my tongue with an ashy taste. A zip propels through me as I think of him and that damn spoon. He could get me to do just about anything. With a scoff, I find myself once again chasing fantasy into the far recesses where those dreams belong. Or until later, when I can binge on Netflix.
“At this rate, I doubt any guy will be worth sitting through an entire meal. My tolerance for bullshit has taken a hit as of late.”
Clea’s lips curve at the corners. “Careful, Van. You’re beginning to sound jaded.”
“Hey,” I clip. “It’s my job to deliver the snark.”
“Then snap out of it.” With a lift of her chin, she signals to our server that we’d like another round of drinks.
“What do you think I’m trying to accomplish?” I flail my arm to the side.
She folds her hands, pausing for dramatic effect. “The fine art of avoidance.”
I let my jaw hang. “Haven’t you been listening? I’ve been hogging the conversation.”
But she’s not wrong on calling me out. I’ve lost a bit of my luster as of late. If I want to dig at the root, this streak of bad luck began after my cousin’s wedding last spring. That was over a year ago. Since then, it’s been a gnarled string of letdowns. Giving spotlight to the source might offer some sense of closure, but focusing my attention on that surly asshole is more than he deserves. A muffled groan rips from the back of my throat. I still don’t know his name.
Ignoring his negative influence has made me weak. My friend is right, whether I willingly admit that aloud or not. This Debbie Downer mood needs to quit. Enough with the overplayed song—changing the channel only requires a slight flick of my wrist. I paste on a smile, internally yank on my big girl panties, and forget this frou-frou trouble. “I’m an independent woman. Who needs a significant other? Not me.”
Presley doesn’t appear convinced in the slightest, if the wrinkle of her pert nose is any indication to go by. Clea, on the other hand, is nodding with an enthusiastic bounce. “That’s the best attitude to have. Guys are intimidated by bold, successful women.”
“I hate that misogynistic crap. It’s a lame excuse,” I mutter.
“Doesn’t make it less true.”
The server arrives with our fresh drinks and I treat myself to a greedy slurp. I exhale a cleansing breath as the crisp mimosa washes away the bad vibes. “Okay, enough. My pity party has come to an end. Thanks for listening to me whine for five minutes.”
“Try ten,” Clea laughs. I frown at her and she raises both hands in protest. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. It’s not a bad thing to discuss our troubles. That’s why we’re all such great friends.”
“Be that as it may, I’m positive there are more important matters to discuss than my horrendous love life. Or lack thereof,” I mumble. I’ve managed to excel in the professional department. Why can’t my romantic aspirations follow suit?
Presley smacks her lips after a long sip of juice. I’d assume she’s imagining something other than a straw in her mouth with that kind of enthusiasm. “Do you want me to set you up with someone?”
All thoughts of who’s been keeping her occupied flee with a whoosh. “You’re offering now? I just swore off men seven seconds ago.”
She lifts her shoulder in a lazy shrug. “As if your hopeless romantic spirit will stick to that plan.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time. “Who are these specimens? Have you been holding out on me?”
“Not really, but they fit your new standards.”
I huff, sending red strands off my forehead. “Put a pin in that. I’m determined to get out of this funk, one way or another. The male population is conspiring against me.”
“At least you’re about to be promoted.” Presley’s positive outlook brings a grin to my face.
“This is true. I have little to complain about.”
She pats my hand again, her motherly traits bleeding through. “It’s all right to be frustrated with the lack of good prospects. We’re well aware that your golden heart is searching for its match.”
My smile wobbles at the edges. “It really sucks that I care so much.”
“If you didn’t, we’d all lose faith in love. You need to stay dedicated for us.” Clea winks at me.
Before I can respond, a wince crosses Presley’s features. She bands an arm across her chest and hunches over. “Shit.”