The Trade(12)

“God, you’re flirting is downright embarrassing.”

“I’m not good at this,” I groan, knowing full well how terrible I am at flirting. “I’ve known one man my whole life. I didn’t have to flirt. So I might say weird things like Panera is my love language, which in return will result in the guy speaking closely into my ear and whispering things like ‘Fuji apple chicken salad’, ‘broccoli cheddar soup’, and ‘Baja grain bowl.’”

Monica’s eyes widen. “He didn’t.”

I nod. “He did. He whispered things from the menu into my ear, down my neck and when he muttered ‘chipotle chicken avocado melt,’ he groaned and then bit my shoulder.”

“Dear Jesus.” Monica shakes her head. “Please tell me you bolted after that.”

“Faked a call from Jason. Got up and left.” Unsure if I want to show her but also questioning if I should get an emergency vaccine shot or something, I lean forward over the table and move my shirt to the side, exposing my shoulder. “He left bite marks. Should I be concerned?”

Monica, the good friend that she is, snorts and covers her mouth before leaning forward and examining the bite mark. Chuckling, she shakes her head. “Didn’t break skin, you’re fine.”

Relieved, I lean back in my chair again and push my hand through my hair, tousling it to the side. “Dating sucks.”

“It’s really wretched.”

“What’s even worse is that I’m a twenty-six-year-old divorcee. It doesn’t seem to win me any matches on the dating app.”

“What do you mean, win you matches? Did you put that you’re divorced in your profile?”

“Yeah,” I say cautiously, then watch Monica gear up for another lecture.

“Are you insane? Most people our age don’t even know what marriage is, they’re still stuck dancing with their heads up their asses, a beer in each hand, trying to figure out the meaning of life. Marriage is not a word they speak of. Therefore, you can’t have divorce in your profile. Hello . . . red flag.”

“Enough with the red flags,” I groan. “I’d like to see you try this whole dating thing.”

Holding her chin high, she says, “Thankfully I don’t need to.”

“Yes,” I say quietly. “You’re very lucky.”

Monica’s face falls as the realization of what she said hits her. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“I know, I know,” I say. Monica really has my best interests at heart. “Your relationship with Freddie is inspiring and sweet and when you’re together, it’s really nice watching how much you love each other. I think it was like that with me and Ansel at first, but then something changed.”

“And be glad that you saw that change before things went further between you two.” She leans over and takes her hand in mine. “I know it’s hard, sweetie, and I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your shoes, but—”

“What would you do?” I ask, curious.

“What do you mean?”

“If you were in my shoes, what would you do? And be honest, because we’ve been separated for over eight months now, so the divorce is almost signed and done. I’m about to be free . . . what would you do?”

She runs her tongue over the corner of her mouth and gives her answer some thought, her eyes staying on mine the entire time.

“Honestly?”

I nod. “Honestly.”

“Okay.” She shifts in her chair and crosses one leg over the other. “If I were in your shoes, I’d have fun.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Like, play around with different guys?”

She shakes her head. “No. Please don’t have sex with a bunch of guys, because that’s not who you are. But I wouldn’t be on all those dating apps looking for your next husband. You need to date, enjoy the idea of dating, get to know people, and if you find someone who you think would be worthy of taking your pants off for, let it happen. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself to find the perfect man. You’ve had sex with one guy. Test the waters a little, see what else is out there. Find someone who genuinely makes you smile and then, ask to see his penis.”

I chuckle and twirl my water glass. “That easy, huh?”

“You know what I mean. You need to learn to not be attached. To not think as a married person. Loosen up and allow yourself to meet and enjoy other people.”

“Okay.” I nod. “I can do that.”





Chapter Four





NATALIE





Wine in hand, pajama pants on, bra chucked into the hamper at least two hours ago, I’m enjoying relaxing with one of my recorded Hallmark Christmas movies playing in the background. It’s practically impossible to keep up with all of them in real time so even though it’s after Christmas, I still watch them. I’m a romantic at heart, after all.

I curl up on my couch and open the dating app I’ve found the most success on, and when I say the most success, I mean, I haven’t been sent a multitude of cock pictures, or guys jacking off. I just don’t understand, why does anyone want a boomerang of a stranger’s penis ejaculating on his hairy legs? I will never get that. Are there any women out there who say, yes please, more of that? If so, I’d like to have a frank conversation with them and hear why that’s sexy and a turn-on.