My chest tightened as he let the silence hang between us. He was the only one who could blow my cover to my father before my little getaway even got started. I had just resigned myself to booking a suite in the hotel when he spoke, jabbing his index finger at the center of my chest.
“You’ll check in every day with me. In person.”
“Agreed!” I consented quickly, holding both my hands up. “Agreed. I’ll be here every day to check in with you until we leave.”
“Not more than two weeks.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that as a prince of Saintland I would be making the decisions, but at the last moment thought better of it. We could cross that bridge when we came to it.
“Anything else, best friend of mine?” I said, giving him a charming grin.
He scowled in return. “Yeah,” he said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
My spirits are high when I unlock the door to my rented apartment and take a glance around. It’s spotlessly clean with modern furniture, chrome and white as far as the eye can see. This could be any wealthy man’s apartment. I’m sure the women I bring back here over the course of this vacation will think it suits me perfectly.
I’m truly alone for the first time in years, and I flop down on the plush leather sofa, stretching my arms above my head, relishing it.
For about a minute.
Then it starts to make me feel a little on edge.
I brush the thought away. I’ve served my mandatory year in the volunteer corps like everyone else in Saintland. I know how to be alone, for God’s sake.
Anyway, I came here for two reasons. I’ve achieved one of them so far.
To get started on the second, I pull my phone from my pocket and open the most popular hookup app in the world. I used the free Wi-Fi on the flight over to create a profile that wouldn’t give away any politically sensitive details, anything that might hint at my true identity. It went live while I was still over the Atlantic.
I haven’t had the app open thirty seconds when it pings and my heart leaps with anticipation.
It positively pounds when I click on the message button and see the profile picture of the woman who has summoned me for a date tonight.
She’s a goddamn knockout. Auburn hair. Full lips. Fuck-me eyes.
Hello, New York.
Chapter Five
Jessica
I stand at the bar at the back of the Bystander and force myself not to sway from side to side as I wait.
I got here too early.
We planned our meet-up in a series of minimalist texts, like too many words would fuck things up. Who knows? Maybe they would.
Name the place!
It took only seconds for the ideal spot to appear in my mind. The Bystander is a place I used to frequent when I went to Columbia. It’s a little rougher than the places I went with Christian and Carolyn when they would visit, and it’s about a thousand rungs below the Purple Swan, but it’s comfortable and always busy on Friday night, which makes it perfect for my purposes.
Our purposes.
I’d written:
The Bystander. Do you know it?
I will soon ;)
My heart beat faster at that little wink. Who knows why that simple little emoji made me react that way? It’s probably a standard symbol for every guy trawling the app.
When’s good?
I bit my lip. Play it cool, Reeves, play it cool.
9:30?
I’ll be there!
Look for me
I’m looking for him now.
The bartender makes another sweep toward me. “Drink, miss?”
It’s the second time he’s asked me. I turned him down when I got here fifteen minutes ago in case Mystery Man wanted to buy me my first drink, but now the nerves are getting to me.
Nerves. Me!
All based on a single photo of a guy on a dating app.
I take in a deep breath though my nose and exhale out my mouth, tapping my fingers on the worn surface of the bar. “Sure. Yeah,” I say to the bartender, who has waited patiently for me to make up my damn mind. That probably has a lot to do with the fact that I look goddamn amazing tonight. As soon as Mystery Man’s final reply came in, agreeing to meet me at 9:30 at the Bystander, I’d tossed my phone onto the table by my purse and run to the shower, emerging ninety minutes later wearing my favorite dating outfit, my hair blown out straight and shining, and just enough makeup. “A 7 and 7. Go light on the Seagram’s, though.” What with the stress of the day and the fact I was too excited to eat a full dinner, I’ll need to be a little conservative if I want to have my wits about me when he finally arrives.
The bartender slides the drink across the bar to me. I take a sip, the warmth of the liquid competing with the chill that had suddenly started blooming in my gut.
What if he doesn’t show?
This kind of shit is exactly why I stopped using this kind of app, adopted the rule, and left the random hookups in the past. I remember now. All those rude rejections that shouldn’t affect me but did—and do—anyway. Even after years of convincing myself to accept that I’ll never fully understand how the lives of my closest friends work, it hasn’t totally tempered the sting when someone stands me up.