Chapter 2
TWO
MOLLY
Ispoon another mouthful of Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie while watching Elle Woods kick butt at Harvard. I need tonight. NEED IT.
We’re two weeks post-engagement announcement and I’ve already been sucked into the wedding vortex that is Bess Kirkson.
I don’t like to speak ill of my best friend, but all evidence points to Bess becoming a stage five Bridezilla.
And I’m pretty sure the stages only go to four.
The day following their engagement announcement, a Tiffany-blue box had arrived on my doorstep. Inside sat a gorgeous black tote bag with Tiffany-blue trim embroidered with my initials.
The entire thing had exploded with glitter and butterflies the moment I’d opened it, dousing me, my entry floor, and my ceiling in blue shimmer. The butterflies had been those paper wind up ones that spring out at you like bats outta hell.
Scared the beejeebus out of me.
The bag also held a note asking formally if I would be her maid of honor, then requested that I attend a breakfast to meet and greet the other bridesmaids—the following morning.
Between then and now, I’d already talked her down three times, negotiated a fight between her and her mother, helped interview thirteen wedding planners, and agreed to meet next week to view dresses.
And I’d done all of that around my day job while trying to negotiate more funding for the local rec center.
I didn’t just deserve a night at home—I’d earned it.
“You tell ’em, Elle!” I lift my spoon in support as Elle Woods argues about sperm emissions being reckless abandonment.
“I wish I had scented ink,” I mutter, licking the spoon. “I should order some. Cotton candy. The kids will love it.”
I pause, thinking it over.
On second thought, I’m sure I want a pack of second graders trying to eat their homework.
My phone buzzes with a text from Bess. I think about ignoring it, then sigh. If I don’t answer, she’ll just start calling.
Bess
You okay? You skipped yoga
Molly
Fine. Just a long week
Bess
Okay but don’t skip too many. You have a dress to fit into! <3
I roll my eyes. Please, God, let them decide to elope next week.
Bess
Actually, that’s horrible and feeds into the idea that we need to change to be bridal ready. Scratch that. We’re both perfect just the way we are.
I grin. This is why I love her. She always knows when she’s being ridiculous—even if it takes a minute.
Bess
I spoke to Mrs. McAndrews at a luncheon this week. Mentioned your charity event. She’s agreed to donate and will call you this week. Said Mr. McAndrews will buy two tables. Hopefully that will help.
Molly
OMG! You are the best! If Peter wasn’t marrying you, I would!
And yet another reason why I adore my best friend. She just quietly goes about using her connections to help me and my causes, not even realizing how big an impact it will have.
Bess
Speaking of marrying me… Are you free next weekend?
Molly
Y?
I straighten, gripping my phone. Is my wish about to come true? Are they willing to go for a quickie wedding?
Bess
I’ve signed you up for speed dating.
I blink at the screen. “Motherfucker.”
Molly
WTF? Why would you do that?
Bess
You need a date to the wedding.
Molly
Sam is coming!
Bess
OMG you can’t bring your brother! Besides, he’s already invited. And I want him to bring his own date. We’re not into incest, Molly!
Bess
Just go to the event. It’s been for-ev-aaaahhhh since you dated. It’s time to scrub the scum from your shoes and get back into the dating pool.
I mean… truth. I’d already decided to get back out there following their announcement, but between work, Bess’s near-constant demands, and the pit of hell that was Tinder—OMG! What in the hell are dating apps??—and I just hadn’t found the will.
Molly
That’s because I prefer fictional boyfriends to real ones
Bess
Your fictional boyfriends never gave you an orgasm…
Molly
How do you know
Bess
TMI!!! Are you going?
Molly
Fine. Send me the deets. You owe me.
Bess
Yay!
An email notification appears a second later. I hesitate, finger hovering over the notification.
“Fuck it. Ice cream isn’t going to be enough for this.” I heave myself off the couch, intent on searching for hard liquor.
My cupboard holds a wide selection of alcohol I inherited in the divorce. Or, more precisely, the alcohol Bess had the movers pack while I wallowed in ice cream and tears. She’d known all the spiteful little things to sneak out of the house that would drive Brad mad.
Like taking the pins out of each of the doors in the rooms so if you shut them they swung back open.
Like I said, she’s the best.
I perused my cacophony of options, wrinkling my nose at the whiskey Brad loved so much.
“I need something that’ll l go with ice cream.”
With Kahlua in hand, I head for my computer. Settling at the desk, I mix a shot into my ice cream, scooping up a large spoonful of the slurpy mess before opening the email.
Hello!
We’re Speedy Singles?, Chars #1 Speed Dating Agency. Our goal is to help everyone find love.
“Oh, fuck me.” I take a shot straight from the bottle.
You’ve signed up to our Speedy Service?. Congratulations for taking this brave step in your love journey!
“Oh, man. They’ve used the word ‘journey.’ This wasn’t going to end well.”
Bringing our unique blend of exceptional applicants, experienced matchmakers, and high-quality venues, our Speedy Service? option gives you the best start at finding love.
I look down at the ice-cream-stained hoodie I’ve thrown on. “Yeah, I’m totes an exceptional applicant.” I chuckle to myself, scrolling through the email.
On Saturday 15th, you and fifteen other Speedy Singles? will participate in a series of speed dates designed to match you in real time to your most compatible partner. Not sure if this is for you? Don’t worry, we have a 98% success rate!
“Ninety-eight percent? Jesus. Who are these people? The desperate dateless? Do they feed them Viagra and love potions to achieve that stat?”
Your night includes unlimited drinks, a round of tasty canapes, and all your dates! We guarantee a great night.
“Thank God,” I mutter, swigging from the bottle. “Wine is the only way I’m getting through this.”
After the dating is done, it’s time for everyone in the room to chat over a drink—and set up your next one-on-one date .
All the details are below. Please ensure you fill out the attached questionnaire before Wednesday.
We look forward to seeing you there!
And remember, love can sometimes happen at first sight.
I look at the now-empty tub of ice cream. “There’s no other option. I’m going to have to kill Bess.”
I raise the bottle of Kahlua to my lips, taking a bracing shot as I open the quiz.
“Oh, fuck.”
It’s one of those quizzes. You know, the type they only ask singles. The one where they ask you to describe your perfect date, how you’d raise your theoretical kids, and what you’re really looking for in a man—like the answer isn’t “employed, single, and can take out the trash.”
My phone buzzes with another text from Bess.
Bess
Send me your answers. I want to approve them before you submit. God knows you have zero game.
“Well fuck you too.” I down a large gulp of the Kahlua, grimacing at the taste. It does not get better with increased consumption. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Describe your perfect date.
“Not speed dating.” I snigger, lifting the bottle again as an idea takes root. “Well, you asked for this Bessie-girl.” I shove the bottle to one side, typing quickly. “A date that ends in mutual orgasms. Preferably multiples.” I giggle.
Describe the attributes you find most attractive in a partner.
“Big dick, tongue that he knows what to do with, thick fingers, big hands. Great laugh.”
If you were stuck on a desert island what three items would you take?
“A private plane, pilot, and enough fuel to escape—duh.”
Describe yourself in three words
“Brilliant, hilarious, horny.” I chuckle at my own brilliance, drinking again.
The answers get more outrageous as the questions progress.
How would you describe your sex life?
“Dinosaur erotica.”
What do you prefer—dogs or cats?
“Llamas.”
I hit save at the end of the sheet, uncontrollable belly laughs sending tears streaming down my face.
“Enjoy, Bessie!” I giggle, wiping at the tears on my cheeks.
An email notification pops up in the corner of my screen.
I click, lifting the bottle to my mouth.
Thanks for submitting your questionnaire! Our team at Speedy Singles? will review your answers and be in contact with you shortly if they have any questions.
“Fuck!” I spit the Kahlua at the screen, frantically scrolling back to the original email. The questionnaire is an auto-submit form. I missed the line that explained that saving means submitting.
“Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshitohshit,” I whisper, eyes bugging out as I reread my answers.
I push away from the computer, heading unsteadily for my bedroom. I fall face-first into my pillow, letting out a smothered scream.
“Fuck.” I jerk upright. “Bess can never know. No one can ever know.”
God help me.