Not That Easy
Radhika Sanghani
Литагент HarperCollins EUR
If the women on Sex and the City got dates on a daily basis, and even the more normal-looking girls on Girls, then why wasn’t I? If I wanted to live the fun, twenty something life I was destined to live, I was going to have to up my game.
RADHIKA SANGHANI, 25, is an award-winning journalist for The Daily Telegraph. She writes for the women’s section about feminism, sexism and everything in between.
She grew up in London but has worked in Chile and Barcelona. She studied English Literature at University College London, followed it up with a Masters in journalism at City University London, and now spends most of her time writing.
Her debut novel Virgin was published in 2014, and Not That Easy is the eagerly awaited sequel.
Twitter: @radhikasanghani (https://twitter.com/radhikasanghani) Instagram: @radhikasanghani Facebook: Radhika Sanghani (author)
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To anyone who has ever felt like their life is a total mess
Table of Contents
Cover (#u3ee42ccb-627e-53db-9c01-7b98988d683b)
About the Author (#ud53f1810-ab5f-54e7-94e6-1e5342e761f4)
Title Page (#u3fcef758-8267-5f16-aaef-917783d5baea)
Dedication (#u5e272c1c-325c-593a-b66d-27714b6ccf81)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Acknowledgements
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#uebcd41b9-4260-560c-bbba-7cae47d76e59)
‘Ellie, you’re single. You should take the single room.’
I stared at Will in shock. He couldn’t be serious.
‘The rest of us are all seeing people, so we need the double bedrooms,’ he continued.
‘Please tell me you’re kidding,’ I said slowly.
Will stood up tall and went straight into accountant mode. ‘I’m not trying to be a dick,’ he said diplomatically. ‘I just think it makes sense for us three to take the big rooms because Emma is with Sergio, Ollie is with Yomi and I’m with Cheng. You’re single, so you should have this room. Logically, you don’t need the double bed.’
I looked around the tiny room at the others. Emma was shuffling awkwardly on her black-wedged heels and avoiding eye contact with me, while Ollie was inspecting the laminated floorboards. He ran his hand over his short bleached hair and blinked at me innocently with his bright blue eyes. I forgave him immediately.
‘It won’t be that bad. You can pay slightly less rent,’ said Will.
He was serious. He was actually serious. I stared at Emma and Ollie again, waiting for them to stick up for me.
Ten seconds later, I was still waiting.
This was a trap. A coup de whatever in my own bloody home. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I cried out.
Will’s tweezed eyebrows settled themselves into a familiar frown and he crossed his arms.
‘Emma?’ I demanded, as I turned to face her. ‘Do you agree with Will? Are you a part of this blatant singleism now?’
She shook her short blonde hair. ‘No, of course not, babe, but I do kind of really need a double bedroom. Serge will stay here loads and he’s six foot six, El. I don’t think he’ll fit in a single bed.’
I gave her a withering look before turning to Ollie. ‘Ollie? What about you?’ I asked, hoping my eyes looked more doe-eyed than rabid.
‘Ah, I’m really sorry, Ellie,’ he said. ‘It’s just that Yomi will stay with me whenever she’s down visiting me from uni in Bristol.’
I sighed. Of course the perfect almost-doctor girlfriend was going to visit him whenever she had time off from saving people’s lives.
‘Come on, Ellie, it’s the easiest option,’ said Will with a look of faux sympathy on his annoyingly symmetrical face. ‘If you had a boyfriend, it would be different, but you don’t really need all that extra space. If you’re worried about wardrobe space, we can all give you sections in ours, can’t we?’
Emma nodded fervently. ‘Of course! You can put whatever you want in my room and borrow my stuff whenever. Even my thigh-high leather boots.’
Oh God. Was this actually happening? Were my friends really consigning me to the single bed and a life of single-dom? Even my BFF, Emma, was siding with them and slowly losing the second F from her acronym.
I had to try to stop this or I would die alone in my child-sized bed.
‘I cannot believe this,’ I finally spluttered. ‘You can’t just relegate the smallest room in the house to me like I’m some kind of unwanted spinster aunt. I’m part of this household too, and we’re going to live together the whole year—I’m not staying in this shoebox the entire time.’
‘I guess we could switch halfway?’ Ollie offered. ‘I mean, I dunno if I could, but maybe you could, Will? You’re not in a serious relationship with Cheng, are you? If you split up, maybe you could swap with Ellie?’
‘Whoa,’ I said, holding up my left hand. ‘First, stop talking as though I have agreed to taking the smallest room, because I haven’t, and second, Will, what the fuck—Cheng isn’t even your boyfriend??’
Will looked uneasy. ‘We’re not exclusive,’ he admitted, ‘but we do spend most nights together. And if I’m not with him, let’s face it, I’m shagging someone else. I need the double for when I bring guys home.’
‘But what if I want to bring someone home?’ I asked.
He snorted and Emma suppressed a laugh. The cow.
‘Ellie, I love you,’ said Will, ‘but after hanging out with you a fair bit this summer, I think I can safely say you’re not the kind of girl to bring a guy home.’
‘That’s so unfair!’ I cried. ‘Just because I didn’t sleep with any strangers over the summer doesn’t mean I never will.’
He raised the perfectly arched eyebrows at me. ‘Ellie, have you ever even had a one-night stand?’
I flushed and felt my face heating up. This was a very sore topic. I couldn’t lie because I’d sworn to stop covering up the truth about my—limited, very limited—sexual history, and besides, Emma knew everything anyway. If I lied, she’d just think I was pathetic.
‘Fine,’ I growled. ‘I have never had a one-night stand, but if you give me this shitty little room, I never will.’
‘You could go back to theirs?’ suggested Ollie.
‘What?’ I asked in exasperation. ‘How is this even a conversation? I am twenty-two years old. I am clearly capable of casual sex, and if I want to do it, I will. I’m not taking this room on the basis of being single because that is …’
Shit, what was it?
‘That is outright discrimination,’ I declared. ‘We live in a democracy and we’re … we’re going to pick names out of a hat.’
‘Ellie, stop acting so childish. We can reach an agreement like adults,’ said Will.
‘I dunno, it seems fair to me,’ said Ollie. I flashed him a look of utter gratitude. ‘Shall we just do rock, paper, scissors?’
‘Meh, fuck it,’ said Emma, shrugging her shoulders and sticking her right hand out into the air above the bed.
On the other corner of the bed, Will rolled his eyes and stuck his fist out. Ollie did the same and, from the one remaining corner, I placed my trembling arm out so our hands met in a charged square.
I had to win this. If I wanted to live the life of a young professional graduate in London, I needed the right setting. I couldn’t go on dates if I didn’t have anywhere to bring them back to.
‘OK, on the count of three,’ said Ollie. ‘One …’
Please, Julius Caesar, help me out here, I prayed to my own personal hero. God had never really done it for me—which broke my Greek Orthodox mother’s heart—but the Roman conqueror had helped me out once before, and he could do it again.
‘Two …’
Oh shit, I had to pick one. Um … rock. The strongest one. Caesar would pick the strongest.
‘Three.’
There were two rocks and two pieces of paper in front of us.
Will scowled at me. ‘OK, Ellie, it’s between you and me now,’ he said, as Emma whooped with joy and Ollie high-fived her. It was fine. I hadn’t actually lost. Caesar had helped me out. The rock was clearly a keeper. I would play it again.
‘I’ll count,’ offered Ollie.
Will and I faced each other across the bed and I stood with my legs wide open. This was it. Roman luck was on my side; I could squash this Gallic peasant.
‘One … two … three.’
My pale rock lay in the shadow of a triumphant palm paper. Will grinned smugly at me. Bollocks. Just like my hero I’d forgotten the cunning of Brutus’s betrayal. Et tu, Brutus.
‘I knew you would go for a rock again, Ellie,’ said Will. ‘You’re so predictable.’
My face dropped and Emma reached out across the bed to squeeze my limp fist. My Ides of March had begun.
I looked around my room. I’d covered the bed in a floral bedspread and hung scarves from the ceiling to give it an Aladdin’s cave vibe. There were fairy lights around the window, and photos of me, Emma and Lara taped onto the walls. If I stood on the bed, I could touch all four walls and reach pretty much any item in the room.
The bed, for lack of other options, was pushed up against the non-double-glazed window. It meant condensation was slowly dripping onto my Primark cushions. I sighed. Throughout my three years of university I’d lived in halls of residence and constantly dreamt about living in a proper flatshare with friends. This was not what I’d expected. A room of my own it may be, but I bet even Virginia Woolf would be seriously unimpressed with it.
‘Nooo, get off me!’ squealed a high-pitched voice.
I thumped the wall behind me with my fist.
‘Nope, not me,’ called Ollie from behind the wall.
I rolled my eyes and stood on my bed to hit the ceiling.
I could hear suppressed giggles before Cheng yelled, ‘Sorry. We’ll keep it down.’
Will’s low voice murmured something and then the squealing came back. I sighed and collapsed back onto my bed. We’d been living here for only forty-eight hours but I—quite literally—knew the ins and outs of Will and Cheng’s relationship. Thanks to the shitty plaster walls I also knew every loving word Ollie said to Yomi whenever she was visiting. The only person whose relationship I couldn’t overhear was Emma’s because her room was down the hall, but she told me every detail about her sex life with Sergio every time we hung out anyway.
As fun as it was living in the youngest—and cheapest—part of London, I had never felt more single. I opened my laptop and logged onto Facebook to see how great everyone else’s lives were now we had graduated.
Kara was back in a relationship with Tom and working for a publishing company. Belgian Marie seemed to have five boyfriends who all looked like varying versions of Burberry models, and my arch-nemesis, Hannah Fielding, was working as a writer for Tatler. Ugh, she was even tagged in a picture with Kate Moss. That was just so bloody typical.
I looked around my tiny room, where the mould was growing over the landlord’s cheap paint, and I felt an urge to start crying. Instead, I decided to tech-harm.
I reached out slowly for my iPhone, knowing I would regret what I was about to do. I tapped open the screen and, feeling pre-emptively sick, opened up Instagram. The sepia-filtered world burst into life and I scrolled down the feed to see photos of my uni friends dating beautiful people, working for high-powered companies and sunbathing on the rooftop of Shoreditch House in white bikinis with retro sunglasses. I could feel self-pitying tears pricking my eyelids when the door burst open.
‘Ellie, we’re having a major crisis,’ gasped Will. He was standing in my doorway wearing red boxers patterned with tiny yellow cars. Were those mini Noddys sitting in the yellow cars? I craned my head forward. ‘Stop staring at my penis and help me,’ he snapped.
‘Oh, right, sorry. What’s up?’
‘No one in the house has any lube,’ he declared.
I snorted. ‘Oh, right, and you think me, the single flatmate with the single bedroom, is going to be the one to help you out with that?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Please, I’m not that deluded. But I just wondered if you have any more of that Aussie miracle conditioner you use.’
I stared at him. ‘Um, no? I need to go to the supermarket. Why do you want to wash your hair now anyway?’
‘It’s not going on my hair, babe. At least, not for the hair you can see.’ He smirked.
‘I literally have no clue what you’re talking—OH MY GOD. You want to use my £4.49 conditioner for lube?!’
‘Well, that’s what I’ve been using for the past week until you ran out. You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I bloody mind,’ I cried. ‘I can’t believe that’s why I’ve had to buy double the amount I normally buy. I thought I just had really … knotty hair lately,’ I finished lamely.
He rolled his eyes at me. ‘I’ll go and ask Emma.’ His Noddy boxers retreated down the hallway until he paused to face me.
‘Hey, were you crying?’ he asked.
‘No, ‘course not,’ I cried. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘You have Facebook open on your computer and Instagram on your phone. You only do that when you’re miserable, Ellie.’
‘Will, you’ve lived with me for less than a week and only known me for a few months. That doesn’t mean anything,’ I replied tartly.
‘How about the fact you have mascara running down your face, then?’
Bugger.
‘Oh, fuck off, Will,’ I yelled, as he laughed and walked off.
I pulled the duvet over me. I felt as single as my bed. It wasn’t that I wanted a boyfriend per se, it was more that everyone else was so ahead of me in the romantic—well, sexual—stages of life. Hell, they were shagging with conditioner while I was watching them on Instagram.
The problem was that everyone I’d grown up with had lost their virginities aged fifteen to seventeen. At school, all my girlfriends had gone out with the boys at the school next door, and after a year of climbing up the bases, they’d eventually ‘done it’.
But because I was the frizzy-haired Greek girl with thick eyebrows and ill-fitting jeans, no one had been particularly interested. My only sexual encounter during my school years happened when I was seventeen and it was so bad that my friends nicknamed it a ‘bite job’. So, while I was still recovering from the humiliation of biting James Martell’s penis, they were sharing sex stories in the sixth-form common room. Even my best and oldest friend, Lara, had got involved.
It was worse at uni. By then, everyone had already had a couple of relationships, peppering the gaps with drunken one-night stands and the odd inappropriate fling. They carried on shagging throughout uni, boasting about it in drinking games. Only, as always, I either had to listen with a fake smile on my face or—the less awkward option—make up a sexual past of my own. Because I’d been a virgin until the ripe old age of twenty-one.
It wasn’t out of choice. All I’d wanted to do was break my hymen, but no one vaguely attractive had offered. In my final year of uni, I’d been so desperate to lose my V-plates that when freckly, twenty-six-year-old graphic designer Jack Brown asked me out, I practically threw myself at him. He didn’t protest, and after a few dates, he deflowered me. I thought my happiness would never end.
Until a week later, when he abandoned me on the streets of Shoreditch with chlamydia.
It had been a shit end to a shit year, but I’d spent the summer getting pissed and taking my anti-chlamydia pills, so I was now well and truly over my STD and Jack Brown. The only problem was that he was still the only person I’d had sex with, and I hadn’t even orgasmed the one time we’d shagged. The only orgasms I’d ever had happened solo in my bedroom with my £14.99 bullet vibrator.
No one really played sex drinking games any more, but I still couldn’t join in when Emma and Lara discussed anal and sixty-nines. It just meant I felt left out. I’d spent all summer batting my eyelids at every average-looking male—aged under thirty, naturally—in sight, but none of them had done anything but snog me. I had become officially unfuckable. Now being shoved into this single room and labelled the sexually inactive housemate was just like being a virgin again. No matter what I did to try to keep up, everyone was always ten steps ahead of me. It wasn’t even for want of trying.
I lowered my head into my hands and let out a pathetic moan. I was twenty per cent of my way through my twenties. I had only eighty per cent left before I’d be at a child-bearing age and seriously in want of a husband. I should be out having wild, passionate no-strings-attached sex with dreadlocked men on motorbikes before meeting The One, but instead I was lying alone in my mouldy bedroom.
It wasn’t fair. Emma had slept with about thirty people. Lara had shagged about nine. Why hadn’t I managed to get anywhere near that? I was average-looking and just as fun as them. I’d always thought that my virginity was the obstacle and, as soon as I lost it, it would be easy and I could start having casual sex.
But that hadn’t happened. Maybe it was because I hadn’t tried hard enough. Or because I was just doomed to be different—the podgy girl with dark body hair destined to have below-average sex and bite jobs. I’d always felt like the awkward teenage Greek girl who didn’t really fit in anywhere.
I wasn’t anything like my cousins or family friends—the thought of getting married to someone ‘from the community’ made my skin crawl. I’d die of claustrophobia and boredom, and that’s if any guy ever agreed. I wasn’t exactly the pretty, tanned girl they dreamt of. All my cousins loved dressing up and wearing lip gloss, while I’d rather kick about in Chucks and old leggings. Dream daughter I was not.
And I wasn’t like anyone at school either. I didn’t have the natural confidence that the girls had—that came from knowing they were beautiful, privileged and loved. I hadn’t exactly had a tough background, but I never saw my dad and my mum was pretty overbearing. She was always different to the other mums as well—she still spoke with a thick Greek accent and it would never occur to her to watch The OC with us as Lara’s mum did.
Maybe it’s why I was always so much more insecure than the others, and maybe my mum’s strictness about boys was why I didn’t get involved with them for so long.
Or maybe there was just something wrong with me.
Even now that I’d figured out eyebrow threading and finally made some amazing friends, I still felt like little Ellie Kolstakis, aged fourteen, the girl no one wanted to dance with at the school disco. I knew it was stupid. I was twenty-two now, with a cool internship, living in an East London flatshare. But when all my flatmates were going on dates, bringing people home and sharing a lifestyle that eluded me no matter how hard I tried? Yeah, sometimes I still felt pretty fucking shit.
Chapter 2 (#uebcd41b9-4260-560c-bbba-7cae47d76e59)
Emma and I had met Will and Ollie in the last week of uni. I was still recovering from the joint shock of losing my V-card to a wanker and getting an STI. Emma had taken me out to the Student Union to drown my sorrows in £1 vodka shots. We were £10 in when we met Will and Ollie.
I fell head over heels in love with Ollie. He was half-black, with impossibly blue eyes, and his short hair was dyed peroxide blond. He looked like an Urban Outfitters model. In my vodka-fuelled haze, I realised he was the only man I had ever wanted, the one I was destined to meet after being betrayed by the de-virginiser, and … he was talking to Emma about his girlfriend. The romantic music scratched to a halt in my head as I realised he was firmly out of bounds.
‘Ellie?’ called out Emma, as she waved her hand in front of my face. ‘This is Ollie, he just graduated in Philosophy from SOAS, and Will, who’s studying accountancy at King’s. They were in the same halls as Amelia.’
I put on a fake smile and we spent the rest of the night getting drunk together. Emma charmed the group with funny stories while I subtly tried to take selfies with Ollie so I could sigh over them in the morning. When Will saw what I was doing, he dragged me to my feet and made me dance to music with no words. The DJ was just about to switch from the drum and bass to music I actually knew when Will started snogging the hottest guy in the club. I went to the loo and starting throwing up the ‘vodka’, which was rumoured to be paint stripper. When Emma and I tottered onto the night bus at 4 a.m. with Ollie, Will and Cheng in tow, we realised we’d found our new housemates.
Four months later, we were all living in our Haggerston home with paper-thin walls and rent we couldn’t afford. I was still partly in love with Ollie, but resigned to his love for the beautiful but intimidating Yomi, and semi-scared of Will and his financial speak. Emma was the same as always, but now that she was loved up with Sergio, I was down a wing-woman and more single than ever. It was time to call Lara.
‘Why haven’t you invited me round yet?’ she demanded, as she picked up the phone. ‘We’re meant to be best friends, but suddenly you’re all edgy living in East London and can’t invite me over?’
‘I’ve been here for four days, Lara. We only got a sofa yesterday. The fridge arrived this morning.’
‘I can’t believe you think I’m so high-maintenance I need a fridge and sofa to come over.’
I laughed. ‘Shut up, you know you’re welcome whenever. In fact … do you want to come over this weekend? I miss you.’
‘I miss you too. Oxford is so boring right now. My feminism society is obsessed with bringing down the Bulling-don Club and I’m so over it.’
‘You do realise I have no idea what you’re talking about? But if you’re bored, please get the train down this weekend. We can go out with the hipsters in Hackney.’
‘By hipsters do you mean your flatmates?’
I snorted. ‘They wish. Actually, I guess Ollie is naturally pretty cool. He’s been wearing skinnies since before they were in. But Will is definitely a wannabe.’
‘Mmm, it does feel like he tries quite hard to fit in,’ she agreed. ‘Last time we all went out together, he got really drunk and admitted he consciously tried to get rid of his Leeds accent. He accidentally used the word “brew” and almost had a breakdown.’
‘Shit. I had no idea he cared that much. It explains why he loves you though—he probably thinks you’re really posh because of the Oxford thing.’
She groaned. ‘People really need to get over those stereotypes. Half the students here are as posh as I am, as in total plebs. Anyway, how are you?’
‘Meh. Spent the whole morning tech-harming.’
‘Ellie. I’ve told you to delete Instagram off your phone. Did you do it with Facebook as well?’
‘May-be.’
She sighed. ‘We’ve been through this before. None of them actually have perfect lives. If we Instagrammed the coolest things we did, we’d have perfect lives too.’
‘I know, I know. But some of them are just like golden people. I feel like the pale people watching them on stage.’
‘Stop making Tender is the Night references. You know what happens to Dick Diver at the end. And look at The Great Gatsby. Do you want someone to shoot you in your swimming pool?’
‘At least Gatsby had a swimming pool. I’ll never even get a mortgage at this rate.’
‘Join the club,’ she said. ‘We’re the real lost generation. Screw the 1920s modernist kids—it’s totally us.’
I nodded wisely until I remembered she couldn’t see me. ‘Totally. The generation of unpaid interns.’
‘How is that going?’ she asked sympathetically.
‘Maxine is still a bitch. I’ve spent the past month just getting her NFLs and she still won’t let me write anything even though that’s why she hired me—because she allegedly liked my vlog and uni columns. Today she made me work till 7 p.m. I’m so tired.’
‘NFLs?’
‘No-fat lattes.’
‘That is so stereotypical. Who does she think she is—Anna Wintour?’
‘You say that, but apparently the London Mag makes more money than Vogue. So Maxine has decided she is the Devil Who Wears Whistles and is hell-bent on ruining my unpaid existence.’
‘Well, when I’m a high-flying lawyer who doesn’t have time to do anything, I’ll let you live in my penthouse and fetch me NFLs. I’ll even pay you.’
‘Fuck off, Lara.’
‘Love you too. Anyway, so this weekend …’
‘Yep, you’re coming over?’
‘I can do on Saturday. But if you’re free on Friday night, some of the girls from school are getting together for a dinner.’
‘Oh my God, no. Lara, you’re the one that’s still friends with them, not me. I haven’t spoken to them for years and I’m absolutely fine with that. We don’t need to change that.’
‘Ellie, stop being so dramatic. These are the girls we grew up with, not mass murderers. I think it will be fun for you to come. You know, mix it up a bit.’
‘But their lives are so perfect. I’ll have to hear about how it’s so difficult maintaining a size-six figure and juggling life as a hot blonde lawyer with going out to fancy restaurants with perfect boyfriends.’
‘You know I’m blonde and going into law?’
‘Do you want me to hate you too? Stop reminding me.’
‘Ha ha. But, honestly, El, what are you so worried about? We’re not the same people we were at school.’
‘It’s just whenever I’m around them I feel like teenage me, and all the insecurities come flying back. Like, I can’t join in their sex stories, their rich stories, their success stories … It’s too much.’
‘Even though you’re no longer a virgin, you’re confident and hot, and you have the coolest internship ever?’
‘Well, when you put it like that …’
‘Exactly, so what’s the problem?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I just feel weird lately. I think it’s just moving into Haggerston, and the fact that my job is kind of a nightmare. I felt really good all summer, but now it’s sinking in that all the others are in relationships, and not only has no one asked me out since Jack, but I’m unpaid and relying on my mum—who hates every life choice I make and wishes I was married to a Greek estate agent.’
Lara snorted. ‘I can’t imagine you being with anyone like that, much less married.’
‘Exactly! I’d be the worst wife ever.’
‘But, honestly, El, I think coming to meet the schoolgirls will be good for you. They’ll all be super impressed with what you’re doing, you’ll realise they’re not the “Mean Girls” you thought they were in Year Ten, and it will distract you from everything else that’s going on.’
‘Oh fine. So long as you promise to still come round to mine on Saturday for commiseration drinks? I’ll get Emma on board.’
‘Deal.’
I walked into Chotto Matte in Soho feeling as if I should be waiting tables rather than eating. My skinny jeans and oversized jumper may have looked casually chic in the office, but now I felt underdressed and frumpy. Especially when I followed the waiter down to our table and saw fifteen models sitting there.
‘Oh my God, Ellie,’ squealed Maisie. ‘You look amazing. It’s so good to see you. I can’t believe how long it is!’
She pulled me into a hug. ‘You look great too,’ I said lamely. ‘Really nice to see you.’
The rest of the girls turned around and enveloped me in turn, so I had to repeat the exact same small talk fifteen times. By the time I got to Lara, I gave her a death stare. I was an idiot for ever thinking this would be a good idea.
We sat down and I gulped at the prices on the menu. There was a sharing option that started at £40 per person. Without drinks—of which I would be needing many to get through this dinner. Fuck. Maybe I could just get a side and feign being full from a large lunch?
‘So, how have things been?’ cried Polly. ‘It’s been forever. I hear you’re working for London Mag these days—that’s pretty cool. Is it amazing?’
‘Um, yeah, I guess so. Minus the psycho boss, the long hours and the fact that I don’t get paid for it.’
‘Shit,’ she said with a momentary frown crossing her Botoxed face. OK, it wasn’t Botoxed, but no doubt it would be in ten years.
‘How are you anyway?’ I asked.
‘Oh, amazing,’ she said, the frown disappearing. ‘Like, obviously it’s so intense working in law, but the work is so great, and I love the people. Also, Alex works for Goldman Sachs next door, so we basically just share cabs home the entire time, and he lives round the corner in this amazing penthouse apartment his parents got him, so it’s ideal.’
‘Wow, that’s, um, amazing,’ I said.
Lara caught my eye and snorted.
‘So how did you meet Alex?’ asked Lara. ‘I’ve seen pictures on Facebook, but I haven’t met him yet. It sounds like it’s all going well though?’
‘Yeah, it’s so good. I’m so lucky. We actually met through mutual friends at uni, but we didn’t really get together until this summer. He’s really nice. You’d like him. I think he knows Jez actually—are you two still hooking up?’
Lara groaned. ‘Sadly, yes. I do plan on ending it soon, but the sex is just so good … I mean, he’s a commitment-phobic idiot, but we’re having fun, so I guess it kind of works for now.’
‘Ah, I know what you mean,’ said Polly. ‘We’ve all been there, don’t worry. I reckon as soon as you find someone new, you’ll totally forget him.’
‘Yeah, maybe I’ll meet an incredibly eligible lawyer when I start my training,’ said Lara.
‘What? No, you cannot date your colleagues,’ cried Polly. ‘Trust me. That’s a recipe for disaster. Hey, what about you, Ellie, are you seeing anyone?’
‘Um, no, not right now.’
‘Oh, right,’ she said, eyes glazing over.
‘But I did have a thing with someone at the end of uni,’ I continued.
‘Oh my God, tell me everything!’
‘Well, it was just this guy called Jack. He was an artist, quite a few years older than me. We were dating for a while, we slept together, and it was all good.’
‘Um, and then what?’ asked Lily. I realised that by now the whole table was listening to me. ‘Oh my God, did you lose your virginity?! Shit, Ellie, that’s huge!’
I smiled weakly. I’d forgotten how gossip-hungry everyone at school had been. Considering I’d been one of the few girls to graduate with my virginity, the state of my hymen was clearly pretty big news.
‘Yep,’ I said. ‘Jack took my V-plates.’
‘Ahhh!’ everyone shrieked in excitement. ‘OMG, congrats, Ellie. How was it? That’s amazing—tell us everything.’
This was why I’d never send my daughter to an all-girls school—no question was off limits. At one point we’d even known each other’s period cycles.
‘It was good. I mean, we only did it the once, but it was fine. It didn’t really hurt.’
‘Oh my God, amazing. So then what happened?’ asked Katie.
Oh shit. Now I had to tell them that Jack hadn’t really cared about me and then gave me ‘the clap’. So much for trying to come across as new cool Ellie who has her shit together—this just proved I was the same girl who managed to bite a guy’s penis.
I glanced at Lara. She wouldn’t care if I lied. I looked at the girls. They were all sitting open-mouthed, waiting for the next instalment. I don’t think they’d ever been so interested in me when I was the virgin at school. Maybe I should go with the truth—if they wanted gossip, I could definitely provide that.
‘So … a few days later, we went for coffee and he told me how much he believed in true love, and that he’d never felt this way before.’ The girls gasped collectively. ‘Only, then he said that “Luisa” had changed his life. It turned out he wasn’t talking about me—he was talking about someone else.’
‘Oh my God, no way. That’s insane,’ said Lily. ‘I can’t believe that actually happened.’
‘Do you know what’s even worse?’ They all shook their heads. ‘Luisa had chlamydia.’
‘Wait, do you mean …?’
‘I got chlamydia from the one time I had sex.’
The girls burst into laughter, and I grinned with them. I’d never had a sex story to make them laugh before. Normally, it was me sitting there open-mouthed listening to their stories, but being the centre of everything was definitely more fun.
‘That is so funny, Ellie,’ said Maisie. ‘I mean, he sounds like a total wanker, but at least you got a good story out of it.’
‘Yeah, a story and an STD in exchange for my maidenhood. Not a bad deal.’
She laughed in response. ‘Exactly. Hey, Cass, didn’t you get chlamydia twice at uni? That was hysterical.’
‘OK, it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. It was from the same guy.’
‘I’m not so sure that makes it better, Cass,’ said Lara. ‘But if it makes you feel better, I once did something even worse. I broke Jez’s penis.’
‘What?’ I cried. ‘How have I not heard this story?’
‘Shit, did I never tell you?’ she said. ‘God, it was a couple of years ago now. I think you must have been away. It was so funny though. I was on top, and I think the angle was weird, because suddenly he screamed. I got off him and his penis was, like, bent in half. We had to go to hospital and it turned out that I’d given him a penile fracture.’
‘Oh my God, that’s hilarious,’ cried Lily, after we’d all stopped laughing. ‘Reminds me of when I ripped Max’s foreskin in Year Nine after a pretty vigorous hand job.’
‘And that time when you got caught giving him a blow job by his mum! That was amazing,’ said Cass. ‘Ooh, look, the food’s here. We’d better stop being so filthy or we’re going to get kicked out.’
I looked up and saw plates of tiny dishes being served out. There were dozens of them. Seeing as the cheapest thing on the menu was about £7, this was not good. ‘You already ordered?’ I asked uncertainly.
‘Oh yeah, we just got a massive selection of stuff though. We figured it would be easiest,’ said Polly. ‘Doesn’t it look incredible?’
Guess I wasn’t going to be eating a side for my main, then.
‘I cannot believe we ate all of that,’ I said to Lara as everyone else chatted around us. ‘I feel a bit sick now.’
‘I know, right? Especially when Tania decided it was a really good idea for us all to tell our grossest sex moments. Cass’s one is still making me feel a bit ill.’
‘Ugh, yes. Now that’s a new fear for me—remind me not to have period sex. I really can’t handle the thought of him withdrawing and blood splattering onto the white walls. I feel so sorry for sixteen-year-old Cass. Must have been mortifying.’
‘Oh, it was,’ said Cass, leaning over to us. ‘It looked like a scene from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. There were these red dots on the walls. We had to wipe them off afterwards and they left brown smudges.’
‘Ew, Cass!’
‘But you know what?’ she continued. ‘Weirdly, I had the best orgasm of my life two seconds before bloodgate. Who knew?’
‘Hilarious.’ Lara laughed. ‘I think my best ever orgasm was with this guy I met in my gap year. He had the most gifted tongue I have ever come across. I swear his girlfriend must be the luckiest person in the world.’
‘Oh my God, that is such an important quality in a guy,’ said Cass. ‘I once broke up with someone who refused to go down on me unless I’d showered two minutes before. I think he had hygiene issues.’
I laughed with them and then slipped away to go to the loo. It was fun chatting with the girls—I’d forgotten how funny they could be—but I was starting to feel weird. I knew it wasn’t a big deal that I couldn’t join in with any orgasm stories. Everyone knew I wasn’t exactly experienced and they didn’t really care, but I hated feeling as if I was on the outside of the conversation. It just made me feel left out. They were all having ridiculous amounts of fun having orgasms and casual sex, and I was categorically not.
It made me feel as if we were back in the school common room with everyone sharing funny virginity-losing stories while I still hadn’t even been kissed. I knew things were different now, but it was still shit to not feel part of the main events. I still had no idea what it was like to do a walk of shame, or have period sex, or even get licked out by a guy.
I wanted to have that fun. Now I wasn’t a virgin, why couldn’t I be out there getting with guys? It was fine having orgasms alone in my room, but I wanted to understand the euphoria that girls in movies had every time a guy went down on them. I wanted to know what was so good about sex.
I knew I’d be good at it too. I loved talking about sex and imagining it—if I just had the chance to partake in it a bit more, I bet I’d be a natural. I wouldn’t be the kind of girl who just wanted the guy to marry her in the morning. I’d be more than happy to keep it casual. Hell, I wouldn’t even need to get their number so long as they gave me an orgasm instead.
I stared at myself in the toilet mirror. I could do this. I didn’t have to just spend my twenties dreaming about this lifestyle—I could make it happen. All I needed to do was stop moping, and up my game.
If I wanted to know what it felt like to have orgasm-filled casual sex, well, there was only one thing for it—I had to start having more sex.
As of tomorrow, I needed to start slutting it up.
Chapter 3 (#uebcd41b9-4260-560c-bbba-7cae47d76e59)
It was Saturday night and Lara and Emma were sprawled across me on the sofa. I’d explained my plan to them with generally positive receptions, and now we were figuring out a way for me to meet my prospective sexual partners.
‘Ow, Ellie, move your elbow, I can’t see the screen,’ said Lara. I shifted my elbow, splashing rosé on the new third-hand sofa.
‘Oops,’ I said. ‘I should probably clean that up.’
‘No! This is the reason we got a black sofa, remember?’ said Emma. ‘Ignore it and type in the website already.’
‘OK, OK,’ I said. ‘But shouldn’t I be getting Tinder instead of going on a dating site? I feel a bit old-fashioned.’
‘Noooo,’ cried Emma. ‘I don’t care what everyone says—Tinder is still a sex app.’ Lara opened her mouth, but Emma ignored her. ‘I know that’s how everyone met their new boyfriends or whatever, but every guy I know still thinks of it as a way to get quick hook-ups. Like, you don’t even have to fill in any info on it. It’s totally judged on your looks. At least with an online site you have to make a bit of an effort.’
‘But I’m OK with casual hook-ups,’ I pointed out. ‘That’s kind of why I’m doing this.’
‘Oh fine, get Tinder.’ Emma sighed. ‘Just do this as well. Please? For me?’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Tinder can be my backup if this fails. So which online site shall I join?’
‘Definitely OKCupid,’ said Lara. ‘I’ve heard Plenty Of Fish is more of a sex-only site. Besides, I’m on OKC and I’ve seen so many normal people on there. There’s an option where you can search for people who have degrees—it’s amazing. One week I only searched for people who have PhDs.’
‘Exactly,’ cried Emma. ‘On Tinder you have no idea what anyone does, so you could end up going on a date with some old perv, or a chav with shaved eyebrows who works in construction.’
‘What’s wrong with construction workers?’ I asked, semi-offended. ‘One of my uncles in Greece is a builder.’
‘Oh my God, no, I don’t hate all builders,’ said Emma. ‘I love when the hot ones go topless. But I’m talking about the sexist ones who yell out “Oi, sexy” at girls on the street. You know?’
I shook my head at her. ‘You do realise that’s, like, the most ancient stereotype ever, and you’re just as bad admiring their abs?’
‘No, I get what you mean, Emma,’ said Lara. ‘You want to date someone on your level, which is why OKC is great.’
I raised an eyebrow at her, wondering when my friends had got so snobby. I’d be happy shagging a homeless guy so long as he was hot and chlamydia free.
‘I mean, I still get my fair share of messages from chavs with topless selfies who spell “your” and “you’re” wrong,’ continued Lara. ‘And quite a few just asking me when I’m free to fuck them … But I’ve also seen so many people I know on there, and loads of them went to uni, which makes me think we would at least have stuff in common.’
‘So have you gone on any dates?’ I asked her, knowing she would have already told me if she had.
‘Well, I’m still casually seeing Jez, but I started panicking I was wasting my prime years by dating a weed addict with commitment issues, so … I went on three last month,’ she replied.
‘Oh my God,’ I shrieked. ‘Three dates and you didn’t tell me? What the fuck, Lara?’ She hadn’t told me about breaking Jez’s penis either. Why was Lara hiding things from me?
She blushed. ‘I guess … Oh, I don’t know, I was kind of scared you’d judge me for being on a dating site.’
‘Judge you?! Hello, I’m the girl who stuck a bottle of bubble bath up her vagina and didn’t know you could get chlamydia from blow jobs.’
She snorted. ‘Yeah, fair point. Have you got rid of the chlamydia by the way?’
‘The doctor gave her some pills. She’s fine,’ interrupted Emma. ‘Anyway, I’m done with talking about STIs. Lara, tell us your dating stories.’
‘No, wait! First, tell me why you thought I’d judge you,’ I said, ignoring Emma’s frustrated sighs. I still felt weird Lara hadn’t said anything about all this. Oh God—maybe it was because she felt she couldn’t because I’m so virginal and new to sex?
Lara fidgeted on the sofa. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I guess just because most people who use dating sites are old, so I was a bit nervous you’d all think I was desperate or that it was a bit weird. But it just makes so much sense to date online,’ she said. ‘Like, you don’t have to bother with the cringeness of going to a bar and hoping you meet someone, then being depressed if you don’t. Or the pathetic hope that every cute guy on a park bench will come and ask you out.’
I nodded in support, trying to prove that I was exactly the sort of person she could have told all of this to earlier. ‘Totally. This is definitely the way I’m going to find my next shag as well. I don’t even have to leave my sofa or dressing gown to find a man. This site was made for me.’
‘So you really only want one-night stands and not a boyfriend?’ asked Emma.
‘Yeah, I think so. It took me so long to lose my virginity that now I just feel like I have all this lost time to make up for. I want to get out there and have amazing sex with different people. I like sex—well, the little I’ve had of it. But it wasn’t particularly fun, and I’m so ready for that. I feel like it’s God’s gift to us, to get orgasms and have a bit of fun while global warming is tearing the planet apart.’ The girls looked baffled. ‘I just want to have my slutty phase already.’
‘Slutty phase?’ asked Lara with a raised eyebrow. ‘You know how I feel about the word “slut”, Ellie. It shows the double standards society has for men and women. He’s a player, she’s a slut, etc. You know how it goes. Can’t you find a different word?’
‘No,’ cried Emma. ‘It’s all about reclaiming the word “slut”. Like, it essentially means someone who has sex a lot, so why is that a bad thing? It shouldn’t be gendered, obviously, but we can just use it for men and women. If we call ourselves sluts, it loses its negative meaning. We need to re-appropriate it so it’s a positive word for someone embracing their sexuality and their, like, libido.’
‘Um, I’m lost,’ I said.
‘OK, like, if I start saying “Ah, that girl is so slutty” with admiration instead of judgement, it gets rid of all the connotations the word has. And even better if we start calling guys sluts too.’
Lara looked impressed. ‘I had no idea you were so passionate about this, Em.’
She grinned. ‘Well, as a former slut, it’s a topic that’s pretty close to my heart. I heard enough guys calling me a slut growing up, and each time I let it hurt me, before I realised I could just make that word mean whatever I want. When I decided slut meant “hot, sexually confident, empowered woman”, it didn’t hurt as much.’
I nodded enthusiastically. ‘I did the exact same thing with “virgin”. Like, it used to make me feel frigid and ugly and left out. Until I had sex and then I realised it didn’t have to mean that. It could just be a factual word for not ever having been penetrated.’
‘Um, I think that’s how most people already use it, Ellie,’ said Lara.
‘No, what about “you look like a friendless virgin”?’ I asked. ‘Or “oh my God, you virgin weirdo”. Those are insults. It’s the same as “slut”. Emma’s so right, we should totally redefine it.’
‘Yeah,’ cried Emma. ‘Being a slut doesn’t have to make you feel any of that patriarchal bollocks where you’re cheap and dirty. It can make you feel powerful, carefree and in control. Fuck it, Ellie, go be a slut.’
‘Oh, I fully intend to. I want to meet up with these OKC dates and start shagging my way across central London.’
Emma cried out, ‘Ah, you’re making me so nostalgic for my single past. I miss the days of waking up and trying to figure out how to get back home from whatever bit of London I was in. I used to love the crazy stories. Did I tell you I once got a tattoo during a one-nighter?’
Lara and I exchanged shocked glances. ‘Um. No?’
‘I met him in a club.’ She grinned. ‘Just some random guy, but his flatmate was a tattoo artist. We biked back to Dalston—I sat on the handlebars. We were so fucked on MDMA that when we got back to his and his flatmate offered to give me a tattoo, I agreed.’
‘Well, where is it?!’ I demanded, trying to ignore the twinge of discomfort I felt whenever my friends discussed drugs. It was the one thing I would never try—along with anal because there’s another perfectly good hole millimetres away—and it always made me feel distant from my drug-taking friends. Thank God Lara was as uncool as me and didn’t take MDMA either.
‘So, it was a tiny star that I got on the sole of my foot,’ she said. ‘But that bit of your skin is really rough, so it doesn’t really work for tattoos and they disappear over time. If you squint you can kind of see the outline though.’ She thrust her bare left foot in our faces.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Lara. ‘Holy shit, that’s crazy.’
Emma nodded wistfully. ‘Isn’t it? Those days were fun. Not that I don’t love being with Sergio, obviously. He’s great and I love him.’
Lara and I nodded along with her, still transfixed by her surprise tattoo. ‘Anyway,’ continued Emma. ‘Lara, you’re not getting out of sharing your dating stories.’
‘OK, but I’m going to need more wine to relive these,’ she said.
Emma filled up our glasses and I closed the laptop screen. ‘Spill,’ I said.
‘OK, so it started with SafariLover,’ she said. ‘And, no, I don’t mean he liked animals. He was actually called Jake, but he worked for Apple doing some techie stuff. We went for drinks in Farringdon on our first date but he spent the whole time discussing fucking bitcoins. On a plus note, he was as attractive as his pictures and at least six foot, but it was just the bitcoins …’ We nodded sympathetically and she continued. ‘Obviously I still snogged him, but then I didn’t reply to any of his texts after that. Then I moved on to date two. He was Juanderful.’
‘Wonderful?’ asked Emma.
‘Nope. JUAN-derful. That was his OKC username. He was Spanish, thirty-five and very, very attractive. Unfortunately he lacked brain cells and was basically just there to improve his English. So that didn’t work. We had an amazing goodbye kiss though—I was seriously tempted to go back to his but couldn’t handle doing dirty talk in another language.’
‘I can’t even do it in English,’ I said.
‘You just need the practice,’ said Emma reassuringly. ‘So, what about date three?’
‘Averagecupid56.’ She grinned.
‘There are fifty-five other average cupids?’ I asked with a raised eyebrow.
‘Can’t imagine any of them being like Mr 56 though. He turned up on a bicycle for starters.’
‘Wow, guess he wasn’t planning on getting lucky,’ I said.
‘That didn’t stop my tattoo guy.’ Emma grinned.
‘It wasn’t so much the bike that bothered me, it was more the fact that he was sitting in the corner of the pub waiting for me with a copy of the Guardian.’ We groaned. ‘Oh no, it gets worse. He took me to a restaurant where he ordered quinoa and then spent the entire time discussing his gap yah and dream to volunteer for that Médecins Sans Frontières thing. He was definitely the fittest of the three and clearly intelligent but he was the biggest stereotype ever. It was kind of off-putting, but—’
‘But you still snogged him?’ I interrupted.
She gave me a withering look. ‘What do you take me for? I shagged him.’
ELK12322, London
My self-summary:
I live in East London and work in the media but am not the typical stereotype—I promise. I don’t wear plastic glasses, I hardly ever wear vintage, and I’d much rather be travelling around the world with a backpack. OK, maybe I am the stereotype …
What I’m doing with my life:
Interning. Generally involves fetching lattes, crying in the loo and wondering why I bothered going to uni.
I’m really good at:
Making my friends laugh. Generally at me, not with me.
The first things people usually notice about me:
My 36Ds.
Favourite books, movies, shows, music and food:
The question has put these in the wrong order—food comes above all these things. Will eat pretty much anything.
Love romcoms, old Disney films and trashy American TV.
Listen to everything from old-school rap to Taylor Swift.
My favourite books have to have a female protagonist because not enough of them do. And I just prefer reading about women, you know?
Studied English Lit at uni so am a bit of a bookworm.
The six things I could never do without:
My friends
Black clothing (am not a goth. Black is just my colour)
Tortellini (only thing I can cook)
Cheese (ditto)
The internet
Support bras
I spend a lot of time thinking about:
Being a woman and a feminist in the twenty-first century. Very challenging when people think it means you’re a hairy lesbian.
On a typical Friday night I am:
Passed out drunk in an alleyway. Normally with my friends lying on top of me.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit:
I was a virgin until twenty-one.
I’m looking for:
Whatever you can give me.
You should message me if:
You read to the bottom of this and still want to date me.
N.B. Bonus points if you can spell
‘So, what do you guys think?’ I asked. There was a four-second silence while Lara and Emma looked at each other.
‘Um, it’s … very honest,’ said Emma slowly. ‘The virgin thing is particularly, uh … Ellie, why did you put that in?’
‘Because I want to be honest. I feel like this is a chance for me to meet guys who like me for me, and respect me. I just want to make sure I end up sleeping with someone who doesn’t care that I only just lost my V-plates.’
‘Yeah, you’re going to have to take that out,’ said Lara bluntly. ‘And—support bras? You want to seduce these men, not scare the shit out of them. Also, the 36Ds? Ellie, that’s just cheap, as is the fact that you’re looking for whatever they can give you.’
‘That was flirty,’ I said hotly.
‘Is the fact that you can only cook pasta and are clearly having an existential crisis flirty too?’ she asked.
Emma nodded in agreement. ‘Babe, they don’t need to know all this stuff up front. Maybe just tone it down a bit?’ She looked at my crestfallen face. ‘I mean, I love that it’s so you, but I’m not really sure it works. Like, the passed out drunk in an alleyway part sounds a bit … wrong.’
Lara snorted with laughter and I turned to her angrily. ‘It isn’t wrong. It’s just funny. I said I’m good at making my friends laugh and I was trying to prove my point.’ They were now both laughing hysterically into their glasses of rosé. ‘Ugh, whatever. If you think you can do better, why don’t you take over?’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ said Lara, grabbing the laptop. ‘Come on, Emma, let’s fix this.’
ELK12322, London
My self-summary:
I live in East London and work in the media. Studied English at uni and am now wondering why.
What I’m doing with my life:
Interning for a high-profile online magazine.
I’m really good at:
Making my friends laugh.
The first things people usually notice about me:
My smile.
Favourite books, movies, shows, music and food:
Love romcoms, old Disney films and trashy American TV.
Listen to everything from old-school rap to drum and bass.
Favourite authors range from Jane Austen to Jack Kerouac.
The six things I could never do without:
My friends
Clothes
Alcohol
Coffee
Novels
Saturday nights
I spend a lot of time thinking about:
How fun last weekend was.
On a typical Friday night I am:
Out drinking with my friends.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit:
I’ve never been on a dating site before.
I’m looking for:
Whatever happens.
You should message me if:
You want to.
‘What is this?’ I cried out. ‘Message me if you want to? I sound like a fucking PROSTITUTE. And you both know I hate Jack Kerouac. This is … This is all lies,’ I spluttered.
‘Nooo, it’s not lies,’ said Emma. ‘It’s more of an airbrushed version of the truth. We kept in some of it anyway, like … the bit about music?’
‘Drum and bass? Do I look like the kind of person who wants to take E and jump up and down to music without words?’ I shrieked.
‘Babe, you don’t really jump to drum and bass,’ said Emma, before catching sight of my face. ‘OK, OK, if you hate it, we can change it. But, honestly, I think this would work a bit better than your one. I mean, would you rather your future date sees you as self-deprecating and awkward—which we love about you—or sexy and fun?’
‘Exactly,’ said Lara. ‘You’d exaggerate your CV, so you may as well do the same for this. Just think of it as a dating CV. It’s like, um, an online portfolio.’
I frowned at them both and then broke into a grin. ‘Wait, so do you guys really think I have a good smile?’
‘We wrote that?’ asked Lara. ‘Oh yeah. We figured it was better than drawing attention to the mass of hair on your head or your massive tits. Besides, smiles sound sexy.’
‘But this isn’t me being myself. It’s me trying to be the kind of girl guys like.’
‘Exactly,’ said Emma. ‘Guys will like it.’
‘Uh, what happened to you being a feminist?’ I asked. ‘One boyfriend and you’re all “pretend you like Kerouac and drum and bass” to get a guy.’
‘It’s just playing them at their own game,’ replied Emma, waving her hand at me. ‘They do it too—how many of these guys really like half the stuff they say they do? The ones who put “looking for friendship”? Utter bollocks. All they want is a casual fuck, but they can’t say that or no one will click on them. It’s just the game.’
‘Well … that’s shit,’ I said. ‘I thought The Game was an anti-women self-help book for men to pull girls by ebbing away at their self-esteem.’
‘Yeah, it’s that too,’ said Emma. ‘But I was talking about the concept not the book, babe.’
‘Either way, it sounds like crap,’ I said. ‘It’s so old-fashioned. I’m so over the game. In fact, I officially opt out of the game.’
Lara raised an eyebrow at me. ‘So, you’re going to use your original profile, then?’
I threw a cushion at her. ‘Oh, fuck off, you both know my attempt was shit and I’m using your version. But you don’t have to look so smug about it.’
They grinned at each other. ‘Knew it,’ said Emma. ‘As much as we hate the game, it’s just gotta be played.’
‘OK, this is it,’ said Lara. ‘I’m clicking save, and … it’s done! Now we’ve just got to hope that this mass of lies gets Ellie laid.’
Chapter 4 (#uebcd41b9-4260-560c-bbba-7cae47d76e59)
Forty-eight hours had passed since the creation of ELK123 and I was yet to get laid. However, I had just checked my phone and there were FOUR messages waiting for me. I was well on my way to slutdom.
Hey, sexy, can I come on your face? How about Tues night?
I blushed and dropped my phone onto my keyboard. I looked around the office furtively, but Maxine was yelling down her phone and no one else was in yet. It was only the unpaid intern who was expected to be in at 8 a.m.
I clicked on HotDog69 and gagged. His profile picture was a topless selfie and his beer belly—covered in sparse pube-like hairs—was glaring at me. I quickly exited his profile and went back to my inbox. There were three more messages. My heart beat in trepidation as I read the next one.
Hey, hun. u ok. I hope we could become mates and get to know each other.
My names percy. I gotta say you are the definition of beautiful and got beautiful eyes. I hope we have the chance to become good mates and maybe more. I think we would get along well and ill always be here for you whenever you need someone to talk to. I will never ever judge you no matter what and i always try to be a good mate xx
I stared at the message in confusion. He wanted to be there for me? He didn’t even know me. And were the spelling mistakes intentional or could he really just not use punctuation? I hesitantly clicked on Perce69’s profile—I was noticing a username theme here—and was met with a picture of a sweet-looking guy with a receding hairline and blue eyes.
He didn’t look as horrid as HotDog so I scrolled down. OK, he worked in sales, was twenty-nine, lived in North London, and … the most private thing he was willing to admit was that he had a sex addiction. Ew. At least he thought I was beautiful and would never judge me. Feeling more confident, I looked at my third message.
I would hug a cactus, then swim through shark infested salt water to the arctic to do battle with an angry mother polar bear on a 2×2 foot iceberg for the chance to share a Nandos half chicken with corn on the cob with you on a webcam over a dial-up connection. X
Right. At least that was original. Everyone liked a Nando’s half chicken—but if we were sharing, shouldn’t we get a full chicken? Not only was Marcus1986 clearly a nutter, he was also stingy. I didn’t bother clicking on his profile and moved on to my last message. Please be normal, I prayed. It was from someone called JT_ldn and there was no 69 on the end of his username. This looked promising.
Hey, Elk, your profile seems cool. So what kind of media work do you do? I live in East London too. Have you been living amongst the hipsters for a while or are you a new kid on the block?
JT x
Oh my God. It was an actual message from a normal person who had read my profile and wasn’t just spamming me with perv-mail. OK, so he had mistaken my initials for my name, but that was easily done. There had to be a few people out there called Elk.
I clicked on his profile and was instantly impressed. JT was HOT. He was also twenty-nine—exciting; from Ireland—sexy accent; and worked at Marc Jacobs—shit. Gay??? I quickly scrolled down and breathed out in relief as I saw he worked in the IT section of Marc Jacobs. That was promising, as was the fact that he was six foot three and loved nights in with red wine and film noirs. If you swapped it for carbs and romcoms, that was my ideal night in too.
Hey JT, nice to (virtually!) meet you. I’m ‘working’ for an online magazine, which is pretty cool except for the fact it’s unpaid. I’m new to East—what about you? Amazing you work for MJ. Do you get free stuff?
Ellie x
I tapped out the message quickly so that I could edit it afterwards. The awkward ‘virtually’ joke would probably have to go. I ended it with a kiss, which felt weird considering I’d never met him but decided it would be rude not to after he’d given me one. It was probably just internet dating etiquette. Come to think of it, HotDog69 was quite rude for not putting a kiss on his.
‘Ellie, what are you doing?’ screeched Maxine. I dropped my phone onto my desk and realised with horror that I’d pressed ‘send’. Why had I put in those cringe attempts to be flirty?! There was no way he’d reply now.
‘Just booking the restaurant for your lunch meeting with Clara,’ I said brightly, as I turned to face my boss. Her dark hair was piled onto her head in a messy bun, but her red lipstick immaculately framed her snarling mouth.
‘Good—make it for 2 p.m.,’ she said. ‘Now, we need someone to write a feature about London stereotypes.’ Oh my God. Was she finally about to ask me to actually write something for her? ‘So, do the research, then send it over to Camilla and she’ll write it.’
My heart sank. Typical. ‘OK, sounds great,’ I said. ‘What kind of thing are you thinking?’
She sighed theatrically and replied in the same exasperated tone she used whenever I asked her a question. ‘You know … a North London girl who buys Cath Kidston wellies and the Brixton girl in flowery skirts and Doc Martens, blow-dries in Notting Hill.’
I nodded rapidly as I scribbled down what she was saying. It sounded like exactly the sort of thing I had read multiple times on various websites and could write in my sleep. But instead I’d have to do all the work, then send it on to the star writer who would just move a few words around and stick her name on it.
‘Send it to her by lunch,’ barked Maxine. ‘I’m off out. When you get a minute can you also sort out the stationery cupboard and do me a cuts search on that latest socialite? I’m doing an interview with her.’
‘Um, who?’ I asked nervously.
‘Oh God.’ She sighed. ‘You know, the eyebrow one? The model?’
‘Cara Delevingne?’
‘Exactly. Next thing you’ll be asking me what a cuts search is,’ she said, as she grabbed her camel jacket.
I fake-laughed. ‘Right, as if I didn’t know it was … general research?’
She looked straight at me. ‘Ellie. Newspaper clippings. The username and login is on the whiteboard.’
‘Thankyousomuch,’ I garbled in relief, and she shook her head at me in despair.
I threw on my leather jacket and grabbed my blue canvas tote bag. It was 6 p.m. and I had only ten minutes before Maxine came back. If she saw that I was still there, she would inevitably give me more tasks to do, so I was taking my chance to leave.
It had been a long Monday. As always my colleagues just ignored me as they discussed their dates on the Kings Road, and what happened at Annabelle’s on Saturday. I’d been left with the hard work, and they’d buggered off at 5 p.m.
Today Camilla had even made me source the photos for her article, so I was now officially late to meet my mum. The only thing that had kept me going all day was the fact that JT had replied. He’d told me that he did get a discount, he loved East London and he knew loads about media. He’d confused ‘your’ with ‘you’re’ only once, and he hadn’t called me Elk again.
My phone beeped. I tapped it open and saw the bright pink OKC app icon. I opened it, grinning in anticipation of a reply from JT.
Hello Elk
How are you this morning? I like your profile. I wondered how you felt about discreetly humiliating a man that secretly wears tights and using him for your benefit?
I hope you don’t mind me asking!
The picture was of a pair of shiny silver leggings and I could see the outline of Superman69’s squashed penis.
‘Aghh,’ I shrieked, as I crashed into my mum.
‘Elena, about time,’ she said, rubbing dirt off my coat. ‘Do you have to run like that? I could hear you thudding all the way down the road. And you shouldn’t walk looking at your phone. Someone could steal it.’
The subtle criticisms had begun already. I told myself to take deep breaths and stay calm. I was a grown-up now. I had my own flat, £30,000 worth of debt and a job. Well, an internship, but still. I was an adult and I could handle one weekday dinner with my mother.
‘Nice to see you too, Mum. Shall we go inside the restaurant, then?’
She made a non-committal sound, so I walked into Pizza Express and let the waiter guide us to a table.
‘So, this is nice, isn’t it?’ I said brightly.
‘Is that jacket new?’ she asked, eyeing up my new Top-shop purchase.
‘It’s just Primark, Mum,’ I groaned in exasperation.
‘Does Primark do real leather?’
I forced my face into a calm smile. ‘Mum, what’s with all the questions? It’s just pleather. But if you like it that much, you can borrow it!’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You know I’m not asking because I want to borrow it, Elena. I’m just wondering what you’re spending my money on.’
‘Mum, why don’t we just order first before we get into all that? Shall we get dough balls to share? I bet I know what you’re going to get—the avocado and goat’s cheese salad, right?’
‘The cannelloni. Maybe you should get the salad?’ she asked.
‘Are you kidding me? Salad isn’t real food. I’m famished,’ I announced, ignoring the fact that she was staring pointedly at my stomach. ‘Dough balls to start, then a pepperoni pizza and probably a dessert too.’
‘Right, OK,’ she said and looked back down at her menu.
‘What does that mean, Mum?’ I asked. I could feel irritation rising up my oesophagus and tried to take deep breaths.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I just said OK, but … maybe you shouldn’t be eating so much.’
‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME?’ I shrieked. All hopes of staying calm and rational had fully evaporated. ‘Do you want me to be ANOREXIC? I can’t believe you would even bring up my weight—I’m a size ten slash twelve slash fourteen. That is healthy, Mum. God, I can’t believe you’re trying to give me an eating disorder.’
‘Elena,’ she hissed. ‘Will you keep your voice down? You know I just want you to be healthy and look good. Obviously you’re not fat, but if you carry on as you are …’
‘Oh. My. God. Are you saying you think I’m going to get fat? That is so typical of you. I work ten-hour days, and I don’t have an income. All I can afford is pasta and cheap food that just happens to be unhealthy. I don’t have time to go to the gym, and I couldn’t even afford a membership if I did. Do you even know how much vegetables cost these days? This is just not my fault.’
She sighed. ‘I wish you wouldn’t buy cheap rubbish like pasta the whole time. When are they going to start paying you at your work?’
‘Don’t know,’ I mumbled moodily.
‘Why can’t you just get a job that pays?’ she asked.
I felt a twinge of guilt. She was asking the question that ran through my head on a daily basis, but it was too depressing to deal with. If I wanted my dream writing job, I had to work unpaid for months and then I may or may not get a permanent position with a salary at the end of it. That was just how it worked. The only way to get a typical paid job was to go back in time and do a law degree.
‘Mum, I’ve explained this to you, like, a hundred times.’ I sighed. ‘Everyone who wants to work in media has to work unpaid for a few months. Just be glad I’m only doing a two-month internship—Emma’s friend worked unpaid for nine months before she got a job at Tatler.’
‘Doesn’t that girl we met at your graduation have a job at Tatler? She told me she was starting immediately.’
Fucking Hannah Fielding. ‘She is a complete bitch, Mum,’ I cried. ‘Besides, she only got the job because her parents know people. It’s pure nepotism.’
My mum sighed. ‘OK, Elena, do your unpaid work, but I’m only helping you out for now. Next month I’m not going to pay your rent any more.’
‘Sure, that’s fine,’ I said confidently. ‘I’ll definitely have a paid job by then.’ I crossed my fingers under the table. It could happen. Probably. ‘But in the meantime …’ I gave her my most daughterly smile.
‘Yes, OK,’ she said wearily. ‘You can have one hundred pounds on top of your rent and bills.’
My mouth dropped open. ‘Mum, I can’t survive on a hundred quid a month! I’ll starve to death. Or—even worse—I’ll end up just buying reduced ready meals, then I’ll get a really high salt intake and cholesterol will build up in my arteries and I’ll probably get diabetes. And acne. Then no one will ever fancy me.’
She looked alarmed. ‘Elena, you have to eat well. Can’t you buy couscous and quinoa? They’re not expensive if you buy in bulk and you can just cook them with fresh vegetables.’
‘Quinoa is very expensive these days,’ I said authoritatively. ‘So is hummus. And tzatziki.’
‘I’ve taught you so many times to make your own dips, Lena,’ she said. She had used the name she called me as a baby. I grinned to myself—I knew I’d win her over by name-dropping Greek food. ‘Will two hundred pounds help?’
Chapter 5 (#uebcd41b9-4260-560c-bbba-7cae47d76e59)
We had exchanged fourteen messages in three days and JT still hadn’t asked me out. I was officially confused. Surely he was messaging me because he wanted to go on a date and shag me? In which case, why hadn’t he suggested a date already?
The thought crossed my mind that maybe he was just enjoying getting to know me, but then I remembered Emma’s words: They all want to fuck you—it’s just a game. He was probably just trying to play it cool so he didn’t come across as too keen. But I didn’t care about that—I just wanted to be, well, wanted.
The girls thought this whole thing was about me trying to reach double digits by the time I was twenty-five, but there was more to it. Sex with Jack hadn’t really felt like sex—it was just a few minutes of breaking my hymen. Now I wanted to do it properly and enjoy it. Em had amazing sex with Sergio, and even though Jez was a bit hit-and-miss, Lara always had fun in bed with him. Wasn’t it my turn to get that?
I knew I hadn’t ever met JT and he could be a total disaster, but he seemed like the ideal candidate to help me out there. And it was a two-way deal. We’d both get some fun out of it. It would be mutually beneficial if all went to plan, and if worst came to worst, I’d leave in the morning and never see him again. I’d get my chance to live it up and figure out womanhood, while he’d get a shag and an orgasm. Come to think of it, hopefully I’d get one of those too. I just needed some help.
I barged into Emma’s room in my purple dressing gown patterned with white stars. ‘Ems, I need help.’ She was lying in bed resting her head on Sergio’s tanned, hairless torso. ‘Oh crap, I should have knocked, sorry. I didn’t know you were here, Serge.’
‘It’s fine, come in,’ he said and patted the duvet. I walked over and sat down with them.
‘I don’t know what to do about JT,’ I moaned.
‘How many messages has it been now?’ asked Emma without moving her head off Serge’s hot bod. This was not helping my self-esteem. ‘Twelve?’
‘Fourteen. Surely that’s a bit excessive now?’
‘Why can’t you ask him out?’ asked Sergio.
‘But … won’t he think I’m desperate? What about the game?’
Emma scrunched up her face. ‘I don’t know. I think the whole point of online dating is that it evens out the playing field. Like, obviously it’s so sexist that society says men have to ask out women, but it is kind of ingrained. When a woman asks out a man in real life he’s like, she’s either desperate or a slut. But online … well, it’s kind of the norm, isn’t it?’
‘Huh, maybe,’ I said, as Sergio started covering Emma’s face in tiny kisses.
‘I didn’t think you were desperate or a slut when you wrote your number on that receipt,’ he said.
I rolled my eyes at them. ‘Can you get a room already?’ He raised his eyebrows and gestured at Emma’s purple fairy lights, leopard print and fur. ‘You know what I mean,’ I said. ‘Anyway, Emma, do you really think it’s more acceptable for a girl to ask out a guy online?’
‘Yeah,’ she cried. ‘It’s way more equal on there. In fact, I think women actually have more power than men on online dating sites. Because girls will get more messages than the guys and then when a guy does get a message, there’s more of a chance he’ll reply. Girls have more choice.’
I nodded slowly. ‘That makes sense. But what if he rejects me?’
‘Who cares? He hasn’t even met you—you’re just pixels. It’s like when Oxford University rejected my UCAS application before even meeting me. You can’t get upset because they don’t even know who you are. They’re just rejecting a piece of paper, or a bunch of words on a website in your case.’
‘Yeah, you’re so right,’ I said. ‘You know what? I feel way more empowered. Thanks, Em. I don’t give a shit if JT rejects me any more. My personality comes through in person not pixels. I bet he’d never turn down a one-night stand with me IRL, so who cares if he does online?’
‘What’s this IRL?’ asked Sergio.
‘In real life,’ replied Emma and I automatically.
‘Anyway, you can get back to having sex now,’ I announced, as I walked out of the room. ‘I’m off to ask out a man.’
I sat in the living room staring blindly at the TV. JT still hadn’t replied. The message I’d sent kept flashing up in my head:
So I was wondering if maybe we should meet in person? How about a drink?
It had been, like, two hours and he still hadn’t replied. I’d managed to fuck it up with a guy without even meeting him. I was seriously doomed.
‘Hey, El, how’s it going?’
Ollie walked into the room and sat on the sofa next to me. I quickly pulled my leggings down so he wouldn’t see my unshaven legs. ‘Oh fine,’ I said. ‘Only, I just messaged a guy online and he hasn’t replied. Such is my life.’
‘Oh yeah? You know, I can’t believe you’re doing online dating.’
‘What, why not?’ I asked, feeling semi-offended.
‘I just wouldn’t have thought you’d need to.’
Was that … a compliment? ‘Oh really? That’s so nice.’
‘Well, you’re twenty-two. I would have thought that’s a bit, like, young.’
‘It is not too young,’ I cried. ‘Hello, we live in the Tinder world. This is just what everyone does. How else are you meant to meet someone?’
‘Yeah, but Tinder seems more legit. Why didn’t you just do that?’
‘Because it still feels like a sex app and I like the idea of knowing someone’s basic details and thoughts before meeting them.’
‘So you’re not looking for sex?’ He grinned, showing his little dimples.
I blushed. ‘Well, I mean, I am. But I’d rather do it after a date, and not just in the loo of a bar.’
‘Don’t. You’re making me nostalgic for my single days.’
‘You had sex in a loo?’
‘A girl went down on me outside the uni student union once. Pre-Yomi, obviously.’
‘Jesus,’ I said, trying to ignore the fact that I was suddenly seriously envious of this blow job girl.
‘I know. It was fucking fun.’
‘Sounds it. So, Yomi straightened you out, then?’
He grinned at me and I tried to not stare into his eyes. ‘I’ve still got my dirty side.’
I laughed. ‘Ew, you sound so pervy.’
‘I try. So, who’s this guy who isn’t replying to you?’
‘Ah, he’s called JT. Seems normal, hot and interesting. We’ve been messaging, but then I asked him out and he didn’t reply.’
‘You asked him out?’
‘Should I not have? Is that weird? Oh God.’
‘No, calm down. I think it’s really cool. I don’t think there are many girls who would do that. In fact, I’d be fucking thrilled if a girl asked me out.’
‘Really?’ He nodded and looked into my eyes. Oh Christ. I really had to stop fancying my flatmate who had a GIRLFRIEND. ‘I don’t think Yomi would be,’ I said, bringing the conversation back to the perfect doctor.
‘Fair point. But she doesn’t like a lot of what I do, so …’
Did this mean there was trouble in paradise? ‘Really? What kind of stuff?’ I asked.
‘She doesn’t really like my mates from home, which kind of bothers me. It’s because most of them didn’t go to uni, and I guess she finds them hard to relate to. But they’re all really good guys. And she works so hard she’s rarely up for going out. I know she’s under a lot of pressure with her finals, but it’s just difficult, you know?’
I nodded, trying to pretend I was au fait with relationship problems. ‘Yeah, that sounds difficult. It’s why I don’t want a boyfriend right now—I can’t handle the compromises.’
‘Ha, I know what you mean. We’re too young to stop being selfish.’
‘Exactly.’ I grinned. ‘Maybe Yomi needs to remember to be younger.’
‘Yeah, maybe. Hey, do you mind if I change the channel? Tottenham are playing.’
‘Go for it. I, um, need to do something upstairs anyway.’
‘Cool. See you later.’
I went up to my room with my heart fluttering. He was so insanely attractive, and if he and Yomi broke up, then Caesar would be answering all of my prayers. But in the meantime, he’d still given me an idea. I’d been so wrapped up in my profile that I’d forgotten I was competing with hundreds, nay thousands, of attractive single women online.
I needed to check out the competition. I went to OKCupid.com, logged out of my profile and clicked ‘create profile’. Select gender: male.
I quickly made a basic profile (Tim201) and started searching. I wanted women aged twenty to twenty-nine. The list came up and my mouth dropped open in surprise. These profiles were nothing like my modest-but-flirty attempt. All these girls looked like part-time models, porn stars or Abercrombie & Fitch employees. I was doomed. Utterly doomed.
I clicked on Ange_xx. Her doe-eyed pose won me over immediately and I was semi-seduced by her pouting selfies. Oh God. Why would JT_ldn want to date me if there were girls like Ange_xx out there? I was officially fucked.
I scrolled back to my own profile and stared at the pictures in misery. They all looked like me. This was not going to work. Wasn’t the whole point of online dating to make yourself look better than you really do? I needed to slut up my pics. ASAP.
My first port of call was Facebook. I went straight to my photos from sixth form. I sighed in relief as I flicked through them and realised I was right; my boobs were on show in every single one. I was caked in make-up, my curves were forced into minuscule dresses, and I looked sexy enough to take on Ange_xx.
I selected one of the most blatant pictures and, ignoring the twinge of self-disapproval I was feeling, quickly made it my new profile picture. I knew Emma had said online dating was a feminist tool, so I probably shouldn’t have gone for such a tacky man-catching ploy, but if everyone else was doing it … Besides, I bet it wasn’t just the girls. JT_ldn was probably four inches shorter and five years older than he promised.
Fuck, what if he had lied?!
My phone beeped. There was a message from JT.
I’d love to. Think we should do it soon before you get a whole line of dates with your new profile picture. Very hot by the way.
I screeched out loud. OK, it was kind of embarrassing he had noticed my photo ploy—but he also thought I was hot and wanted to go for drinks, and I had successfully asked out a guy!!! I was a woman of the future and a feminist in action. No one had to know I’d used a photo of my tits to do it.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_5a0256b7-022b-5768-97db-733cc9cb846c)
I was standing at the entrance of Angel tube station trying to swallow the stress-induced gags my stomach kept heaving up. It was 8.03 p.m. and I was about to meet JT in person. I glanced around weakly but couldn’t see anyone who looked six foot three with crinkly green eyes and dark blond hair. My watch said 8.06 p.m. Oh God. Was he about to stand me up?
My phone vibrated. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was from him.
Hey, just inside next to the ticket machine. Wearing a red scarf. Holding a book. See you soon!
I sighed in relief that he hadn’t stood me up—and then realised with a jolt that this was actually happening. I was about to have an actual internet date. It was too late to run away. Oh God.
Feeling sicker than ever, I wrapped my jacket tightly around me and slowly stepped into the station. The ticket machine was on the left. As promised, there was a tall man standing next to it. I quickly ducked behind a Big Issue seller and peeped out over his shoulder to spy on JT. I couldn’t see his face but he was wearing a black woollen coat with a maroon scarf. I breathed out in relief; he looked hot from behind.
I stood up straight and boldly walked over to him. My blood was pounding, but I forced myself to keep going. When I was inches away, I cleared my throat. He turned around to face me and the smile on my face plummeted.
JT WAS ANCIENT.
He had wrinkles, greying hair, and, oh my fucking God, was he missing a tooth?! I felt a stream of bile rise up into my mouth and I gagged audibly.
He opened his mouth to speak but before he could say a word, I whirled around and ran out of the station. When I was outside I started breathing slowly. It was OK. These things happened but at least I was in public and the elderly JT couldn’t attack me. I was safe.
‘Ellie,’ called a voice behind me. Oh my fucking God. It was him—he’d found me and now he was about to attack me. I quickened my pace and ran past benches full of staring passers-by. I turned my head to check if he was following me and fell flat on my face onto the pavement.
‘Are you all right?’
I looked up in pain and saw an attractive blond man smiling above me. His dark green eyes crinkled as he smiled and there were no wrinkles to be seen. It was JT_ldn. The real one.
‘I … don’t understand,’ I said. ‘You look like your picture.’
‘Erm, should I not?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow. My eyes flew straight to his neck. He was wearing a bright red scarf, three shades lighter than the maroon scarf I’d just seen. With a wave of relief, I realised that this was the JT I’d meant to meet and the other man was just an awful, awful coincidence in a maroon scarf.
I had officially fucked up.
‘No, no, it’s a good thing, trust me,’ I said, as I pulled myself off the kerb.
‘Right, and do you always run away from your dates? This is the first time I’ve had to chase after someone on a date, you know.’ He grinned.
I felt my cheeks flush as I realised what I’d just done. I had just run away from the hottest date I’d ever had. And then tripped on a jagged pavestone.
‘So, um, about that,’ I said sheepishly. ‘The red scarf thing kind of threw up a bit of confusion.’
‘Go on …’
I sighed. ‘Well, there’s a forty-year-old, fat, unattractive man wearing a red scarf down by the ticket machine. I thought he was you, or you were him, or I don’t know.’
He threw back his head and howled with laughter. I noticed in relief that he had all his teeth. ‘That’s hilarious. You thought I was some paedo?’
‘Essentially … yeah.’ I winced. ‘Sorry. I’m so embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be, this is a great story to tell the grandkids.’ Grandkids?! We hadn’t even held hands yet. ‘I’m kidding,’ he added.
‘Yeah, obviously.’ I laughed nervously. ‘Sorry, I’m still all over the place from the whole paedo thing. And then the running away bit. Can we start over?’
He smiled and held out his right hand. ‘Sure, I’m JT. Good to meet you.’
‘I’m Ellie. Nice to meet you too,’ I said, shaking his hand.
‘Great, so now we’ve got the formalities out of the way, how about we go and grab some food?’ I nodded happily, ignoring the weighted lump of undigested pasta in my stomach reminding me I had just eaten a whole pack of tortellini. ‘So there’s a fun Chinese buffet place up the corner. You keen?’
‘Buffet?’
‘Yeah, but you do have to be pretty hungry to get your money’s worth, so if you’re not that hungry, we can always just get tacos or something elsewhere,’ he suggested.
Tacos sounded perfect—but what if he thought I was one of those anorexic girls who couldn’t handle buffets? My appetite was the one positive attribute guys loved about me. All my male friends were terrified of dating skinny dieting girls who only ordered salads and counted calories—they’d all told me this was my niche. Considering I didn’t have that many, I knew I had to work it.
I mentally said goodbye to the light, refreshing tacos and prepared myself for a second carby dinner. ‘Buffet sounds great.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked. There it was, my get-out card. I just had to say no and we could get tacos.
‘Yeah, definitely. I’m starving.’
‘Cool, it’s just down here,’ he said, gesturing as we started walking down the high street. ‘So, how has your day been?’
‘Um, pretty uneventful until the past ten minutes,’ I said.
‘Same.’ He laughed. ‘I can’t say I imagined I’d be running down the street behind my first OKCupid date.’
‘This is your first time too?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, I thought I’d give it a try and do something new.’ He shrugged. ‘Everyone kept raving about it at work, so I figured I’d give it a shot. What about you? What made you take the virtual leap?’
‘Um …’ I racked my brains for an appropriate response that didn’t have the phrase ‘slut’ or ‘one-night stand’ in it. ‘Pretty much the same as you, really. Just something different.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘I guess I’m just looking for whatever happens, really. Whether that’s a relationship or just … casual fun.’ He looked straight into my eyes and I felt a tingle run up my spine. Thank God I’d shaved my legs and trimmed my bush—one-night stand, here I come.
He looked at me questioningly and I realised I’d stopped walking. ‘Yeah, I’m the same,’ I said. ‘Just looking for whatever life throws at me.’
He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Are you quoting my dating profile?’
Oh fuck. I was unconsciously reciting the ‘Looking for’ section of his profile. I knew I shouldn’t have read it so many times. ‘Um, unintentionally?’
He laughed. ‘Well, at least you’ve done your homework. Gotta be safe, eh?’
‘Exactly.’ I grinned. ‘So, uh, is this the restaurant?’ We were standing outside the fanciest Chinese restaurant I’d ever seen. Stone lions were wrapped around the columns at the front and the words ‘Red Dragon’ were written in a non-tacky gold.
‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Hope you’re hungry.’
My plate was heaped with Ma Po Tofu, steamed aubergine, egg fried rice and crispy seaweed. The whole thing cost £18.99 and I’d eaten only three chopsticks’ worth.
‘This is so good,’ said JT, as he finished his first helping. ‘Do you not like it? You’ve barely eaten a thing.’ He looked discerningly at the mound of food on my plate.
‘Oh God, no, it’s amazing. I’m just pacing myself.’ I raised my chopsticks to my mouth and forced myself to swallow. It was the nicest Chinese I’d had in years but I was so full of £1.99 tortellini I couldn’t eat it. Typical. ‘Anyway, tell me more about you,’ I said. ‘You work for Marc Jacobs, right? Are you going to get me freebies?’
‘You’re not the first person to ask me that, but no, I’m sorry, those are strictly for me. Shit, that makes me sound very camp doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah, just a bit.’ I smiled. ‘Honestly though, I was pretty relieved when I saw on your profile that you work in IT and not fashion.’
‘Bit more manly, eh?’
‘Totally,’ I replied, wishing I could think of something witty to add. Instead, I reached for my chopsticks and forced more mouthfuls down me.
‘So I know you’re interning for some crazy boss, but what exactly is the magazine? Is it a fashion one?’ he asked.
‘Uh, it’s more just a bit of everything. It’s the London Mag. Have you heard of it?’
‘Obviously,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘It’s the new online one that’s getting bigger each week. I’m impressed.’
‘Yeah, except you forget I’m not actually getting paid for it.’
‘This is some extensive hinting that you can’t get the bill, Ellie,’ he teased. ‘I would have paid anyway, you know.’
I blushed and looked up at him through my layers of mascara in an attempt to look like Ange_xx. ‘I would never expect a man to pay for me.’
He laughed. ‘You’re hilarious. I’m so glad I said yes to this date with you.’
I had no idea what I’d done that was so funny, but if he was enjoying the date, who was I to say otherwise? ‘Me too,’ I said.
‘I was kind of surprised when you asked me out though,’ he admitted.
‘What, why?’ Shit—maybe Emma was wrong and it was still desperate to ask someone out online?
‘I guess I’m not used to forward girls,’ he said.
Forward?! I wasn’t FORWARD. I was a virgin at twenty-one, for Chrissake.
‘Right.’
‘No, it’s not a bad thing. It’s … sexy. I like it. In fact, I like it so much that I’m going to get the bill and rescue you from that plate of food that you clearly don’t want to eat.’
Oh my God, I didn’t have to eat my cold Chinese. This was it—he was officially the one. You could fall in love with one-night stands-to-be, right?
Chapter 7 (#ulink_8aa9067c-c059-5c8f-b6b9-ff6a5dd71f4f)
I crossed my legs and flicked my mass of hair over my shoulder as I laughed demurely at JT’s joke. I was perched on a bar stool in the poshest wine bar—OK, only wine bar—I’d ever been to and I was determined to act as elegantly as was required.
‘Another glass of Muscadet?’ asked JT. I nodded enthusiastically and almost toppled off my stool. ‘Careful,’ he said, as he steadied me with his arm.
The only problem was that it was getting quite difficult to act the height of sophistication when my date was plying me with drinks. Was this glass number … four? Five?
I ignored the sensible voice in my head screeching at me to order a tap water and graciously picked up the wine glass the barman put in front of me.
‘Why thank you,’ I said.
‘Anything for the lady,’ said JT. He looked straight into my eyes and I swallowed a laugh.
‘I’ll just have a tap water as well, please,’ I told the barman.
‘Water already?’ asked JT.
‘Oh, just to stop me from getting absolutely pissed and embarrassing myself,’ I said.
‘I don’t think you could embarrass yourself,’ he said.
I stared at him. ‘Um, are you kidding me? You do realise I started this date by running away from you because I thought you were a paedophile? And, last week—’
He interrupted me mid-sentence by leaning in and planting his lips on top of mine. I spluttered in surprise before my brain whirred into action and I kissed him back. Lara and Emma were so wrong—my embarrassing stories were seductive.
He stood up from his stool and came closer to me as we kissed. I leant against him and he started rubbing his tongue against mine. I reciprocated to the best of my abilities and put my hands on his face. He grabbed my arse and pulled me in towards him. I gasped out loud at how X-rated things were getting, but JT seemed to interpret it as a sound of pleasure and started snogging me at double the speed.
I held on to the bar to steady myself, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the barman shake his head in disgust. The British prude inside of me tried to break away, but JT pulled me in closer towards him and squeezed my boob.
‘You’re so sexy,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘I’m just going to go to the bathroom and then I’m taking you home with me.’
I nodded mutely and he winked at me before turning around and walking away. I let out the breath I hadn’t realised I was holding in. This was it. I was going to have my first ever one-night stand.
‘Excuse me,’ said the barman.
‘Oh, I don’t want another drink,’ I said. ‘Thanks, but we’re off now.’
He raised his eyebrows at me. ‘I was actually going to say, I think you have something on your face.’
I stared at him in confusion and then reached out to touch my face. It was damp. Oh, how embarrassing, it must be saliva, but … how could he see that? I lowered my hand and squinted at it in the purple UV light. It was covered in a dark liquid.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS ON MY FACE?
I stood up and rushed towards the mirrored walls of the bar. My entire left cheek, and parts of my forehead, were covered in this brown liquid. Had I rubbed against some paint? Was it red wine?!
I whirled around to look at the barman again. He was hiding a grin. ‘I think it might be blood,’ he said.
Blood?! Why was my face bleeding?? Then it slowly dawned on me. It wasn’t my blood. It was JT’s. He had nose-bled on my face.
My hands jumped to cover my face instinctively and I ran blindly towards the loos. I pushed past the queue of surprised girls and raced to the mirror. Under the bright yellow lights I could see my face was covered in blood. I looked like a Halloween midwife.
I turned the taps on full and began washing it off my face. It slid off along with half my make-up. After furiously scrubbing at my skin with paper towels, I was blood free. Thank God.
Then I realised I had to go back outside to JT. God, I couldn’t go home with him now—I couldn’t even face him. What were you supposed to say to the guy who nose-bled on you mid-snog? Had he known all along that he was bleeding on me? Or did he realise only when he went to the loo? Surely he had seen it on my face—why the fuck hadn’t he told me??
I couldn’t deal with this right now. It was just too embarrassing. Maybe I could just hide out in the loo stall for a few minutes, and once JT had got the message and left, I could go home. I glanced over to the loo cubicle but then as the main bathroom door swung open, I saw the inside of the bar. I could vaguely make out JT skulking in a corner. I ran straight into the nearest cubicle and slammed the door shut.
‘Hello? Lady?’
I jumped in alarm. I was sitting on a toilet seat with my head in between my legs and there was someone banging on the cubicle door. Oh my God, JT. The blood. I was hiding in the loo. Had I been here all night?!
I cautiously unbolted the loo door and peered out. The toilet attendant had her hands on her hips and looked seriously pissed off.
‘You’ve been in there twenty minutes, lady. We have a no drugs policy. I’ve called the manager.’
Drugs?? Surely I could have just had a bad stomach? I looked around the loos and realised there was still a queue of girls. The bar hadn’t closed and JT could still be outside waiting for me. The bathroom door opened and the barman from earlier was standing there.
‘You again.’ He grinned.
‘I wasn’t doing drugs, I promise. I … fell asleep on the loo.’
He hid a smile and I realised he was kind of attractive. Even though he was only about an inch taller than me, he had an impressively symmetrical face, three-day stubble and short blond dreadlocks.
‘Was that after you were cleaning blood off your face?’ he asked.
I briefly closed my eyes. Did he really have to remind me of the humiliation?
‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘You know your boyfriend’s been waiting for you this entire time out there?’
‘Oh fuck, is he still there?’ I cried out. ‘I thought he’d have gone by now.’
He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘You’re hiding from your boyfriend?’
‘Oh, you know he’s not my boyfriend,’ I snapped at him. ‘He’s my first ever online date, and after he nose-bled on me, I didn’t fancy seeing him again.’
‘Oh, obviously,’ he said. ‘That’s how all my dates go too.’
I was about to snap at him again when I noticed he was grinning at me. ‘Yeah, this hasn’t been one of my best.’
‘Hey, how about I help you sneak out of here without seeing your guy?’ he offered.
‘Ohmigod, would you really? I would literally love you for life.’
‘OK, calm down,’ he said. ‘Just … follow me.’
I followed him out of the toilets and through a door marked ‘Private’. We walked up the stairs and then found ourselves outside. I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Thanks so much.’
‘Hey, don’t mention it.’ He shrugged. ‘You’ve drastically improved my night on the comedy scales anyway.’
‘Hopefully I’ll find it as funny tomorrow. So what’s your name?’
‘Pete.’ He grinned. ‘And the damsel in distress?’
I looked at him blankly. ‘Ohhh, right. Ellie. I’m Ellie.’
‘Nice to meet you, Ellie,’ he said. ‘Well, get home safe, and feel free to bring any more of your online dates here. I’ll help you out with an escape route whenever you need one.’
‘Wait, really? Because that would be kind of incredible.’
He laughed. ‘Let’s do it. This can be your regular bar for dates and I’ll help you out when they bleed on you.’
‘OK, deal.’ I grinned. ‘Anyway, I’m sobering up and I reckon I’d better get the bus home, so … I’ll see you around.’
‘See you.’
Chapter 8 (#ulink_cee4fa20-fbcd-5b54-8849-b212291cc409)
‘Ohmigod, ew, what the fuck is on her face?’
‘It looks like … dried blood.’
I pulled the duvet over my head. ‘What’s happening?’ I groaned.
A bright light seared through my eyes as my duvet flew off me.
‘And she’s naked,’ a male voice said.
I clutched my boobs and looked around me wildly as my pupils slowly dilated and my room came into focus. Emma was sitting on my bed scratching her nails, Will was dramatically shielding his eyes with my duvet, and Ollie was politely looking at his battered Nike high-tops at the far end of my room.
‘What are you all doing?’ I asked with as much dignity as I could muster with my hands over my nipples.
‘Babe, do you wanna put some clothes on?’ asked Emma. ‘We thought we’d all wake you up and hear the goss about your first online date, but then we saw this … blood on your face.’ She held up her sparkling green nails at me, and I saw flakes of JT’s dried nose-blood on the tips of her talons.
I sighed loudly. ‘Right, OK,’ I said. ‘Why doesn’t everyone turn around and I’ll put my dressing gown on?’ Obligingly, my housemates turned their backs to me and I grabbed my fluffy dressing gown from the floor and wrapped it around me. ‘OK, we’re good,’ I said.
‘Thank God,’ cried Will, as he lowered my duvet from his face. ‘I was starting to pass out in this thing. When did you last do a whites wash?’ He saw my face and switched topics. ‘Anyway, never mind about your washing. How was JT?’
‘And … the blood?’ asked Emma.
I looked at Ollie’s face and sighed. He was never going to see me the same way again. Not that it really mattered. I took a deep breath and began.
‘So, I got to Angel and looked for the man in the red scarf, but he was forty and wrinkly with a beer belly.’ There were shocked gasps and I smiled proudly, knowing my date horror story was worse than any of theirs. ‘So, naturally, I ran away. But whilst I was trying to get away, I tripped on the pavement.’
‘Oh my God,’ screeched Will.
‘So I was lying on the pavement, terrified, when someone came up to me. It was JT—only, the real one. He was normal aged with a slightly different red scarf, and the first JT was just a massive mistake.’
‘Oh,’ said Will. ‘I thought you were going to say the blood was from some kind of perverted sexual assault.’
‘Um, no,’ I said slowly. ‘If that had happened, I would have called the police and would not be telling you this so casually.’ He shrugged and I carried on, ignoring my pounding hangover. ‘Anyway, JT was gorgeous and normal and I even ate a second dinner for him. Then we went for drinks and he paid for everything and we snogged loads. Only, then he went to the loo and the barman told me I had stuff on my face and … it was blood. Because he nose-bled on me.’
All three of my flatmates stared at me in revulsion.
‘Fuck me, that’s disgusting,’ cried Will.
‘Oh yeah? Coming from the guy who uses conditioner as lube?’
Ollie grinned. ‘Shit, Ellie, that is one hell of a date story.’
‘Thanks, I guess.’
‘It’s hysterical,’ he said. ‘But … did you go home with him after?’
I paused as I tried to remember what happened next. The rest of the night was a warm fuzzy blur of—
‘Oh God,’ I cried. ‘I went to the loo to wash it off, then I hid in there from him and fell asleep. Until the hot manager came and took me out the secret fire escape.’
Emma and Will started howling with laughter, but Ollie stared at me. He looked kind of impressed. ‘A hot manager?’ he asked. ‘Shit, your night sounds pretty wild.’
I shrugged, hiding a grin. My night did sound dramatic. So much for ‘single Ellie with her single bed’—I so almost had a one-night stand. ‘Yeah, I guess it was. Does it make you miss your single days?’
He stared straight into my eyes and I felt my knees go tingly. ‘Sometimes,’ he said softly.
‘That’s fucking ridiculous,’ gasped Emma. She was rolling on my bed with Will, still snorting with laughter. ‘It reminds me of the time you got with the only emo in Mahiki.’
‘Emma, you weren’t even there that night,’ I snapped.
‘And then you slipped on your friend’s come in your bath,’ she gasped.
Will sat up straight. ‘Come … or conditioner?’ he asked and then collapsed with laughter again.
I rolled my eyes at them. ‘Guys, get over it. We’ve all had bad dates.’
‘Uh, yeah, but I’ve never abandoned mine after they bled on me,’ cried Will. ‘Mainly because they’ve never bled on me.’
‘EWWW, the blood,’ shrieked Emma, as she remembered it was on her hands. ‘I’m covered in a strange man’s blood. OHMIGOD, AIDS!!’
‘Fuck,’ I cried in panic. ‘You don’t think …?’
Will groaned loudly. ‘You’re both so fucking stupid sometimes,’ he said. ‘AIDS is a severe form of HIV and you’re not going to get it from his nosebleed unless it’s gone into an open wound on your face. Do you have a cut on your face, Ellie?’
I raced over to my full-length mirror and examined my face. ‘OK, no,’ I admitted.
‘Then, my darling, you are AIDS free,’ he said. ‘Congratulations.’
I hobbled downstairs to the kitchen to find breakfast and stop my hangover. My head was banging and I needed carbs to soak up the alcohol. But all I had was Sainsbury’s own-brand Crunchy Nut Cornflakes.
Forlornly, I tipped the packet into a bowl and reached for the milk. I was pouring it in when I realised there were small black lumps floating in my bowl. What the fuck were they?! I grabbed a spoon and lifted a few out to examine them closely. They looked like rabbit poos, only smaller.
Then I froze. There were sounds coming from my cornflakes carton. I took a deep breath and moved towards it. I held on to the sideboard to steady myself and hesitantly peered inside. There was a tiny grey lump moving in my cornflakes. I opened my mouth and screamed.
Will walked into the kitchen. ‘Seen a mouse?’ he asked nonchalantly, as he pushed past my trembling body to get to his cupboard.
‘IT’S IN MY CORNFLAKES!’ I shrieked.
‘Yeah, there’s a few in here,’ he said. ‘I saw a bunch running out of the bin bags last week.’
I stared at him aghast. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve seen mice in here, and you didn’t think to tell anyone?! What’s wrong with you, Will? We need to buy traps and … and poison.’
‘Ellie,’ he said, ‘we live in London. Obviously we’re going to have mice. Besides, we have a four-bed in Haggerston with a living room and only pay £550 each. We’re lucky we just have mice.’
‘As opposed to?’ I asked. ‘Oh fuck, do you mean RATS?’
‘Calm down.’ He sighed. ‘You can’t have mice and rats at the same time.’
‘They’re … mutually exclusive?’
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘Anyway, are you going to eat those cornflakes? I’m starving.’
‘There is a mouse in the box,’ I said slowly. ‘Do you not get this?’
‘Whatever.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll just take the mouse out.’
I stared at him in incomprehension and backed out of the kitchen quickly, straight up the stairs to Emma’s room.
‘Em,’ I cried, as I pushed open her door. ‘There’s loads of mice and Will doesn’t care. What do we do?’
‘Ugh, I know,’ she said, as she paused the programme she was watching on her laptop. ‘I’ve just been getting Serge to bring me food or staying at his more.’
‘Right, well, some of us don’t have a boyfriend to rely on, so … shall we buy some traps and try to get rid of them?’ I asked in frustration.
‘Meh, I don’t think they really work,’ she said. ‘Besides, it’s not like they’re rats.’
How was my best friend OK with mice living in our cereals? I shook my head at her and went straight to Ollie’s room. I knocked and waited for him to reply.
‘Come in,’ he called.
I pushed open the door and walked into his room. It was all grey, and the only effort he had put into decorating it was a collage of pictures of him and Yomi stuck onto his wardrobe. They were both so attractive that they looked like a celeb couple. She had massive green eyes and a weave that made her look like Beyoncé. Ugh.
I walked straight past her smiling face and sat down on his bed.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Mice,’ I announced. ‘Apparently they live with us and I found one in my cornflakes.’
He laughed. ‘Shit, I can’t believe they got into your food.’
‘I know. Who knew mice love own-brand cornflakes?’
‘Glad to see we don’t have middle-class mice. Maybe we should name them,’ he suggested.
‘Or,’ I said, ‘perhaps we could, um, exterminate them all?’
He scrunched up his face at me and I stopped myself running over to touch it. ‘How do you propose we do that?’ he asked.
‘Traps? Poison? Pest-killing men?’
‘I think the men only come in for rats and stuff, and I reckon they’d be pretty expensive, but I guess we could try the others. The only thing is that poison means the mice will eat it, then die wherever they are. We could have dead mice living in our walls.’
‘Ohmigod, ew.’
‘Exactly.’
‘OK, so traps?’ I asked.
‘Two options—lovely humane cages that just catch them without hurting them but cost loads, or cheap traps that snap their legs and get blood everywhere,’ he said.
I groaned and collapsed back onto the bed. It smelt musty but in a sexy kind of way. Ew, it was probably his and Yomi’s sex smells. I sat up again. ‘You don’t want to do anything either, do you?’ I asked him.
‘The others want to leave the mice alone too?’
‘Yeah, and I can tell you do as well. Am I the only one who wants to eat food that’s not contaminated by mice poo?’
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘But, hey, if we keep the house extra clean for a bit, they’ll go away on their own. Or, at least, there’ll be less of them.’
‘OK.’ I sighed. ‘And there was me thinking that living in an East London flatshare would be glamorous.’
‘Nothing glamorous about earning the minimum wage in our twenties,’ he said.
‘But at least you have an actual job,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t advertising pay well?’
‘Not in your first year, and not when every graduate in London is willing to do it for free as an internship.’
‘Ah, yeah, that would be me.’
‘Don’t worry. I did my fair share of interning too. And journalism is way cooler than advertising, so I reckon it will pay off in the long run.’
‘Mmm, maybe,’ I said. ‘Anyway, on less depressing topics, how’s stuff with Yomi?’
‘Yeah, good,’ he said. ‘But, I guess … well, four years is a long time to be together and long distance is hard at the moment. It will be easier when she’s not still up in Bristol and she’s back here in London.’
‘Yeah, definitely.’ I nodded, as though I was highly experienced with long-term, long-distance relationships. ‘I’m sure it will get easier soon.’
‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘It’s getting to that weird time where I’m twenty-five and I’ve had the same girlfriend for four years. I kind of miss playing the field.’
Oh my God. My dreams were coming true. Ollie wanted to break up with Yomi. I forced myself to breathe calmly. I couldn’t suggest they break up or it would look bad. I had to be subtle.
‘Maybe you should?’ I asked. Subtle was overrated.
‘Ah, who knows what will happen. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with any of this crap.’
‘Mm, yeah, so lucky that no one wants to date me. They just want to bleed on me.’
He laughed. ‘That’s more action than I’ve got all week. Anyway, are we going to go clean this kitchen or what?’
‘Let’s do it,’ I said. ‘Maybe my man-repelling powers will work on these mice. Fingers crossed they’re male.’
‘What if they’re gay mice? They’ll be all over me.’
‘Ha ha. They’d be over Will more like.’
‘Hey, I’m not that bad.’
‘I know. I mean, I, uh … Kitchen?’
He grinned at me. ‘Kitchen.’
Chapter 9 (#ulink_fe119f4a-65b6-5747-9fc5-dfb095ce2164)
‘Would anyone like a tea?’ I asked.
There was silence. I stood up and leant across my desk so I was facing my colleagues. ‘Guys, tea?’ I repeated.
The three writers all ignored me. Hattie, the youngest, shook her head, but Jenna and Camilla didn’t even bother to look up. I sighed to myself and walked through to the mini kitchenette alone. The more I tried to be friendly to the other office workers at the London Mag, the more they ignored me. Maybe if my next online date belonged to their Chelsea circle, I might get the occasional greeting.
I pulled out my phone as the kettle boiled. There had been no word from JT ever since I had abandoned him in the Holly & Ivy. Which was fair enough, really. But there had also been a categorical silence from anyone semi-normal on OKCupid. Perhaps JT had sent round a warning email putting everyone off me—even though he was the one who’d bled on my face. I couldn’t even find a sluttier selfie to attract the swarms to my profile.
I went to the search section of the site and selected my filters. I wanted someone over six feet, with a degree so we had stuff in common, and … ooh, it would be nice if they spoke a foreign language. And worked in … finance/banking/real estate. Then they could afford to pay for my dinner.
I pressed ‘search’. Five results came up. They were all above the age of forty. Two were female. I sighed and deleted all my filters. Then I selected ‘aged 23–30’ and ‘male’. Foreign languages and degrees would have to wait.
A couple of the men looked attractive. If only these guys would ask me out instead of all the creeps, but they never did. Unless … I asked them out first? It had worked for JT and Emma was right—it didn’t really feel like rejection when they were just pixels. Besides, they could be lying and secretly be seventy-year-old perverts.
Without giving myself a chance to change my mind, I tapped out a message to Ben84.
Hey, how are you? Been on here long?
It wasn’t Pulitzer Prize winning, but it wasn’t as if any of the men sent me well-crafted witty messages. I may as well just send the same message to multiple men. I’d sent it to eight different people when I felt someone hovering over my shoulder.
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