The Art of Dating

by Messe, Ellie

  "Seeing as he's staring at you, you might have to find out for me."

  "He is not," I look over my shoulder just to lock eyes with said millionaire. I quickly turn back around wide-eyed, "He's probably looking at the bar."

  Amy smirks, adjusting herself on the bar stool, "He's coming over."

  "No, he's not." I gape at her, fighting the urge to look for myself.

  Her flirtatious smile makes its appearance as she plays with her straw, "Mr. Devitt."

  The stool to my left moves as I feel him sit down beside me, "You didn't go to the next table. Can I assume it's because you found what you were looking for?"

  "I found the pool of men lackluster," I smile sweetly at him.

  "Ouch." His smile curves to the right, "Perhaps we should request more than two minutes."

  I laugh, "Two minutes was plenty."

  "Apparently not if you found me lackluster."

  "No amount of time is going to redeem that."

  He smiles, "I'm certain I could change your mind."

  "Doubtful." Pulling my coat off my lap, I stand, catching Amy's glare. "I'm catching a cab home."

  Her face turns to disappointment.

  "Why don’t you practice your charm on Amy?" I smile at each in turn, stepping away from the bar.

  With a small wave to Amy, I retreat outside deciding to walk rather than pay for a cab. Sure, it would be faster to take a taxi, but funds are a little tight at the moment, and now I need to mentally prepare for the wrath of Ames when she gets home. With any luck, she'll go home with Mr. Money Bags and all will be forgiven.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  All was not forgiven. Amy came home angrier than a hornet, giving me her two cents about my wallowing, I knew she was furious when she didn’t sugarcoat anything. Telling me she understands being a man-hater at the moment, but leaving her at the bar was breaking every girl code in the handbook. Even though nine out of ten times, I'm abandoned when she disappears with a guy, however I decided it was in my best interest not to point that out.

  She tried to stay angry at me, but once she said her peace she cracked. After plopping down on the couch next to me, I was fed every detail of what happened after I left. I'm positive she was stretching the truth, claiming, 'The Millionaire' as he has been named, wouldn't stop talking about me. Where in truth, I'm sure he asked maybe two questions then left. She also claimed to pass him up because, 'that's what friends do,' and I had staked a claim. How she got leaving as staking a claim is beyond me.

  Thankfully, throughout the week the topic of Logan Devitt died, being replaced with excitement of Mardi Gras parties next week; I will absolutely be getting out of that. I have zero interest in bar-hopping in New York City while Amy hooks up with countless guys, I love her to death, but that just isn't my bag.

  Finishing three manuscripts, I find myself breathing easier knowing I can finally start looking into apartments. Hopefully outside of East Village and nowhere near Lenox Hill to avoid running into my ex, though, now that I think of it, it might be nice to rub it in his face when I bring guys over...or look like a total loser when I don't. I mentally cross Lenox Hill off the list.

  "What are you up to?" Amy walks out of her bedroom looking like she just climbed out of a magazine.

  "Looking at apartments."

  "Dee, just go get your apartment back."

  "I. Don't. Want. It." I say slowly, hoping this time it’ll sink in.

  She rolls her eyes as she walks into the kitchen, looking out of place as usual. She was created for luxury, everything about her screams wealth even though she lives in a tiny one bedroom apartment, using her fashion degree as a personal shopper in some ritzy shop in Manhattan.

  In the fifth grade, we made a pact to move here believing all the glamorous lies the television told us. Nothing had prepared us for the price tag of New York City when we escaped Boston; we'd both rather make just enough to survive than admit defeat and move back home; even if we'd both be better off there.

  "What about Tribeca?" I ask, looking at a listing for a one bedroom apartment in a former industrial building.

  She makes a face, "That's where all the hipsters are."

  "Okay, Yorkville?"

  "Hmm, maybe if you can find an affordable one. Oh! See if there are any on 5th Ave."

  "Yeah, right. I couldn't afford 5th Ave in my wildest dreams, at least not one facing Central Park."

  "You're probably right, but let's look anyway."

  Tossing herself down on the cushion beside me, she lays her head on my shoulder watching as I change my search. Of course, there are listings that make us drool, the apartments you see in the movies, the ones we were convinced we'd live in together as children.

  After we blew the better part of the morning running through listing ads that we could never afford, Ames left for work while I wrote down a few promising addresses only to find them to be a bust, one had promise but I'd have to average six clients a month just to cover rent, not including all the additional nonsense like food and electricity, they'll pay for your cable though. I mentally roll my eyes, maybe I should kick Cole out, I mean it is my apartment, and he would deserve it. I know I won't do it though, I seem to have this theory that he'll come back begging for my forgiveness, if I kick him out that’ll never happen. Which is reason number eight hundred and twenty-seven why Amy insists I go out and 'get under someone new.' In her opinion, I’m holding onto false hope that Cole will ‘grow up and stop being an asshole.’ She just doesn’t know him like I do. Seeing as they never really got along, I don’t think she had the opportunity to get to know him the way I do. Cole did so many sweet things like kissing me goodbye, always making sure the door was locked, and he always kept me updated with his plans. Sure, they’re small, but the small things add up. Truth is; yes, Cole was wrong. Yes, he broke my heart. But people make mistakes, and I can't rationalize throwing away a five-year relationship over one mistake.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Arriving home Saturday night I immediately know this evening is doomed. Amy has two garment bags hanging from her bedroom door, meaning my plan of binge-watching Netflix has been officially booted.

  Slowly moving back, my fingers wrap around the knob.

  "About time." She yells from her bedroom.

  Damnit. There goes any thoughts of sneaking back out.

  "I told you I didn't want to go out." I groan, throwing my purse onto her kitchen island that works more like a shelf than a place to eat.

  "It's Mardi Gras. We've been talking about this all week."

  "No, you've been talking about it all week, I've had a date planned with your television."

  "I rented us costumes; we're going."

  Stopping mid-step, I gawk at her bedroom, "You rented costumes?"

  "Yeah, the bar down the street is offering free drinks to those who come in dressed up."

  "It's not Halloween."

  "No shit, Sherlock." She says finally emerging from the bedroom to unzip the first bag.

  I stare in horror, taking in the tiny green sequin dress."That better be yours,"

  "Wait until you see the mask!" She fishes out this ugly thing with fake flowers and feathers covering the side.

  "I'm not wearing that."

  "The shoes are the best part though," She hoists a pair of purple heels with peacock feathers up the center.

  "Fuck no."

  Laughter erupts from her lungs, "Your face!"

  "It's not funny."

  She blows out a deep breath, putting the mask and shoes back into the bag, "It really is but to keep your heart from failing, no, that's my costume."

  My stomach churns, "I'm scared to see your runner-up option."

  "Oh, hush. It is not my runner-up." I quirk my brow at her, "I wouldn't wear yours." Her smile turns mischievous.

  Oh, no. God, have mercy.

  She unzips the second bag revealing another tiny scrap of fabric. It's a deep purple with some sort of rhinestone design on the bodice.

 
; "It's not awful," I admit, "I'm still going to freeze my ass off in it though."

  Seemingly unimpressed with my lack of enthusiasm she levels me with a glare, "Well, they were all out of yoga pants and oversized ex-boyfriend sweaters."

  "Good thing I already have a pair." I tug on Cole's Yankees hoodie.

  She huffs, reaching for the bottom of the bag.

  Removing a purple mask with green and gold designs and a pair of green heels with more straps than a cargo ship, she points at me with a manicured finger, "Don't. You're going, and you're wearing this outfit."

  I sigh, "How about I wear the mask with jeans and a nice jacket."

  "No! You're twenty-seven, not forty. Stop trying to hide how hot you are and wear the damn dress."

  "Ames. It's twelve degrees outside."

  "You won't even feel it after you get a couple of shots in you."

  "I should be allowed to dress myself seeing as you dolled me up last weekend. It’s only fair."

  "No."

  "Why?" I whine.

  "Because no one's going to buy you drinks if you show up looking like a soccer mom and we both know we can't afford to buy our own drinks. Especially after I used our rent money to rent these outfits."

  “You used rent money? Ames!” I scold, rubbing my forehead. She’s delusional if she thinks her parents can continue pulling her ass out of the fires she creates.

  “What? This month is covered, and I can swing nexts. Don’t worry.” Before I can contest it, she continues with her best guilt-whine, “We barely got to hang out when you were with Cole. Bastard always kept you locked away.”

  “He did not. I don’t like partying; you know that.”

  “Not always, but you occasionally do.”

  “Occasionally being the key word here.”

  Her eyes narrow further before her face relaxes, “Please? I’ll stop forcing you to go out if you come. I won’t even make you dance with anyone. You can be a hermit in the corner for all I care, but you’re going to look pretty when you do it.”

  “Promise?”

  A delighted smile blesses her pouted lips, “On our friendship. Now get dressed.”

  With a satisfied smile, she throws the dress, hanger and all, at me. Catching it in midair, I groan.

  God, if you're listening, tonight would be a good time to introduce her to her soulmate or maybe lower her alcohol tolerance. I'm fine with either.

  CHAPTER SIX

  An hour later, we're entering the bar offering free drinks.

  People are everywhere, and I'm glad we're not the only ones dressed up. Some look like they just came from a masquerade ball.

  "Bottoms up," Amy tells me clinking her shot glass to mine.

  Whatever I just drank definitely isn't from their top shelf, Amy and I cringe at the bitter sting.

  With the obscene amount of people and the alcohol coursing through my veins, I'm surprisingly warm in the little bar. Following Amy, she leads me through the crowd, finding a table near the back. From here I'm able to get a look around. Red and orange bulbs line the walls leading to a small stage; open mic night comes to mind.

  "We need to find guys," Amy says, craning her neck to get a better look.

  "Or, I'll cash in my free drinks, and then we can go get some food."

  "We just got here." She scolds.

  Amy has the ability to go an entire day without eating, I, on the other hand, invented the term 'hangry' and it looks a lot like Godzilla on its period with poison ivy up its ass.

  "You should cash in for your free shots though; I don't know how long they're handing them out."

  Taking out my I.D, I hand her my bag for safe keeping before weaseling my way through the crowd. Once at the bar, I get up on my tiptoes, resting my weight on my forearms and wait for the bartender to notice me.

  The noise of everyone's conversations around me is deafening. The bartender, who turns out to be super cute finally turns around, baby blue eyes find mine, and I raise my hand to wave my card at him. Tall, blonde, and gorgeous stands in front of me ready to take my order.

  Lifting the flyer off the table, I point to the section about free drinks. He holds up his hand before tapping the back of it, I show him mine, and he produces a stamp and pad before marking my hand in black ink. I admire his face while he pours, if it weren’t so loud in here, I’d imagine he’d have one of those sexy Georgian accents.

  Two shots of swine later, I'm pushing my way back to Amy when I notice she's no longer at our table. With the heavy base of the music I can't hear it, but I feel the vibration of my groan as I look around for her. I hate when she does this, never one to pass up an opportunity with a cute guy.

  After scouring the dance floor, I finally spot her grinding against some guy in one of those creepy masks with the long nose. She smiles sweetly at my glare when I reach her, accepting one of the glasses. Her dancing partner stands patiently behind her while we down our free drinks, handing me her empty glass after she swallows, along with my bag.

  "When do you want to move to the next bar? Preferably one with food." I yell, leaning into her shoulder.

  She shrugs, stepping back into her new boy-toy’s space. She holds up two fingers signaling two more songs. I nod and move to the side of the stage to wait. I feel like a creep while lurking in the shadows but it's better than getting shoulder checked every five seconds.

  Amy's my favorite person in the world, but I've never understood the hype about bars and dancing with strangers when you can be drinking in a steakhouse with a massive chunk of meat instead.

  Two songs turn into seven before she comes over to tell me she's ready to go.

  Making a quick escape, we walk arm in arm down the sidewalk until the next bar comes into view.

  "Ames." I groan, "I haven't eaten since yesterday, I'm starving."

  "I'm sure they have something inside."

  "Peanuts don't count."

  She smirks, "One drink, two songs, and then we'll find somewhere with a kitchen, deal?"

  I nod and follow behind her. Little did I know, she meant one drink that someone else pays for. We've been here for over an hour, and I'm starting to get stabby.

  "Hey." She yells approaching; her face flushed, the overhead light reflecting off the sweat misting at her hairline.

  "Ready?"

  "Actually," She draws out, folding her lips in, "I kinda met this wicked hot guy, and I was thinking about-"

  "Go." I interrupt her, "Have fun."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to find a diner, and then I'll catch a cab home."

  "You sure you don't mind?"

  "Nope, go."

  An excited smile lights up her face as she pulls me into a hug, "I love you!"

  Twisting around, she disappears into the crowd. Most people would be upset if their best friend deserted them, not me though. My prayers have been answered; now I can get food, change into comfortable clothes and practice the art of being a potato in front of the T.V like I've wanted to do all day; I call this a win.

  Stepping outside, I dump my mask into my purse before wrapping my arms around my waist trying to stay warm while searching for a diner.

  "Hey!" I hear someone call behind me, but I keep walking. "Wait up."

  Footsteps start to close in as my heart picks up pace, glancing behind me I see a figure dressed in all black, wearing a mask that covers over half his face, "Hey, you're the girl from that piano bar, aren't you?"

  I try to ignore the cloaked figure, but my pulse is reaching an all-time high.

  "You and your friend were at the speed dating at 88 Keys."

  Reason number four hundred and eighty-two why that was a bad idea, that bar was full of people.

  "I think you have me confused with someone else." I try to sound confident, but my voice betrays me.

  "It's a-" he runs ahead of me cutting me off. My heart is going to beat right out of my chest. An entrance door down the street opens as two masked guests leave for the eve
ning. I step around him abruptly cutting off his train of thought and walk towards the couple, at least there will be witnesses. "Devina, right?"

  My stride falters a moment at the sound of my name. How the hell does this person know my name? Oye, that's too creepy for words.

  "I have to get going," I say over my shoulder. My pace speeds up when I hear the sound of approaching feet, he's following me.

  Should I scream? I mean, he hasn't actually done anything, but he looks like how I imagine Jack the Ripper would have looked, and it's unsettling.

  "Are your affections still off the market?"

  This makes me stop. I turn slowly to face my hooded stranger.

  "You're that guy." I hiss, angrier than I had intended. "That arrogant jerk who thought he could woo all the ladies by offering extravagant European trips or whatever."

  "Whoa, arrogant?" He laughs, proving my arrogant theory. "Because I offered to take you to Paris? You seem to have a shallow opinion of me. What's more shocking is the fact that your opinion is so low when we’ve yet to have a real conversation."

  "Attempting to buy my affection and then stalking me at night like a masked serial killer isn't exactly winning you any favors."

  He laughs, untying his mask. "Better?"

  "A little.” He’s prettier than I remember and I kind of wish he’d put it back on. “Why are you following me?"

  "I recognized your friend; she told me you were leaving so I was trying to catch up with you."

  "That doesn't answer my question."

  "I wanted to ask you to dinner."

  "No, thanks."

  "Why not? Isn't that where you were headed?"

  “How did you-” The question dies in my throat when I realize if he ran into Amy she would have squealed like a pig.

  “Your friend told me.” I nod along, having already figured that part out. “So how about it?”

  “Gonna have to pass.”

  Hiking up my purse I start forward once again.

  “What if I let you pay for your own meal?”

  “Still a no,” I call over my shoulder, leaving him in the shadows behind me.