The Roommate Equation - Jillian Quinn Page 0,4
his idea turned out to not be so silly after all.
“Isn’t this why we started Date Crashers?” I ask Sloan. “To help people get out of bad dates.”
The blonde woman entered The Pit Stop about fifteen minutes ago, alone and here to drown her sorrows in a glass of red wine. Until the suit approached her, wearing a shit-eating grin, the blonde hadn’t looked at a single person in the crowded bar. She kept her head down, staring into her wine glass as if it could communicate.
Sloan looks at the couple across the bar. “How hasn’t he noticed that she’s not interested? It’s so fucking obvious.”
Sloan is responsible for teaching our Crashers, the people who break up bad dates, how to spot the signs, and know when to intervene.
Leaning against the brick wall, Sloan laughs and then takes another sip from his beer. “This guy has it all wrong. He thinks he can flash his Rolex and get the girl, but he has no clue what he’s doing.”
“But you do,” I say with a sly grin. “Why don’t you go over there and show him how it’s done?”
“Nah, I’m good right here.”
I chug the rest of my beer and then slide the bottle along the bar. The bartender tips her head in acknowledgment. She knows us well. Every Thursday after work, I come to The Pit Stop with Sloan. It’s the only day of the week we get the chance to catch up and shoot the shit. Since we moved our company from San Francisco to Los Angeles, we’ve been so damn busy that we barely have time to breathe.
The Pit Stop has a rustic vibe, with the original brick walls covered in car posters and an open ceiling that shows the exposed beams, reminding me of an old car garage.
Sloan turns to me, his elbow on the bar and his gaze shifting between the woman in desperate need of saving and me. “I could help him get the girl,” he says with a cocky smirk. “Or I could steal her away from him.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re good, but not that good. This dude needs a miracle.”
“I helped you once, didn’t I?”
I shake my head. “If you say so.”
“Your shitty attempt at picking up girls senior year had a lot to do with us starting Date Crashers. How many times did I have to bail you out?”
“Whatever, keep telling yourself that. Your ego is already overinflated enough.”
“Did you not get laid the night I crashed your date with the girl from Zeta Beta?” He finishes his beer, throws it into the trashcan to his left, and pushes off the wall.
No, I was with your sister that night.
The girl from Zeta Beta was my cover.
But you’ll never know that.
Because I’m an asshole.
I tap Sloan on the arm. “If you’re such a big shot, then prove it.”
Sloan is incapable of turning down a challenge.
He winks. “Game on.”
“Drinks on me if you succeed.”
He cocks his head at me. “What if I can convince the girl to leave with me instead?”
Sloan could talk a woman into giving him head with her husband standing next to her. I have never seen anyone sweet-talk their way through life the way Sloan does. He’s one of those lucky bastards who has that magical touch when it comes to the opposite sex.
“If you leave with her,” I point out, “technically, you would break a Crasher Commandant.”
Sloan wrote the rules our Crashers and Ditchers have to follow when using Date Crashers.
“Never go home with a Ditcher,” Sloan groans.
“You can’t break your own rules.”
“You’re such a buzzkill,” he grunts. “But you’re right. My morals are a little loose, but even I won’t cross that line.”
“How are you going to do it this time?” I lift the fresh beer the bartender places in front of me and tip my head to thank her. “He needs a Hail Mary even you can’t throw.”
“Watch and learn, my friend.” Sloan pats me on the shoulder and winks. “You stick to number crunching and algorithm writing, and I’ll show you how date crashing is done.” He tugs at the collar of his oxford and then buttons his suit jacket. “You’re buying the next round.”
“Teach me, Jedi Master,” I deadpan with a cocky grin. “I want to see you earn those drinks.”
Strolling over to the couple, Sloan removes his cell phone from his pocket and holds it up to his ear, pretending to talk to someone. He makes room for himself next to