me being picky when no one’s interested. And before you ask about online dating, that’s not gonna happen. I don’t like the idea of my photos or personal info floating around on the internet.”
I drank the last of my wine directly from the glass carafe. “And I’m always working because if I wasn’t, I’d be at home all alone, drinking cheap rosé, watching Shark Week reruns in my pajamas.”
This torture needed to end. “Look, if a suitor comes around and he’s halfway normal, I promise I won’t say no to a date. And maybe I’ll even ask him out instead of waiting for him to do it. I’ll be more open to opportunities. I swear.”
They exchanged looks again and nodded in approval.
The server came over with a small platter of appetizers. The smell of Belgian fries made my mouth water. “I call dibs,” I said, rotating the plate so the potatoes were in front of me.
Candace wrinkled her brow and looked around for our waitstaff. “We didn’t order this. Let’s send it back.”
I’d already eaten two fries before she finished talking. I chewed and gulped. “Sorry. I’m starving.”
The hostess stopped by our table and said, “Well, looks like you’re truly VIPs here. The chef sent this over, free of charge.”
Jane and Candace dug into the hummus and pita while I shoveled more fries into my mouth. When the server came back, she said, “How’s everything tasting?”
I nodded enthusiastically while the other two said in unison, “It’s great!”
Jane said, “We’ll take another round of drinks.” After glancing my way, she added, “And one more order of fries, please, so Candace and I can have some.”
Candace said, “Actually, no drink for me. I still haven’t finished mine.”
When the new drinks came, we clinked glasses again. “To new jobs and new beginnings,” Candace said. Translation: Let’s toast to Melody’s new gaming job and us convincing her to keep her dating options open.
Cheers, ladies. Too bad I had no options.
Chapter Five
That night I slept a full nine hours and still woke up early enough to make breakfast and an iced coffee. The three-or-more-cups-a-day java habit that had befallen me the very day I moved to Seattle cost me hundreds of dollars a year. Money that could be going toward saving for a house, or toward a fancy-schmancy coffeemaker. With my home brew in hand I took the elevator down to my apartment parking garage and turned the key in the ignition.
And . . . nothing.
I tried the key again.
More nothing.
Damn it. No more Starbucks for me, I needed a new car, stat. And I didn’t even have time or money to shop for one. Getting to work early was a top priority in case Ian had more news about the Ultimate Apocalypse game launch during our nine A.M. all-hands meeting. Walking to work in the torrential rain wasn’t my favorite option, though, so I opted to use Liftr instead, a ride-share service that specialized in short urban distances and flat fees by zone numbers. I ordered my car and waited near the garage entrance for “Paul, 4.7 rating” to show up.
Within thirty seconds a tricked-out Honda Element with a Liftr sticker on the passenger-side window pulled up next to me. I never understood how any Honda executive ever approved the design of those ugly-ass, Kleenex box–shaped cars in the first place.
I entered the back seat and said a quick hello. Paul, dressed in a trucker cap and ’70s-style wire glasses, turned around and held his stare a little bit too long. He looked more predator-like than hipsterish. Could he be deciding if I’d be today’s murder victim?
“Melody Joo,” he said quietly and turned back to face forward. OMG, I was totally going to die. He knew my name, address, and possibly my credit card information. Ohhhh fucking shit. And I was going to die in a fucking Honda Element.
He put his car into gear and drove me down the hill toward Elliott Bay, thank god, in the direction of work. He was transporting me, and not murdering me.
“Sorry if I spooked you. I wanted to figure out why you had such a low passenger grade.”
A . . . what? “Sorry, I’m still half asleep this morning. What’s a passenger grade?”
“You know how you rate the driver when you end your ride? Well, drivers rate passengers, too.” He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I’d normally not pick up someone with a really low score, but right now