by Q. B. Tyler
“What?” She cocks her head to the side. “Why? And more importantly, how do you know when it’s people’s birthdays? I mean Instagram only goes so far. You do have Instagram, right?”
I nod. I wasn’t sure how to tell this blonde bombshell that had probably never had her heart broken before that I deleted it so I didn’t have to see my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend…excuse me, fiancée. He was the man I thought I was going to marry, the man that…No, Skyler.
I let out a breath. “A stupid boy.”
“Ah, say no more. Okay, I think you can do it through your email. What is it?”
“Bella dot Mitchell at Gmail,” I tell her and she looks at me curiously.
“Bella?”
“It’s what my mom calls me. I’m Italian.”
“Hot. Definitely put that in your profile. The guys were all salivating over you when you walked in by the way. I have six messages from guys here asking for your number and or ‘deal.’ Are you DTF?” she asks, and I wonder when we got to this level where she’s comfortable enough to ask whether I’m down to fuck. I’m not a prude, but come on. I’d barely spoken two words to any of these guys that were allegedly asking.
“Ummm.” I clear my throat. “Not…like right this second?” I wince.
“Oh, time of the month?” She blanches.
My face turns slightly pink, as if surfing the crimson wave was the only reason I may not want to have sex with a guy I just met. “No, I just…”
“Okay, so no, totally cool. The playing hard to get route. I love it. Okay, I sent you the link. Let’s set up your profile before we leave, so you can get a feel for it while we’re out. It’s a Saturday night so it’s a perfect time.”
I had a feeling Peyton wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I had a lot of vodka infused Jell-O in my stomach, coupled with two very strong vodka drinks that told me that this was probably a great idea. So, I let Peyton set up my profile, pulling pictures from my Instagram: one of me with my dog and a glass of wine, one of me in New York with Stella being embarrassing tourists on a ferry in front of the Statue of Liberty, one of me in a bathing suit, and finally one of me throwing a penny into the Trevi Fountain, a picture taken by…
“Oh, I bumped my age up a few years by the way. Do you want to? Guys our age are annoying.”
I was no stranger to lying about my age. I had a fake ID, a really good one that put me at twenty-two. “Ummm. Well, what age did you put?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Okay…sure, why not?”
“Okay, Sky—”
“Bella,” I tell her. “Can you make my name Bella?”
“Skyler is a great name. You sure you don’t want to use that?”
“It’s also pretty uncommon. What if some psycho tracks me down?”
“Fine, Bella. What do you want in your profile? Def write that you’re Italian. Can you speak it fluently?”
“I knew Italian before I knew English. Yeah.” I chuckle thinking about how my father spoke only English while my mother spoke to me in Italian growing up.
“Okay how about this: New to the area by way of Italy. Name isn’t actually Bella.” She looks up from my phone. “Give me a fun fact.”
“Ummm. I love iced coffee?”
“What girl doesn’t? Next.”
“Okay, ummm, I have a tattoo that—”
“Really? Tattoos and iced coffee? Groundbreaking.” She rolls her eyes and I swear to God it’s like I can hear my sister’s voice.
“I was going to say, just put the quote I have on my arm, smartass.” I point to my arm and she squints, probably because her vision is a bit blurry.
“What’s it say?”
“La vita va avanti.”
“English?”
“Life goes on.”
“It’s not exactly the vibe you want for a dating app. Sounds a bit morose if you ask me.”
“It’s not! It’s supposed to be inspiring and motivating. The kick in the ass you need just when you need it.”
Her lips form a straight line. “Aaaaaand, iced coffee it is.”
With Peyton’s arm locked through mine, we walk down the sidewalk with a few people behind us. My phone had been buzzing ever since she made the profile, mostly heys and what are you up to tonight? and where’s the party? A few guys tried to banter with me in Italian but I lost interest the second I realized they were using Google translate. That shit is never accurate.
This isn’t quite like those apps where you had to “like” each other to communicate. No, this served kind of like a chat room, where everyone within the radius you permitted could message you. You could reject the chat or block, and only once you accepted did it reveal your bio. It didn’t seem one hundred percent safe or effective, but Peyton insisted that they were just working out the kinks.
Sheesh, with the way she advocated for this app, you’d think she created it.
A picture of a man flashes across my screen and I almost drop my phone because holy mother fuck is he gorgeous. Aidan. The first thing that captivates me are his eyes. They’re the most fascinating shade of aquamarine. Not quite blue, not quite green. I’d never seen that color as someone’s iris before. The Caribbean waters, yes. But someone’s eyes? Never. His dark brown hair looks as if he’d spent the time just before the picture was taken, pulling on it. His sideburns connect to some sexy facial hair all across his jaw, and his perfect, straight teeth almost blind me. He stares at the camera, standing with two other guys that look like they probably share DNA. In his second picture he’s in a cap and gown, for what looks like his Doctorate, and Ray Bans cover his face that makes me weak in the knees. The final picture he’s standing on top of a mountain, holding his hands out with that stunning smile. I take note of his very muscular arms trapped beneath his t-shirt.
I accept his chat request immediately, desperate to know more about this gorgeous creature.
“Oh, he’s hot as fuck! How come he’s never shown up on mine before? What’s his bio say?” Peyton leans over my shoulder as we stop walking to read what it says.
“New to DC. Where the fuck is there to hike around here? Will give you tacos and/or mimosas if you tell me. Bonus if I can convince you to come. Oh, and I’m taller than you.”
“I love hiking!” I shriek.
“Ew, why?” Peyton blanches as we start walking towards the bars again. “Message him!”
“What do I say?”
“Oh God, Sky. Tell me you know how to flirt with boys. You’re not a virgin, right? Ohmigod.” She stops. “Did I throw you into the lion’s den with no way to tame the beasts?” Her eyes are wide and unblinking.
“No, no, no.” I shake my head. “Not a virgin. Just, I’ve never really used an app before, and I’m not witty in text.”
“Everyone is witty in text…okay, that’s not true. But girls are better because we usually discuss the replies as a group. Okay,” she rambles, “make it easy. It says he’s new to DC, ask where he’s from!”
“Oh, that’s good.” I nod as I type out a message.
Bella: Fellow newbie! Where are you from?
Peyton groans next to me. “Did I tell you to say all of that? God, you’re a dork.”
I frown and look down at my message brought on by definitely too much alcohol. “Should I add a smiley?”
“No girl, chill.”
Aidan: Hey Bella, I’m from Boston. And you’re gorgeous. Just needed to put that out there.
“OH, we are so in there!” Peyton giggles. “Fuck tonight, let’s go back to my place and sext your new boyfriend.”
“I don’t think it’s a two person job, and no one is sexting anyone! He said I was pretty—”
“Gorgeous. He used the word gorgeous, Skyler. Now reply. Tell him you want to sit on his hot face.”
“I am not saying that.”
“Fiiiiine, or thank you.” She shrugs. “Whatever.” My phone pings again.
Aidan: Too fast. Sorry. So, you’re really from Italy? Or you’re I
Bella: No not fast! Thank you, and I’m Italian but I’m from Connecticut.
Aidan: What brings you to DC?
I start to type out school but then I remember I’m supposed to be twenty-two. “I always go with grad school,” Peyton interjects. “And I never say CGU.”
“Right.”
Bella: Just moved here for school.
Aidan: Nice! Where are you going?
I glance at Peyton and she rolls her eyes. “Just say Georgetown. Guys cream their panties over a smart girl.”
“I am a smart girl,” I retort.
“Oh, perfect!”
“We go to CGU, of course we’re smart.” CGU is like the less pretentious version of Georgetown. You need the grades or the legacy to get in here, and I have both.
“Eh, my parents donated like four libraries here. My GPA did not do anything for me, and I was stoned during my SATs. I think I guessed B for like every question.” She shrugs and I giggle. This girl is growing on me.
I didn’t like the idea of outright lying to him though.
Bella: I don’t have my real name on this app and you think I’m just going to hand up my school on a platter? What if you’re a serial killer?
Aidan: Fair. But I am not a serial killer.
Bella: Right like you’d tell me. *eye roll emoji*
Aidan: Ha. What’s your real name anyway? Or can I not know that either?
Bella: Maybe one day.
Aidan: Bella means beautiful in Italian, right? I would say that it’s fitting.
“Okay in like five minutes he’s called you gorgeous and beautiful. He totes wants in your panties.” Peyton claps her hands and squeals.
I want him in my panties too, God damn!
We approach the bar and the bouncer lets us in without so much as a glance at my ID. I wonder if I actually look twenty-one as he stamps my hand and ushers us inside. We’ve lost most of Peyton’s friends, having stopped to thoroughly stalk Aidan’s profile. I go to reply to his message when I see another one has come through.
Aidan: What are you doing tonight? Do you want to meet up?
My breath catches in my throat seeing his words on the screen. Am I ready for this? Casual sex? We certainly aren’t meeting up at midnight to just talk.
“What he say, what he say?” Peyton asks, and when I look up she’s holding a shot of some amber colored liquid to her lips and holding one out for me.
“What’s that?” I ask her as I hold it under my nose. I’m immediately flooded with a sense of nostalgia.
“Fireball, duh.”
“Right. Okay.” I take the shot, letting the cinnamon flavored whiskey slide down my throat tasting like bad decisions and regret. “He asked if I wanted to meet up.”
“Ummm duh. Ask where he is! Ask if he has friends with him. A good fuck always clears my head and God knows I am not ready for Physics 101 on Monday morning.”
I take a deep breath, letting the alcohol lower my inhibitions.
Why not?
Bella: I’m at Lush. Where are you?
“Oh shit, dude she replied! No thanks to you acting like a fucking thirsty ass.” My buddy Chace says as he holds up my phone he’d stolen from me to stop me from acting like, as he so eloquently put it, a thirsty ass. “In five messages, you told her she was gorgeous and beautiful. Might as well have just asked her if you could fuck a baby into her.”
We sit at the somewhat crowded bar where there seems to be a shortage of women. It makes me wonder what the hell Chace was thinking suggesting we stay here when he thinks with his dick ninety-nine percent of the time. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to. You reek of desperation and I’m ready to get married and start a family vibes.”
“Women love that.”
“Not twenty-two year old, hot Italians that have a bikini pic on a dating profile. Join Match or I don’t know, Christian Mingle for that shit.”
“I didn’t want to join this in the first place. You invited me, took my phone and created my profile all in the span of a shower. Why’d I even invite you here for the weekend?” I groan. I had stupidly thought that having my best friend here my second weekend in D.C. would make this transition easier. After the nasty break up with my now ex-fiancée that resulted in her breaking half of my stuff and kicking me out of the apartment we’d bought together, this teaching job at CGU couldn’t have come at a better time.
“You need to get out there. You’ve been fucking what—like one girl the past four years?” An incredulous look finds his face as if he can’t fathom the thought.
“Well yeah, that’s kind of what being in a committed relationship means.”
“Monogamy is for the fuckin birds.” He sighs as he rubs the heel of his hand into his eye.
“You just haven’t met the right woman,” I tell him as I down the rest of my beer with an ABV that is close to pushing me into dangerous territory.
Do not fucking call Corinne.
“And evidently neither have you.” He swings his eyes towards me. “Or I’m sorry, you and Corinne…?” He narrows his eyes curiously as if he’d missed the last few months. Missed me moping around like a sorry asshole as I mourned the last four years of my life. Years I spent with a manipulative bitch that was undoubtedly the best sex I’d ever had. With a woman who, despite her flaws, had gotten in deep and made me fall in love with her. With her chestnut brown hair and icy blue eyes that could get me to do just about anything. Fuck, I miss her.
NO.
“Fuck off, Chace. Is this you helping?”
“I’m here for tough love. If you’re looking for someone to throw you a pity party, call your sister or maybe James. But this ain’t my lane.” My sister Beth was still in Boston currently dating my other best friend James. I’m not going to say I have a problem with it, but I’m not going to say I don’t either. That asshole better watch his back.
“I’m here to get you laid,” he continues. “Or at the very least a blow job. Because frankly, dude, you need it. How long has it been anyway? Like seven months?”
“We’ve only been broken up for three.”
“My question still stands. James said y’all stopped fucking months before you broke up.”
“God, you guys gossip like girls, I swear to fuck.”
Chace holds his hand up and motions for the bartender. “We are losing focus. I need to reply to hot Bella.”
“Don’t call her that,” I growl, and for some reason it does piss me off. Maybe because I’m thinking once we get there, I’ll pussy out and Chace will end up taking Bella home. Well, not back to my apartment. Fuck that.
I find myself wondering where Bella lives and a part of me hopes that she lives alone in case things were to escalate to a private party.
“Testy.” He hands the bartender—a woman that for some reason Chace isn’t making eyes at—his credit card.
“Thanks,” I tell him as he pays for our drinks. “You’re not into the bartender? She seems like your type?” Strands of thick jet black hair fall from her bun and dance along her mocha skin. She’s stacked like a fucking supermodel, complete with curves that you only saw on a select blessed few. Her full lips, that have a hint of pink, quirk up, revealing a deep dimple whenever Chace talks to her.
“Girl is my type. But your obsession with monogamy didn’t peep the ring on her finger?”
“Oh…I guess not.” I rub my face, scratching the facial hair. “Thought it wouldn’t stop you from flirting though.”
“I don’t believe in going to a buffet if I can’t eat.” He looks at me and then back to the bartender who is heading our way with his card and receipt. “Can we focus? Are we going to Lush or nah? It sure beats the hell out of this place.” He looks around at the bar that is clearing out by the second.
The bartender sets the receipt down and the dimple pops out in full force. “I get cut in twenty.” She smiles and Chace raises an eyebrow at her.
“As flattered as I am, I don’t do other guys’ girls.” He points to the band on her left ring finger.
She flexes her left hand. “I’m not married. Or engaged. Or seeing anyone. I wear it on this hand to keep guys from hitting on me. It works like twelve percent of the time.” She rolls her eyes before she leans forward. “Usually on the guys that I want to hit on me.” A giggle leaves her lips and I watch as Chace shifts in his seat. I can already see how this is going to go down.
“Care to come with us to Lush? I’m playing wingman for my boy here.” He wraps an arm around my neck and I shake my head.
“I never said we were going.”
He lets me go and nudges my shoulder. “You asked her to meet up!”
“No. You asked her to meet up,” I correct him with a scowl.
“Tomato tomahto. It’s your name and your face. Don’t ghost her. She’s cute.” I go to protest when he beats me to it. “I never said she wasn’t gorgeous or beautiful, I said you didn’t need to tell her that.”
I huff. “Fine. Tell her we’re coming. I’m coming.” I look over to see that Chace is already typing out a message. He hands my phone back to me and I roll my eyes.
Aidan: Be there in twenty. I’m coming with a few friends. I hope you like tequila.
“I don’t even like tequila.” I look up from the message he sent her.
“And that’s a problem in itself. Man the fuck up.”
“The last time I had tequila I woke up forty minutes from my apartment in a sombrero and my underwear.” I grimace at both the memory and the horror of that Uber ride home.
“Ah, Cinco de Mayo 2017, good times.” He nods as he remembers.
I scowl at him, remembering the only reason he wasn’t right next to me where he belonged, when it was his idea to go to a party on the other side of town at 2 AM, was because of course, he had met a girl. “I’m not drinking tequila.”
“Oh, well this is awkward.” The bartender smiles as she sets two shot glasses of a clear liquid in front of me and Chace.
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