Sneak Peek
“Fictional men are way better than any real-life counterpart.”
Paisley
”Oh, kiss her already!” I yelled in frustration, sprawled on the couch, and engrossed in a world where best friends finally confessed their feelings to each other.
I was almost at the best part when the door slammed shut, shattering my illusion. Leah had come home and she was on a mission.
She eyed me disbelievingly, hands on her hips. ”What on earth are you doing, Paisley?”
I looked up from the book, my heart still pounding from the imagined kiss. ”Just enjoying some quality literature, thank you very much.”
Leah snorted and arched a skeptical brow. ”Literature? More like smutty daydream material. You”re reading a bodice-ripper with a date in less than thirty minutes?”
I groaned, sinking deeper into the cushions. ”I just... I”m not feeling it, Leah.”
She puffed out a breath and threw her hands up in resignation. ”Not feeling it? Girl, you”ve been single for months. This date could finally be it. Who knows, maybe you”ll find the man who ticks all of your boxes.”
He”s not Ryan Foster, so I highly doubt it.
Ryan was my gorgeous best friend whom I hadn”t seen in years, but let”s not go down that road. It was a pretty long story. Rolling my eyes, I buried my face back in the book. ”Doubtful. Besides, my fictional men are way better than any real-life counterpart.”
Leah strode over, yanking the book from my hands. ”Enough with your imaginary boyfriends. We”re finding you something fabulous to wear, and you”re going on this date, whether you like it or not.”
She dragged me to my bedroom, and we stood before my closet, a battlefield of sweatpants and outfits better suited for Netflix marathons.
”Alright,” Leah declared, surveying the chaos, ”we need to sift through this wreckage and find a showstopper. Something that says, ”I”m fabulous, and I didn”t even try.””
I scoffed. ”That”s quite the tall order, my friend.”
Leah dug through the abyss of my closet, tossing garments left and right. She hurled aside a neon pink skirt with a big ”Nope!” while I rescued a tattered band tee from her judgmental glare.
”I think I”ve found it!”
She triumphantly held up a dress that I hadn”t worn in ages. It was elegant, with a flattering cut and a color that complemented my complexion. Grinning happily, she said, ”Now, let”s get you into this masterpiece, and for the love of God, lose the band tee.”
I squinted at it skeptically. ”I don”t know, Leah. It feels a bit... try-hard.”
She rolled her eyes. ”This dress is perfect. Trust me.”
I relented, allowing Leah to shoo me into the dress. She worked her magic, styling my hair and adding a touch of makeup that made me feel like a slightly more polished version of myself. As I stared at myself in the mirror when she was done, I had to admit I looked good. Really good.
Leah”s lips quirked up in an annoying smirk. ”See? I knew you had it in you. Now, get your butt out there and have some fun.”
I sighed, but there was a hint of gratitude in my voice. ”Fine, fine. I”ll go meet Mr. Possibly-Not-as-Good-as-my-Book-Boyfriends.”
She practically shoved me out the door and thank goodness, I didn”t trip. ”And remember, if he”s a dud, you can always come home and snuggle up with your fictional men. I promise I won”t bother you.”
With a final eye roll, I headed to my car, determined to stop comparing every man to Ryan and give this date a fair shot. Who knew? Maybe Leah was onto something.
***
The fancy restaurant was all dim lights and hushed conversations as I waited at the table, the minutes ticking by like slow torture. Why had I agreed to this again? Oh, right, Leah and her relentless optimism.
People around shot me sympathetic glances, probably assuming I”d been stood up. Little did they know, I was just stuck in a vortex of awkwardness, waiting for Mr. Tardy to make an appearance.
The waiter, sensing my predicament, approached with a sympathetic smile. ”Would you like to order something while you wait, miss?”
I shook my head, offering a tight smile. ”I”m still waiting for my companion. I”ll hold off on the menu for now.”
He nodded knowingly, his eyes filled with silent condolences, and retreated. I sank back into my chair, wondering if there was a way to pull a disappearing act without causing a scene. I mean, everyone had already seen me, so it would have been downright embarrassing if I had just gotten up and left.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my date, Matt, strolled in, looking unruffled and entirely unapologetic. I plastered on a smile, attempting to suppress my irritation.
”Hey. Traffic was insane, and that”s why I”m late,” he said with a casual wave.
”Traffic, huh? Must have been one-wheeled cars causing a jam,” I muttered.
Matt didn”t catch it, launching into a monologue about his job, his hobbies, and every minute detail of his life. I nodded and smiled at what I hoped were appropriate intervals, but my mind was already drafting an apology letter to my bookshelf for leaving them cold and alone, only to subject myself to this torture. As he paused for breath, I seized the opportunity to interject.
”Wow, fascinating stuff. Have you ever considered turning your life story into a bedtime audiobook? It might be a hit with insomniacs.”
He chuckled, oblivious to my sarcasm, and continued talking. I scanned the room for any sign of rescue—a fire drill, an alien invasion, anything.
”Oh, and you won”t believe what my cat did this morning,” he said, blissfully unaware of my waning interest.
I mustered a half-smile, resisting the urge to pull out my hair from its roots. ”I”m sure it was fascinating.”
I contemplated escape routes as he launched into a comprehensive description of his cat’s antics. Emergency phone call? Fake an allergic reaction to the candle on the table? Maybe I could teleport out of here.
Finally, mercifully, he took a breath, giving me a second to interject.
”You know, I once had a cat who could solve quadratic equations. True story.”
He blinked at me, momentarily thrown off track. ”Really? That”s impressive.”
I shrugged. ”Eh, he was no Felix von Purrstein, but he had his moments.”
The waiter returned, patiently awaiting our order. My date rattled off his preferences without sparing me a glance. ”Ready to order, miss?”
I glanced at the menu, then back at my date, who was now recounting his achievements in elementary school. ”I”ll have the ”Rescue Me from Reality” cocktail. Extra strong.”
The waiter raised an eyebrow. ”Is that on the menu?”
”Special request,” I deadpanned, glancing at my date, who was utterly oblivious to my misery.
The waiter stifled a chuckle and nodded. ”Coming right up.”
Matt droned on, and I continued nodding and smiling, my mind wandering to the fictional worlds where my book boyfriends reside—far more interesting than this real-life catastrophe. Eventually, the moment arrived when he took a breath, signaling a potential end to the monologue.
”So, enough about me. What about you? What do you do for fun?”
I considered telling him about my thrilling adventures in fictional realms but settled for a more diplomatic response. ”Oh, you know, the usual. Saving the world from boredom, one book at a time.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly not appreciating my attempt at humor. ”Books, huh? I prefer things that are more, you know, real.”
I grinned. ”Ah, reality—the place where traffic jams are a legitimate excuse for being fashionably late.”
He blinked, clearly not catching the sarcasm. The waiter returned with the metaphorical ”Rescue Me from Reality” cocktail, and I took a grateful sip. As the evening limped towards its conclusion, I pondered whether ghosting someone mid-date was acceptable. But, alas, I endured, promising myself a heartfelt apology to my bookshelf later.
Matt glanced at his watch. ”Wow, time flies when you”re having fun, huh?”
My brows shot up to my hairline as I fought the insurmountable urge to scoff so loud it could probably wake the dead. ”Fun is a strong word.”
He leaned in, attempting a suave move. ”So, what do you say we do this again sometime?”
At that moment, jumping off a cliff seemed more interesting. I resisted the impulse to laugh hysterically. ”Oh, absolutely. I”ll pencil you in for—”
I was about to say never when my phone rang, mercifully disrupting me. I snuck a glance at the screen, and my heart skipped a beat. The name flashed like a ghost from the past: Ryan Foster.
I”d had a crush on my best friend, Ryan, for as long as I could remember, and I hadn”t spoken to him in years. We sort of grew apart when we parted ways for college, so I was a little surprised that he was calling.
But, thank goodness, this was the excuse I needed to leave.
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