at the same time I reached into my apron and retrieved my cell phone. It was quite possible that I wasn’t thinking clearly, and that one day, I’d regret my decision, but in that moment, I didn’t care. I was pissed at the oven and heartsick over Derrick’s impending date. Scrolling through my texts, I found the chain between me and Harlow.
Me: About that online dating thing… I’m in.
Her response was instant.
Harlow: What’s your stance on converting to Judaism?
My fingers flew over the screen furiously as I typed.
Me: Stay away from J-Date.
Harlow: You’re no fun .
Knowing she’d have my profile up on every available site by the end of the day, I pocketed my phone and sucked in a deep breath. I had the rest of my workday to get through, I couldn’t mope about Derrick any longer — it was time to move the hell on. Once and for all.
On the bright side, I’d be able to take my aggression out on a broken oven later that night. I was thinking a baseball bat, a can of gasoline, and some matches were just what the doctor ordered.
Chloe
“ THIS IS RIDICULOUS ,” I groused as Harlow continued to click away on her camera. “Will you stop already?”
She lowered her camera with a beleaguered sigh and shot me a look that told me she felt that I was being a pain in her ass, not the other way around. “Will you just be still and cooperate, damn it?”
“Stop taking my picture!” I swatted at the camera in her hand. It was one of my rare days off and I’d planned on coming over, lounging on her back deck and drinking margaritas while she glared in envy as she sucked down her virgin daiquiris. But for the past twenty minutes, I’d been fighting off her ever-present camera as she took picture after picture.
“Come on!” I whined. “Enough already. I look like hell.”
“You do not!” she insisted. “And we need photos for your dating profiles so I can finish loading everything.”
I let out a groan and collapsed against the lounge chair. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into online dating.”
“Uh, excuse me,” she snapped before sucking on her glorified slushy. “But you texted me about it. So get the lead out and let’s do this already! It’s a gorgeous day, I thought we’d do some outside shots.”
Propping up on my elbows, I looked down at my ensemble, a raggedy pair of cutoff shorts that were a more suitable length for someone in their very early twenties, a navy tank top that I just grabbed from my drawer this morning, without looking, and my ratty converse sneakers that had seen better days. Definitely not picture-worthy. Hell, I hadn’t even put on makeup, and my air-dried strawberry blonde curls were pulled in a loose knot on top of my head to tame their wildness.
“I’m pretty sure if you posted a picture of me right now, I might actually break the internet.”
“Will you stop?” she scolded, her voice no longer holding a hint of humor. “Come here.”
I begrudgingly got to my feet and followed after her, my shoulders slumped in defeat.
Once we reached the bathroom, she put her hands on my shoulders and spun me around. “Don’t look in the mirror, look at me,” she continued to boss as she reached up and yanked the ponytail holder out of my hair.
“Ow!” I shouted, reaching up to feel for a bald spot. “That hurt, you jerk!” She just shushed me and started running her fingers through my hair, tousling it near the crown of my head. Reaching for something on the counter, she pumped a few squirts into her hand and raked her hands through my hair once again.
“What are you doing?”
“Hush,” was her only response. I stood quietly as she brushed a bit of eye shadow the color of deep gold on my lids, only moving when told to look up or down as she swiped a little mascara on my lashes. She finished up with a touch of a pinkish bronzer on the apples of my cheeks. The whole process took all of five minutes so I wasn’t
Me: About that online dating thing… I’m in.
Her response was instant.
Harlow: What’s your stance on converting to Judaism?
My fingers flew over the screen furiously as I typed.
Me: Stay away from J-Date.
Harlow: You’re no fun .
Knowing she’d have my profile up on every available site by the end of the day, I pocketed my phone and sucked in a deep breath. I had the rest of my workday to get through, I couldn’t mope about Derrick any longer — it was time to move the hell on. Once and for all.
On the bright side, I’d be able to take my aggression out on a broken oven later that night. I was thinking a baseball bat, a can of gasoline, and some matches were just what the doctor ordered.
Chloe
“ THIS IS RIDICULOUS ,” I groused as Harlow continued to click away on her camera. “Will you stop already?”
She lowered her camera with a beleaguered sigh and shot me a look that told me she felt that I was being a pain in her ass, not the other way around. “Will you just be still and cooperate, damn it?”
“Stop taking my picture!” I swatted at the camera in her hand. It was one of my rare days off and I’d planned on coming over, lounging on her back deck and drinking margaritas while she glared in envy as she sucked down her virgin daiquiris. But for the past twenty minutes, I’d been fighting off her ever-present camera as she took picture after picture.
“Come on!” I whined. “Enough already. I look like hell.”
“You do not!” she insisted. “And we need photos for your dating profiles so I can finish loading everything.”
I let out a groan and collapsed against the lounge chair. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into online dating.”
“Uh, excuse me,” she snapped before sucking on her glorified slushy. “But you texted me about it. So get the lead out and let’s do this already! It’s a gorgeous day, I thought we’d do some outside shots.”
Propping up on my elbows, I looked down at my ensemble, a raggedy pair of cutoff shorts that were a more suitable length for someone in their very early twenties, a navy tank top that I just grabbed from my drawer this morning, without looking, and my ratty converse sneakers that had seen better days. Definitely not picture-worthy. Hell, I hadn’t even put on makeup, and my air-dried strawberry blonde curls were pulled in a loose knot on top of my head to tame their wildness.
“I’m pretty sure if you posted a picture of me right now, I might actually break the internet.”
“Will you stop?” she scolded, her voice no longer holding a hint of humor. “Come here.”
I begrudgingly got to my feet and followed after her, my shoulders slumped in defeat.
Once we reached the bathroom, she put her hands on my shoulders and spun me around. “Don’t look in the mirror, look at me,” she continued to boss as she reached up and yanked the ponytail holder out of my hair.
“Ow!” I shouted, reaching up to feel for a bald spot. “That hurt, you jerk!” She just shushed me and started running her fingers through my hair, tousling it near the crown of my head. Reaching for something on the counter, she pumped a few squirts into her hand and raked her hands through my hair once again.
“What are you doing?”
“Hush,” was her only response. I stood quietly as she brushed a bit of eye shadow the color of deep gold on my lids, only moving when told to look up or down as she swiped a little mascara on my lashes. She finished up with a touch of a pinkish bronzer on the apples of my cheeks. The whole process took all of five minutes so I wasn’t
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