See Jane Date by Melissa Senate

blonder) version of Faith Hill? She could ask out a man who someone might mistake for Pierce Brosnan. I, however, had just been described by the notorious Natasha Nutley as adorable. Which meant I was way, way out of the stratosphere of Jeremy Black’s world.
    Eloise took a sip of her merlot, then a drag of her Marlboro. “She can’t take Jeremy even if she got up the guts to ask him. The Gnat knows who he is.” She turned to the left to exhale the smoke away from Amanda.
    â€œBut Jane brilliantly didn’t mention The Boyfriend’s name, ” Amanda pointed out. “When she shows up with Jeremy Black, the Gnat will fall off her chair, and so will Dana! They’ll both think you were too humble to mention that the mighty Jeremy was your man. Plus, you wouldn’t even have to clue him in to what you were doing, Jane. He’d never have to know he was your fake boyfriend.”
    â€œBut I said my boyfriend lives on the Upper West Side, ” I reminded Amanda. “And Natasha knows that Jeremy lives in Tribeca. I overheard part of his phone conversation with her last week when he was signing her to Posh. They were talking about where they’re from and where they live now, blah, blah, blah. That’s how the Forest Hills connection came up in the first place.”
    Amanda stirred her gin and tonic. Eloise gnawed her lower lip. I chewed the tip of my stirrer.
    â€œWell, you might meet someone in time for the wedding—you’ve got two whole months,” Amanda said, tightening the low ponytail holding back her long blond hair. “Maybe even tonight. We could go hang out at thebar and start flirting. Or I could set you up with some friends of Jeff’s.”
    Eloise and I raised eyebrows in unison. Been there, done that. And did I really want to feel even worse than I already did because of some horrific blind date? Even Eloise had gone out with friends of Jeff Jorgensen. He was cute and normal, if a little prone to an extended frat-boy lifestyle, but the random guys who surrounded him at work were not necessarily cute or normal, let alone the all-important both.
    â€œHe’s working at Ernst & Young now,” Amanda added. “It’s the hottest accounting firm in the world. Which means a new pool of very successful possibilities. You never know.” She eyed my Cosmopolitan. “I wish I’d ordered that. After the crapola day I had, I could use something pink and strong.”
    I sipped the top of the cold drink and slid it over to Amanda. She’d learned crapola from me and Eloise. We both tried to use some of her ranch lingo, but you couldn’t say things like bull’s balls unless you were the real thing. Amanda was a paralegal at Lugworth & Strummold, one of the biggest law firms in New York. She had no interest in becoming a lawyer, but she loved her job. Sometimes she talked about trying her hand at writing a John Grisham–type novel and making use of her publishing house connections.
    Eloise and I had met Amanda a day or so after I’d started at Posh, while smoking in front of our office building. (Amanda neither smoked nor worked in the building anymore. L&S had moved to the Wall Street area four years ago.) Anyway, two or three or ten times a day, the three of us would stand puffing away on the corner of Lexington Avenue and 57th Street. A few weeks of superficial chats turned into lunch invitations, which led todrinks invitations, which led to brunch invitations on the weekends, which led to the formation of the weekly Flirt Night Roundtable.
    â€œOr, you could call up Max,” Eloise suggested, peering at me for my reaction. “You have been wondering what became of him, so this would be a good way to find out.”
    I immediately shook my head. Why did just the mention of his name still hurt so much? I’d never call Max. I couldn’t. Who knew if he was still with what’s-her-name? Who knew if he was