Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Not only are my friends privy to my personal life, they’re privy to most of the business side of my life too. People say not to hire friends, they say not to mix business and pleasure, but these are the people I trust the most. So when I was looking for people to be on my team—to help run, design, and get the Kissmet app on its feet—my besties from home felt like the perfect fit.
Listen. We’re from a small town—this is what we do.
Luckily so far it’s been great with Ava, Danny, and Portia.
No drama. No one has gone over budget. No one has dropped any balls or missed their deadlines.
Yet.
Knock on wood.
“Why was it awkward?” my friend Ava asks. I can see her in the chat screen on my computer, pouring a glass of wine for herself before settling into the chair next to the window in her apartment.
I watch Danny pet his cat, RuPaw, while also sipping a drink.
My friends don’t mess around when it comes to these Zoom calls, and I appreciate their efforts. Building a business can be lonely, and I’m grateful to have them to lean on.
They understand the assignment.
“He was obviously about to crap his pants, and there I stood, making small talk and teasing the poor bastard.”
Portia cackles. “Serves him right. Everyone knows not to eat that food truck shit.”
“I mean, not everyone.”
I certainly love to partake when I see one. And isn’t there something special about a New York City food truck in particular? They’re a whole vibe!
They are one of my favorite things about this city!
On my last visit to the park, you would have found me gnawing on chicken, quickly followed by a terrible case of food poisoning. I couldn’t leave my hotel room for two days during that trip and had to cancel two important meetings—one with an advertiser, another with a man whose job it is to get apps approved for the App Store.
That chicken fucked up more than my stomach!
Ava lifts her wineglass and swirls it, staring into the glass as if it were a crystal ball. “Was he, like, trying to act cool and collected?”
I tilt my head, trying to recollect the exact look on his face.
“Eh, not really. He had actual sweat beads dripping down his forehead. I think he was too sick to care what I thought, honestly.”
She leans forward. “And he was good looking?”
I nod, using a cotton ball and toner and rubbing it in small circles over my skin to cleanse it, getting all the residue off my cheekbones.
“Really good looking.”
“And now he owes you dinner?”
I shrug, still wiping toner on my face. “I gave him my room number and told him to send up a message. We’ll see if he actually does it, or if he skips town first.”
Ava’s eyes go wide, and she stops swirling her wineglass. “You dumbass, you gave him your room number? What if he shows up at your door?”
Shoot.
I stop my toner routine. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“We have to save you from yourself.” Danny, the resident know-it-all of the group, rolls his eyes. “We’re from Green Bay, Wisconsin, where people are nice and smile at each other and don’t lock their doors.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Honey, you’re in New York City. Never give out your address, and never let them know you’re interested.”
“I’m not interested!” I protest. “I was being ironic and sassy—and I never thought I would run into him again. I mean, what are the actual odds I would be getting off the elevator at the same time he was getting on. In the same hotel?”
“Slim to none,” Portia allows.
“It’s fate,” Ava announces. “This is the universe telling you to go for it.”
“I can’t go for it. I don’t know who he is.” All I know is what he was wearing and what he looked like. “Plus, he was about to crap his pants. That’s gross.”
Like, he couldn’t even get it together enough to have a conversation.
“Ava, no.” Danny defends me. “Do we want her dating a man who is back at his hotel shitting his brains out and probably threw up in every trash can in Tribeca?” His lips purse as if he’s sucked on a lemon. “No.”
Danny is the literal definition of diva, and he makes no apologies about it.
“He was having a bad day.” Ava tries again, defending a man she has never met because if Ava is anything, it’s romantic.
Danny stares at her, cocktail glass suspended midair, still stroking his cat. “No.”
“Listen, he’s not going to message me, okay? I’m not going to hear from him,” I insist. “This is a nonissue, everyone calm your tits.”
“How do you know he’s not going to message you?” Portia asks, debating the point. “You’re a catch.”
I sigh, unable to prevent an eye roll. “You know I’m a catch. He doesn’t know I’m a catch. He only knows I can’t mind my own business. He knows I curse. He knows I’m in room 905.”