Chapter Two
“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had in your life, Liv,” Sydney said, gripping onto the sides of the doorway to the local high school gym for dear life.
“You’re the one who chose dare instead of truth,” Liv retorted. She stood just inside the gym, arms spread wide as if she was welcoming Sydney, but really, the only thing she was inviting her into was three hours of suffering.
“I didn’t think you were going to force me into some ridiculous queer speed dating event,” she scolded and scowled when Liv laughed from her belly.
But before Sydney could talk her way out of the dare and convince Liv that she’d rather try dating in a more conventional way—with apps like Her—she was yanked by her arm into the room.
A woman holding a clipboard announced, “Welcome, everyone. I’ll be your host for the evening. Whether you’re a seasoned speed dater or this is your very first time, I am certain that tonight will be an extraordinary and memorable experience.”
“I hate you for this,” Sydney whispered, pinching Liv’s upper arm when she came to stand next to her. The two leaned with their backs against the wall.
The gym looked like any other school gym, except for the tables neatly arranged in rows. Each table was draped in navy blue tablecloths with potted succulents sitting in the center. Soft jazz played from the mounted speaker.
“Here’s how it’s going to work,” said the host, her blonde hair sleekly parted in the middle and pulled back into a low bun.
“You’ll each have a series of short, timed conversations.
Each date will last exactly five minutes.
At the chime…” The host lifted her cell phone, pressed a button, and then a soft bell emanated from the speaker at the far end of the room.
“… please make sure to switch seats promptly so that everyone gets a chance to meet. We encourage you all to be yourselves. Relax. Enjoy the process and if you like someone, there will be a space on your scorecard to make a note.”
Sydney rolled her eyes. If there was anything worse than speed dating, she would’ve heard about it already.
Short of death, of course. If she could choose, she would rather chew on glass than be here with all these other desperately single people.
Sydney was single by choice—if choice meant she was unable to keep any relationship going for more than three months.
It wasn’t her fault, though. Curses weren’t meant to be broken.
Madison Hall, who had a sticker pentagram on her biology book, had cursed Sydney’s love life back when they were fourteen during a game of seven minutes in heaven, after Sydney had made out with Madison’s crush, Billy Smith.
Someone suddenly caught her eye.
Or more so the back of someone: unruly curls the color of a midnight sky.
It reminded Sydney of that other night three weeks ago, of the woman without a name.
Funny how it was possible to meet someone, drive them all the way to your home, kiss them in the driveway, take off their clothes in your bedroom, and fuck them without wanting anything in return—though Sydney wouldn’t have minded if the woman had finished her off first before she had left—but still had no idea what their name was.
Actually, it wasn’t funny at all. It was torturous.
Sydney had spent a good week trying to find the woman.
She even went as far as emailing the art curator to find out if anyone with her description had bought a painting.
No such luck. She had even spent a Thursday evening back there, hoping to run into her. Again, no such luck.
But since then, Sydney had moved on. That was how the whole truth or dare game started. Sydney had made the mistake of announcing her retirement from the dating world—surely it wasn’t that sad to be alone—and that was how Liv had come up with the dare.
“This is going to be so fun.” Liv clapped her hands together excitedly. “Look at all these attractive people. Can’t think of any better way to spend my Sunday afternoon.”
“You’re not even into women, Liv. Who exactly do you plan on meeting when there are no men around?”
Liv looked as unbothered as a ginger cat lounging in a sunbeam.
She flipped her red hair back with her hand and looked about the room serenely.
“I’ve reached that point in my life where I don’t see the point of being picky.
No matter… men or women. As long as they can find my clit, then I’m all good. ”
“That’s called bisexual,” Sydney pointed out. “And that’s not what you—”
But her words were cut off when the woman with the black curls turned around.
It was as if time itself had hit the pause button, freezing the moment in a dramatic tableau.
Sydney’s limbs felt rubbery and her head was heavy and disorientated, as if her very ability to move had been temporarily suspended.
All she could do was watch the woman from the other night glide, as if in slow motion, forward to a chair.
Their eyes suddenly met. No, more like collided like two meteorites crashing through space, creating a moment so intense that Sydney visibly shuddered.
“Shit.”
“What?” asked Liv. “What’s shit?”
The woman diverted her gaze down to the floor and shuffled sideways, making a beeline for the exit.
Sydney watched her nervous fluttering movements like a hawk and flinched when the woman was intercepted by the blonde host closing the door, cutting off her escape.
She was stuck. Just like Sydney was stuck.
Two people who had one strange, yet rather blissful night and now found themselves cornered in the same room.
Presumably they were both wishing they could be anywhere else but here.
The entire situation would’ve been funny if Sydney hadn’t experienced a hot rush of blood to her face. She patted her cheeks, hoping she didn’t resemble a beet—though her tan would shadow most of it—and was briskly tugged forward by Liv.
They were divided into two groups; those who stayed seated, and those who moved from table to table. Both Sydney and Liv were grouped as movers. The woman with no name was a sitter.
Sydney watched her sit down on chair six. Good. If she knew where she was sitting, she could keep an eye on her, and spot her if she made a run for it. There was no way Sydney was going to let the woman out of her sight. Not today. Not today, beautiful stranger.
The starting bell went off and the first conversation began.
“Hi, I’m Susan,” said a woman who looked barely older than twenty-one. Exactly Sydney’s type. Fresh out of college. Her kryptonite, but also the reason she was probably single. “If you could choose to have any superpower, what would it be?”
Straight to the point. But Sydney couldn’t possibly care about a conversation about superpowers when she was five chairs away from speaking to the person who had quite literally left mid-sex with no explanation whatsoever.
Susan raised her thick eyebrows expectantly.
“Um…” Sydney ran her teeth over her bottom lip, looking down at the table instead of up at the brunette with the big brown eyes. “I guess I’d go back in time.”
“That’s a strange power,” said Susan, far too cheerily. “But I love it. I think I’d choose the power to instantly master any skill.”
“Like what?” frowned Sydney, who had obviously forgotten how to flirt. “Does that mean you can master flying or playing chess?”
Susan giggled and shook her head. “You’re hilarious. I’d rather master baking sourdough bread. It’s surprisingly hard to get right and as far as playing chess, I’ve just never gotten the hang of it.”
Any other day, Sydney would’ve gladly agreed with her—sourdough was achingly difficult to bake—but today she was buzzing with nervous anticipation and couldn’t think straight. All thanks to the chick sitting in seat number six.
The bell chimed and Sydney stood up, not caring that she had just made a terrible impression or that everything about her first speed date had gone as smooth as gravel.
“I’m Maya,” said a woman sitting in seat two.
She had lovely almond-colored skin and sparkling brown eyes, and she was a year younger than Susan.
Where were all these young people coming from?
This was Carmel-by-the-sea, for goodness’ sake.
“What’s your name and what TV show are you watching at the moment? ”
This time she had an answer ready. If she had to suffer through speed dating, she might as well do it right. “I’m Sydney and I’ve been unashamedly binging on The Great British Bake Off.”
Maya laughed. “I love that show. Please tell me you’ve watched the episode with the Derry Girls special.”
“You mean the episode where Sister Michael made that Swiss roll cake with blobs of gelatin?”
Maya laughed again. It was deep and pleasant and buzzed around the room. “That was the funniest thing I’ve ever watched!”
“I swear I didn’t stop laughing during their season seven Pasta Week,” said Sydney.
The conversation went surprisingly well, considering Sydney kept glimpsing the woman with no name out of the corner of her eye.
She would’ve liked to stay longer to get to know Maya if she could.
But not only did she have to move on to the next chair, her feet were itching to get closer to chair number six.
And the closer she got, the more panicked she became.
Her heart was flip-flopping, her stomach a nervy mess, and she felt the inexplicable sensation of sweat at the nape of her neck.
When it was finally time for her to face seat six, Sydney felt like she was going to faint. This was worse than studying for the EMT certification course. It was worse even than last week’s eleven-hour marathon battling a warehouse blaze that nearly took out half the block.
She slipped into the seat. Her hands were shaking, so she placed them on the table and interlaced her fingers. “Hi.”
The woman winced. It wasn’t even subtle. She leaned back in the chair and swept her gaze around the room as if Sydney didn’t exist. “We might as well sit through these five minutes in silence,” said the woman with no name, still not locking eyes.
If there was ever a time to feel invisible, it was now. Except Sydney wasn’t the type to sit quietly and let the awkwardness win. She had questions. She needed answers.
“I’d prefer not to.”
The woman flicked her eyes up and met Sydney’s gaze.
Damn!
She was just as striking as she had been that night three weeks ago when Sydney had spotted her standing in front of that painting, looking like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders but refusing to let it crush her.
It wasn’t just the unruly raven curls, or those irresistible soft cupid bow lips, or the fact that she could easily be a decade older than Sydney.
No, it was those icy grey eyes. They had a way of peering right into Sydney’s soul while simultaneously keeping her at arm’s length.
Both a window and a wall all at once. Sydney had never met a woman like that before.
“You know, you never told me your name,” said Sydney, breaking the silence when the woman remained silent.
“Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?”
Sydney sipped the air like she was running out of it. “Telling me your name isn’t going to kill you.”
“Morgan,” said the woman after what seemed like a lifetime of deliberating the war in her head. “And yours is Sydney. There. We know each other’s names. Now, can we just sit here in silence and wait for the bell?”
That was the last thing on Sydney’s agenda. “Why did you run?” she asked, both desperate, like her life depended on it, and curious, like she was trying to solve a mystery.
“I didn’t run,” she said coldly. “I left. Like I intended to do from the beginning.”
That wasn’t how Sydney remembered it. She could distinctly remember the panic etched on Morgan’s face when Sydney had asked her if she wanted to stay the night.
“Didn’t you enjoy yourself?”
“Does it matter?” Morgan snapped. “It was just sex, Sydney. Nothing more than that. If I’d known you weren’t capable of casual, I would never have…” she trailed off and laughed, a sound that was both beautiful and venomous. She knew that she herself wasn’t a fan of casual.
“I can do casual,” Sydney said, feeling defensive. Or maybe she wasn’t exactly proficient at it, maybe she caught feelings a little too fast. It wasn’t a bad thing.
“Apparently you can’t.”
“You don’t know me.”
“You’re right, I don’t. That’s the whole point of casual.” Morgan sat forward, her grey eyes like a whirlpool, ready to suck Sydney in and drown her.
Goosebumps broke out on Sydney’s skin. She tried to hide it by dropping her hands in her lap, hoping the table would work like a shield. If Morgan noticed, she said nothing.
“I don’t want to know you,” Morgan continued. “I had no plans to see you ever again.”
That stung like a bee. Sydney, who didn’t mind a good cry now and then, felt angry tears welling up behind her eyes. She sniffed and straightened up, determined not to let Morgan know how deeply she had gotten under her skin.
“I don’t know what I was thinking coming up to you in that gallery,” Sydney said, trying to sound casual even though her insides felt like a shaken can of soda.
“It’s because you weren’t thinking,” said Morgan, straight-faced. “Not with your head at least—”
The bell chimed. Sydney wanted to stay. Hell, she would’ve glued herself to that chair, handcuffed herself to Morgan. Anything to get more answers. But the blonde in the chair beside her stood up and eagerly awaited to take Sydney’s place.
“Move on, Sydney,” said Morgan, her tone deadpan. “There’s nothing for you here.”