living on microwave mac & cheese bowls and ramen. Ugh. I was so getting some fruits and veggies this Friday when I got paid. My mouth watered at the thought of something fresh and healthy. Super weird, I know, but the grass was always greener on the other side and all that. If all I had was stuff for salads, I’d be dying for mac & cheese.
Beth shuffled into the kitchen with the hood of her sweatshirt up. She said nothing, just went to the cupboard and took out a box of cinnamon crunch cereal.
“Isn’t that Viola’s?” I asked.
“Don’t fucking care,” she grumbled, pouring a bowl. “I’ll give her money or something.”
No way was I touching anything of Vio’s. She was our resident Long Islander, complete with the nasally badass New Yorker accent and attitude. F-bombs in every sentence. Short hair. I would not fuck with Vio. One time at a bar a guy told her she was a caricature New Yorker and she throat punched him. Then she took the glass of whiskey right out of his hand and drank it before we hauled ass out of the bar.
But she was also the most affectionate, lovey-dovey person I’d ever met. Seriously, she’d tell you to fuck off and crawl into your lap for a snuggle in the same breath. All five feet and nine inches of her. I poured a small handful of the cereal into my palm and then put the box away.
My phone whistled another text and my heart danced a super-fast jig at the sight of Shawn’s name.
How you feeling this morning? I grinned.
“Oh, my God,” Beth hissed. “Who is texting you and making you smile this early?”
There was no way I was telling her about Shawn.
“Willa asked for a ride tonight.”
Beth grunted, even managing to sound like a cute pixie with that noise.
I’ve had better mornings, I texted back. Thanks. I won’t be doing that again tho.
Doing what? Asking a friend for help? Or tying one on?
What’s tying one on? I asked.
Getting drunk.
Huh. Never heard of that phrase. I responded: I daresay I will tie many more on.
The world can only hope. I gotta get going. Take care, Harlow Robinson.
You too, Captain Shawn Fowler.
Geez. Butterflies were shaking their booties in my belly and I felt like skipping around the kitchen. I was in such trouble. What I needed was to find a very single man who gave me those same rump-shaking butterflies. I grabbed a half-sleeve of butter crackers and the tail end of a port wine cheese log, then headed to the bunkbed room for privacy.
On the top bunk, I splayed out, feeling springs poke out at me. I ate several crackers with cheese in rapid succession, then pulled up my Sparks app. The first thing I did was weed through all of my matches for anyone who gave off dangerous vibes. I wanted to believe I could handle a bad boy, but after last night who was I kidding? I could legit only handle bad boys in books.
After that, I began to respond to the generic messages. Six guys wrote me Good morning. I wrote them all back. And then I sent a hello to my “friend” Dean.
Messages started to roll back in but after five minutes of chatting with various guys, I began to feel cross-eyed, forgetting who had said what, and who I’d already asked certain questions of. I had to keep looking at their profiles to remind myself which was the waiter, the grad student, the electrician, the nurse, the security guard, and the fireman.
Ru dtf? asked the nurse. I Googled dtf because it seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Down to fuck. Of course. I was such a noob. I rolled my eyes at his Casanova moves.
I’m not dtf until I get to know someone. I felt like a prude the moment I sent it, but oh well. I expected him to call me a square, but instead he said, This might change your mind.
A picture popped up and I whispered, “Holy shit.” My eyes bulged at the engorged penis held in his hand like a purpled monster. Was that thing real? It was twice the size of the only one I’d ever seen in real life. My first dick pic! I laughed, because part of me hadn’t really believed men sent unsolicited pics. Now what was I supposed to do? I stared at this stranger’s cock. His member, hehehe. How many penis words did I know? Pecker.