Chapter 6
MIA
Thank fuck Swayze’s truck is nowhere to be seen when I get home this morning.
Quickly unlocking the door, I walk toward my bedroom, my eyes snagging on the yellow square stuck to the door.
Uh oh… roommate war activated.
What the fuck do you do in the shower? Just so you know, the hot water’s not unlimited.
S.
Rolling my eyes, I scrunch up the Post-it.
I can hear his growly tone loud and clear from his scrawled words alone. He’s obviously forgotten how many times I’ve had to take cold showers after he’s been in there.
I’m glad I didn’t bother coming home last night. I just wish it was because the date went so well that he took me back to his place and made me forget Swayze’s name, let alone the earth-shattering orgasm he gave me the other night.
Alas, that was not the case.
At. All.
The guy showed up in a dirty shirt and shorts with his comb-over unwashed—it hadn’t just been bad lighting—to a pretty nice restaurant he apparently booked.
He proceeded to drone on and on about himself. He didn’t ask me a single question, let alone comment on what I was wearing.
An hour into the date and I still wasn’t sure he knew my name, to be honest. I disappeared to the restroom, had Haven call me with an emergency, and spent the night hanging with her instead.
It’s officially the first and last time I let my mom arrange a date for me.
What was she thinking? Apparently she’s scraping the barrel worse than I am.
In what world would that be realistic? I may as well hang a neon sign around his neck saying boyfriend for hire.
I mean, jeez, I don’t wanna look like a totally insecure liar. That’s sooo not a vibe.
I want to look desirable. Fun.
Like a phoenix that’s risen from the ashes of that toxic relationship better than ever.
And sure, I don’t necessarily need a man beside me for that, but my douchebag ex took great joy in delivering a parting line I still remember word for word.
Look at you, Mia. No man will ever look at you twice let alone put up with your bullshit long enough to marry you.
So yeah, I might be burning my feminist card admitting it, but I want to say a huge fuck you to him, with the help of a super hot guy beside me.
Except it’s starting to look like he was right.
His cold, clipped voice plays on a loop in my mind making my chest tighten. I curl my arms around myself, tears threatening to cloud my vision.
Ugh. No.
He’s not fucking right.
I’m not letting him break me again. It took me long enough to rebuild myself the first time.
Mom
Sooooo, how was the date? Silvia’s son said he’d love to take you out again! XO
My mom, everyone, perfect timing as always. I stare down at my phone screen slack jawed.
The dude has got to be fucking joking.
No.
No way.
I knew he was oblivious. He’s so oblivious that he didn’t even realize he got the emergency call brush-off, and I’d bet it wasn’t the first time either.
Me
It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens mom.
No more dates ok? I’m done.
Mom
But Mia, we want to see you happy.
Mia
I AM happy. I don’t need a man for that. Especially not one like that.
Mom
Fine. We can discuss it at family dinner.
Stifling a sigh, I toss the cell on my bed before I text something I’ll regret later. But for fuck’s sake, what's there to discuss? The last thing I want to do is talk about my disastrous love life in front of Swayze’s family as well.
If this wedding wasn’t happening, I wouldn’t give a shit. I hate that I even care enough to worry about this crap. Why did this asshole have to cut me so deep that I want to hide behind a bullshit relationship?
As if it’s even enough to stop him from trying to fuck with me if he really wants to.
I’m pretty sure this would take months of therapy to unpack. At least I’m self-aware enough to realize it. But there’s no time for that right now. The clock’s ticking, each second bringing me closer to facing the one person I wouldn’t piss on if he were on fire.
There must be someone out there who could work. Right?
After scrolling MatchNote for another thirty minutes and losing all hope of ever finding an actual match on the damn thing, I slide out my laptop and get back to work finishing my Dickonomics article.
My conclusion, if you’re interested—save your bucks to spend on something more useful, like a battery operated boyfriend.
All the moves, zero backchat.
I email it to my editor, who responds half an hour later.
From: EditorJen@
To: MiaMonroe@
Subject: Dickonomics - MatchDont
LOL, you’re a hoot. Since you’ve decided to advise our readers against real cock, how do you feel about reviewing a bunch of sex toys? We have a fun new sponsor.
From: MiaMonroe@
To: EditorJen@
Subject: Re: Dickonomics - MatchDont
Hell, why not? I hadn’t decided on next month's column, so that totally saves me a job. Plus I’m in the market for a new vibrator.
Let’s just say mine’s as discreet as a jackhammer. I’ll give them a rating and everything. LOL.
From: EditorJen@
To: MiaMonroe@
Subject: Re: Re: Dickonomics - MatchDont
Awesome, I’ll ship them to you. We don’t need you wrangling dildos in the office.
From: MiaMonroe@
To: EditorJen@
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Dickonomics - MatchDont
OMG, what am I, the cock cowgirl?! How many are you sending?! I’ve only got one coochie you know!
From: EditorJen@
To: MiaMonroe@
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Dickonomics - MatchDont
To be determined. Not the coochie part. I’m clear on that. I’ll keep you posted.
Good job on Dickonomics.
J
It’s not all doom and gloom though because, oh my god, I love my job so much. Hilarious, considering how jaded I am by love and relationships.
Am I the best person for the job?
The jury’s still out on that one, but I like to think I can see both sides.
You don't need to want love, to love it.
And I do. Love love I mean… so work’s the one constant in my life I am satisfied with.
Apparently soon to be extra satisfied.
Thank fuck for Jenny. She’s great to work for, and over the years we’ve become friends too.
Don’t get me wrong, she’s still the boss and will totally tell me if something sucks, but she gives me relatively free rein with my Love, Mia column.
I get to write about all things sex and relationships, and anything in between.
Occasionally she’ll suggest something if we’ve got a new sponsor—like my aforementioned new playmates—but she’ll always keep it relevant. She wouldn’t expect me to cover current affairs. I’m not built for that, the world's depressing enough.
I want to help people let go, feel free and sexually liberated with a dose of reality.
Speaking of reality, it's time to start on my favorite part of the job.
I make myself a coffee, black with two sugars because I’m not sweet enough already, and settle back down with my laptop to start.
Dr. Reality Check-Love, Mia.
People email us wanting dating advice, and it’s on me to respond with a little Love, Mia flair. It’s like a modern advice column x love doctor I try to keep fun, dry, and hopefully helpful.
We weren't sure if this would be a hit, but readers immediately engaged, and it ended up moving from a quarterly magazine segment to a weekly online update. We’ve built up such a good rep that all genders feel comfortable messaging for some Dr. Reality Check love.
I’ve only got two messages to respond to today.
Hi Mia,
Help! I’m in love with my best friend but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even realize I’m a dude. How can I get her to notice me as something more?
Love, Hopelessly Devoted.
Hi Hopelessly Devoted,
Well, isn’t that an age-old dilemma. If you’re a numbers guy, statistically 66% of relationships start as friends. That’s not bad. I mean, okay, it would be safer if we hit 80 plus, but still… It’s more than half.
Has she ever flirted with you? Held your stare a little too long?
Found reasons to touch you? Maybe test the waters, casually flirt, mention going on a date with someone, and see if you detect any reaction.
Do her eyes drop to your lips, or lower?
Does she look a little jealous over the mention of you seeing another girl? Sometimes that’s all it takes.
Love, Lube, and
Hi Mia
I’ve been with my guy for five years now, but he keeps cheating. He grovels, apologizes, cries, and I take him back. It just happened for the third time. What’s wrong with me?
Love, Third time’s the charm.
Hi TTTC,
I can’t bring myself to type it because it’s really not a charm. And he sure as hell isn’t charming. He’s a jackass. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. If he can’t keep it in his pants, that’s on him. You deserve better. Pack your shit and get outta there.
Take it from someone who’s been there—no dick's better than cheating dick.
Love, Lube, and
Stretching, I push myself back from my desk. That last email hit hard. It might be because I’ve given my ex all too much brain space in the last few days, but daaaaammmnnn. That just reconfirms why I don’t want another long-term relationship.
Fuck that.
These assholes are all the same.
I walk into the kitchen and make a fresh pot of coffee, scribbling a quick response on a Post-it to leave for Swayze.
Just as I stick it on his door, my phone chimes.
Mom
Annie said Stavros is single. Do I give him your number?
Me
NO! I literally just said no more dates.
Mom
Ok, ok. Don’t forget family dinner on Friday. Remind Swayze too.
Me
Oh my god. When will it end?