by Becca Taylor
When I saw his beard last night, my friends told me beards on guys are the new thing, and it gives you an extra thrill ride when they go downstairs on you, or something like that. I don’t think they pictured a beard quite like this.
When he licks the bright orange sauce from his fingers, I want to pick up the napkin, shove it at him, and tell him to use it. At this point, I’m about to pick up my purse and get the hell out, but instead, I sit here, pretending like I can’t hear him over the obnoxiously loud music, finish my burger, and come up with a plan.
I excuse myself to the restroom after I finish eating and call my bestie, Emma. Maybe I should be happy that Dustin actually stands when I get up, but then I see that he is just adjusting himself in front of the whole restaurant. The Emma date night rescue just went from emergency to dire, and the bitch had better answer on the first ring.
Lucky for her, she answers before the second ring completes.
“Hello,” Emma says in a tired voice.
I move the phone away from my face to look at the screen. It’s only eight o’clock. Why in the hell is she asleep?
Focus, Cass. It doesn’t matter if she’s been asleep since five; you need her to get you out of here ASAP. There is no time for questions.
“Em, call me back in three minutes and fake a death in the family.”
“Why are we faking a death?” She yawns loudly.
“Because he’s a minus . . . something. I can’t keep track. Just be my bestie and get me the hell out of here.”
“Gotcha. I’m on it.” She sounds more alert, and this is why she’s my best bitch. I press the red end button before exiting the bathroom then head back to three more minutes of hell.
When I sit down at the table, my date starts rambling on about how good his dinner is, and then he mentions something about coming here again. I pretend to listen to Dickhead Dustin—that’s his new name—but the sauce on his face starts sliding down his mouth, past his beard, and hangs there in a dripping strand. I think I just gagged out loud. After seeing that, I don’t even care enough to try to listen to him anymore. Instead, I avoid looking directly at him while counting down the seconds until I can leave.
Right on time, my phone rings.
After a short conversation and some fake tears, a must for every girl to learn, I ditch Dickhead and walk out of the restaurant like my ass is on fire.
“Do you want me to take you?” The dickhead asks. At this point, the sauce has made it onto his shirt, which helps make my face pale more, only adding to my great acting job.
“No, stay. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”
“I’ll call you later,” he says and smiles. I’m sure I see some meat stuck in his teeth.
Please don’t. I wave while I run in my five-inch heels, which is almost impossible.
When I make it out the door, I take a deep breath as I hail a taxi. This shit is getting old.
As soon as I walk into my apartment, my heels come off. I go into my bedroom to take my dress off and don’t even care that it lands somewhere on my closet floor. I know I’ll never wear it again. From the dresser, I grab my favorite pair of wool socks, and I throw on an old football jersey from college. The next stop is crucial. My kitchen. Tonight calls for a bottle of wine. I don’t even bother with a glass; I simply pop the cork and go to town. I’m a woman on a mission.
When I get back to my room and settle on my bed, I take a big swig right out of the bottle before picking up a pen and a new journal.
Let me give you a quick rundown. My name is Cassandra Quinn, but my friends call me Cass. I'm twenty-seven years old but quickly approaching twenty-eight. I have long blond hair, big brown eyes, and curves that I inherited from my Nana, but I work double to keep them under control because I love to eat . . . well, everything.
I was raised in New Jersey, I use the word like more often than I don’t, but after I had graduated college, I moved to New York City to work with the best of the best in marketing and advertising. As a little girl, I thought I’d become a personal shopper simply because I love to shop. I can devour a book in a single night, which means I rarely watch television, but on occasion, I will watch a movie. Last but not least, I have the worst luck when it comes to dating. Too short, too tall, too egotistical, or too dumb. You name it, and I've dated it. Like the guy I was with tonight . . . Tonight was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Dickhead Dustin is the last in a long string of men who aren’t right for me. I’m done. I’m starting a list—a list of all the qualities I want in a man. If it’s on the list and you can’t do it, you’re out. No exceptions, no excuses. This has to work. This is totally going to work. This had better fucking work.
I take another drink of wine before I put my pen to paper.
My mind wanders back to all the dates gone wrong and exactly what had made them so terrible. A slew of memories returns to me. It’s as if the floodgate opens and I can’t stop. One after another after another—the bad dates or awkward moments become more vivid. And it’s like I’m writing a montage of my life. But it feels so good to purge these moments because it’s a lesson in what Cass shouldn’t do again or put up with anymore.
I look at my bottle of wine on the nightstand, thinking one may not be enough to complete this journey down memory lane
Books by Becca Taylor
Breaking Free Series
Finding Home
Finding Peace
Finding Reason
Finding Memories
Co-Written book
Must Fit the List by Allie Able and Becca Taylor
What’s Next ...
The Butterfly Sisters
To my readers, thank you for taking the time to read my book. Your messages and comments keep me going more than you know.
To Amanda Gillespie, there aren't enough words to express my thanks to you. You helped me through my writers block again and again. Our nightly conversations kept me in check, moving, and inspired. I promise not to release anything with a pop, for it will always make me laugh. I think this is the start of an even better friendship than it was before. Sorry, but you're stuck with me.
To my betas, Gloria, Lindsay, Crystal, and Amanda, thank you for taking hours out of your day to read my books and giving me your feedback. I don't know what I would do without you. You girls rock.
To Annelise, our friendship had grown to one I can't ever live without. Every time I wanted to throw in the towel, your words pushed me to keep going. Never give up. Amazing things are coming for both of us.
To my Yin, never go to a Weezer concert without me again. I will cause the clouds to open and bring forth the rains. Love you as big as a whale heart.
To my editor, Jenny, I'm sorry you had to read the word toward a million times and had to correct the spelling on it too. I love all your comments and YouTube videos with answers. You amaze me. You teach me more and more every day.
To Shauna, Manny, and Davina, thank you for taking beautiful pictures. I loved looking at all the carefree moments that were taken during the photo shoot. I wish I could use them all.
To Cassy, thank you again for making this whole series cohesive and stunning. I have the prettiest books ever.
Lastly, to my husband, thank you for supporting me. Your advice, even though I groan, is always in the forefront of my mind. I love you, baby.
Playlist
Jeremy
“Say It Ain’t So” by Weezer
“Undone (The Sweater Song)” by Weezer
“Beverly Hills” by Weezer
“Perfect Situation” by Weezer
“The Bad Touch” by Bloodhound Gang
“Fire Water Burn” by Bloodhound Gang
“You’re Pretty When I’m Drunk” by Bloodhound Gang
“Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo” by Bloodhound Gang
“All Mixed Up” by 311
“Down” by 311
“Control” by Puddle of Mudd
“You and Me” by Lifehouse
“Hanging
by a Moment” by Lifehouse
“The Reason” by Hoobastank
Jade
“Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears
“Oops! … I Did It Again” by Britney Spears
“I’m a Slave 4 U” by Britney Spears
“Toxic” by Britney Spears
“Wannabe” by Spice Girls
“Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer
“Last Dance” by Donna Summer
“On the Radio” by Donna Summer
“MMMBop” by Hansen
“Marvin Gaye” by Charlie Puth
“Trouble” by Taylor Swift
“Shape of You” by Ed Sheeran