Monica Marti introduced herself and said she was following the story of Unlucky in Love for The New York Post.
“The Monica Marti?”
When Owen wanted word to spread like a wildfire about Hotline Hookup playing matchmaker to Unlucky in Love, he called Monica Marti. That woman knows everything about everyone, sometimes before they even know it’s happened. It’s why she has millions of Instagram follower and just as many twits who tweet…or whatever those people call themselves. I’m not a huge social media person, but Monica Marti is, and she made sure the spark ignited and followed up a couple days later with an exclusive interview with me over a cup of coffee at Cuppa Joes. Explains everything.
“That’s the one. Sweet lady…” he trails off.
“Joey?”
“Did I zone out again? I’m sorry. I was just reminiscing about our talk. Did you know Friends is her favorite TV show?”
“Yeah, most of America watched Friends, or at least the reruns. I loved Ross and Rachel and the whole will they or won’t they…”
“I hate Ross,” Joey 2.0 mumbles. “Anyway, Monica Marti knows the real Joey Tribbianni, Matt LeBlanc?”
I lift the paper cup up to my lips and start to blow when I suddenly realize Joey 2.0 mentioned he stalked my Facebook page. That’s kind of weird. What if he did something to this coffee? What if he laced it with some date-rape drug and when we leave, he’s going to throw a bag over my head and drag me into some unmarked vehicle where he—
“Clover?” It’s Joey 2.0’s turn to drag me back to reality.
“Hmmm?”
“What did you think of that movie the other night? I was wanting to see it, especially since it had Jennifer Aniston in it.”
Okay, Joey 2.0 is taking this too far. I have most of my settings set to private, but I’m technically challenged so who knows if I’ve screwed it up. I only stay up-to-date because of my job, not because I actually like it.
“Joey? Are you stalking me?” I take a sip, the smell overpowering my fears.
“Well…” Joey 2.0 winces as his head bounces back and forth, “I wouldn’t call it stalking. I refer to it as research.”
“Not cool.”
“Seven,” I whisper, hoping Austin will hear me.
He doesn’t.
“Seven,” I call a little louder this time.
Joey smiles. Crap! Did he hear me? Does he know seven is my safe word?
“Seven,” I holler, not giving two shits if I spare Joey 2.0’s feelings.
“I knew it!” Joey slaps the table. “I knew you were a Friends fan.” Joey scratches his head. “What was the name of that episode?”
“Shit!” I turn around and yell for Austin. “Seven. Seven. Seven. Seven!”
Austin finally hears the commotion and taps his earpiece. “Clover, your mic is off.”
Dammit! Flipping the switch on, I sigh. “Seeeevvvvveeeennnn.”
“On it!”
“I got it! It’s The One With Phoebe’s Uterus.” Joey screams just as the security guard appears behind him.
“Joey, your time’s up.” Owen follows.
“No!” He begins to fight, but another bodyguard comes up and drags him closer to the door. “You don’t understand. She’s my Rachel!” He breaks free and darts for me again just as Austin comes to stand in front of me. “Damn you, Ross! She’s mine.”
“Am I Ross?” Austin twists around, wrapping an arm around my waist.
“I guess.” I shrug my shoulders “Honestly, I’m confused by how Joey Tribbianni passed the background check.”
“Well…”
“Austin! You told me you did background checks.” I smack him on his arm.
“I did, and he passed as David Duvall.”
Worn out and ready for this night to be over, I lean into Austin. “Can we be done?”
“There are only seven more.” He brushes my hair away from my face and looks down at me with regret. “I’m sorry about this.”
“It’s okay. I wanted it, and even though it’s been a long night, it really has been a productive one.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” I flash Austin a grin. “But to make up for Joey 2.0, you are getting us Thai on the way home.”
“It gives me heartburn.”
I flash him a look.
“Fine. Thai it is.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Contestant #43 — Lives with ex-girlfriend.
Contestant #45 — Lives with fiancée, but he doesn’t think they will work out and wants to check out other options before he walks down the aisle. #cheatingdirtbag
Contestant #47 — Lives with his step-sister who he talked about…a lot…fondly. Gross.
Contestant #50 — Hot guy in tights. #signmeup. Right fielder for a local minor league baseball team. Can we say home run?
“Well, Clo?” Austin comes up and offers his arm. “It’s been a night. Are you ready to go home?”
“Yeah.” I loop my arm in his. My feet are sore from standing in these four inches heels all night long. “We’re still stopping for takeout, right?”
“Already taken care of.” He pats my hand. “Thomas has it waiting in the car.”
“What would I do without you?”
“I don’t know, and can honestly say I don’t want to find out,” Austin confesses.
“Me either.”
“Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
“I can live with that.”
CHAPTER 13
CLOVER
Why is dating hard? Like, seriously? Why do we feel the need to make a grand appearance? We try so hard to get them to like us, and as soon as they do, let the transformation begin—yoga pants, old tees, and messy buns.
“This is crazy? Why can’t I just wear this?” I hold up the tie-front, black-and-white striped, wide-legged jumpsuit.
“One word. Actually, three.” CJ holds up her hand and begins to count. “Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice.”
Mal rolls her eyes. “Come on, CJ, it’s cute, trendy, and perfect for whatever the doctor has planned.”
I plop down on the bed. Their back and forth has gone on all afternoon.
“He’s not just a doctor. He’s a plastic surgeon.” CJ walks over to me and snaps my bra strap. “And Clo wearing this is not going to cut it.”
“What’s wrong with this?” I examine my delicate white lace bra. “It’s natural and comfortable.”
“What is wrong with you two?” CJ stomps over to my drawers and pulls out a black lace push up shelf bra and matching thong. “Comfortable doesn’t get you laid.” She tosses them to me. “Put those on and I’ll find you something in that mess of yours.” CJ heads to the closet and flips through everything, making sure she is loud enough to let me know how cookie-cutter my outfits are.
The mattress dips and Mal reaches for my hand. “I really thought the jumpsuit was suitable for your date.”
“I thought so too.” I squeeze her hand back. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m crazy for doing this.”
“No, Clo.” Mal shifts to face me. “Sometimes we have to do out of character things to find out what we truly want.”
“Great.” I let out a huff and fall back on the bed. “So, you do think this is a mistake.”
Mal tugs on my arm. “Stop being so dramatic and get up.” She stands and pulls me with her. “That is not what I’m saying. I read this one book about how you have to try something new to appreciate what’s right in front of you.”
“You and those self-help books.” I chuckle. “It started with Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul and hasn’t stopped since.”
“Hey,” Mal smacks my arm, “those books have helped me through some crazy hormonal times.”
“I know.”
“Just like the whole dating app thing. That is something out of the ordinary for me, but I’m trying it. So far, not goo
d, but how would I know if I hadn’t gone out of my comfort zone?”
“Some could say that about drugs.” I smirk.
Mal reaches for the throw pillow and tosses it at my head. I duck, and CJ catches it.
“Clover, everyone knows drugs are bad.” CJ throws it to the floor. “Well…except for the occasional J.”
“J?” My face twists in confusion.
CJ’s eyes practically roll back in her head. “Okay, I know you’re Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes, but Naïve Nelly doesn’t suit you.”
“What?” I turn to Mal. “You know what a J is?”
“I’m friends with that whore.” Mal points to CJ. “How could I not?”
“Then please explain?” I cross the room to where CJ is standing.
“Fine,” CJ huffs out. “It’s a marijuana joint, better known as pot, dope, reefer, hash, herb, weed, or, as my doctor likes to call it, chronic.”
I place my hand on her shoulder, look my friend in the eyes, and sniff.
“Clover? Are you sniffing me?”
“Are you high right now? Do you need help?” My eyes widen knowing maybe this situation is bigger than this room. “And who is this doctor you speak of?”
“Dr. Dre. He’s from Cali. You know, the west side.” CJ laughs out.
“This is not funny.” I turn and look at Mal who’s giggling. “What is wrong with you two?”
“Clo.” Mal tries to keep a straight face. “Dr. Dre is a rapper who had an album called The Chronic.”
“Oh! I know who that is! Austin used to listen to his music all the time. He had that song about gin and juice.”
“Clo, I’m disappointed in you.” CJ shoves a tight, white and blue spandex dress I wore for Halloween at me. “You’re thinking of Snoop Dogg.”
“Same difference.”
CJ and Mal both gasp, looking at each other. “Mal, we either need to divorce Clo or we need to school her on the OGs.”
“What are OGs?”
“How is my brother even friends with you? I mean, we are because you’re a girl who likes girl things, and that is appealing to girls like us, but Austin? He should have known better.” Mal raises a brow.
“OGs—aka original gangstas!” CJ pulls me by my hand and stands me in front of my full-length mirror. “We can fix you, but first…let’s get you dressed.”