Dating Games(3)

“I’ve got to get back to the office,” he says after stealing a glimpse at his watch. “I’ll see you...” He stops short of saying anything more than that. Then he turns from me, everything about his stride confident, as if he didn’t just end a twelve-year relationship.





Chapter Two





Heart pounding and fists clenching, I burst through the doors of a bar a few blocks from Columbus Circle, finding Chloe and Nora sitting at the bar, a martini in front of each of them. They’re about to take a sip when I plop into the empty chair to Chloe’s left.

“I need tequila.” I wave down the bartender, Aiden, ignoring the inquisitive stares coming from the two women who’ve become my best friends since I uprooted my life and moved to New York for Trevor. And for what? For him to break up with me because I may not be as stuffy as the other wives and girlfriends of the people he works with?

“The usual?” Aiden’s brows furrow as he assesses my appearance. There’s a benefit to being a regular at your weekly happy hour watering hole. However, right now, that benefit allows Aiden to realize something’s off. I’m not sure how to explain the events of the past hour. It still seems surreal, like I’ll wake up and all of this will be a nightmare.

“Yes. And a shot of tequila.”

He eyes me skeptically at first, then fills my order, placing my manhattan in front of me, followed by the shot glass filled with a clear liquid. Thankfully, he remembers I like the silver stuff best.

Without offering a single word of explanation, I grab the shot and raise it, meeting Chloe’s and Nora’s confused expressions. They should be confused. I’m supposed to be out celebrating my engagement to my fiancé, possibly drinking ridiculously expensive Champagne in a suite at the Ritz he booked for the occasion. Instead, I’m sitting at the bar I go to every Thursday night, trying to reconcile the drastic turn my life’s taken.

“Here’s to wasting nearly twelve years on a man who no longer wants to be with me because I’m not serious enough.” Rolling my eyes, I down the liquid, grimacing as it burns my throat. I bang the glass back onto the bar, asking Aiden for another shot. The only thing that will make tonight better in comparison is waking up tomorrow with a hangover that will leave me cursing the gods who invented alcohol.

“He broke up with you?” Chloe asks, aghast, her nose scrunched up in repulsion. She always insisted I was too good for him, that I deserved someone who would pay me more attention. I argued that Trevor paid attention to me, but he was incredibly career driven, as am I. Apparently not enough to satisfy his high standards, though.

“Happy fucking birthday to me!” I lift my next shot, throwing it back, this one burning a little less.

“Why?” Nora inquires.

I face my two friends, offering them a tight smile as I smooth my frazzled red hair.

They’re both relatively composed compared to me. Chloe’s medium-length, gray and lilac ombre-colored locks still hold the perfect beach wave, her makeup freshly applied. There isn’t a single wrinkle on her black pencil skirt or silk blouse, despite having worn it all day at work. And Nora… Well, I’m convinced she was born in the wrong decade. Her perfectly coifed shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair and doe-eyed expression make her look like a housewife from the 1950s.

I met Chloe when I started working at the magazine several years ago. Her cubicle is next to mine, and we became fast friends. She’s the go-to on all things involving every celebrity out there. Hell, I haven’t even heard of some of the people I hear her discussing. Nora was her college roommate who now runs a yoga studio in the Village.

“I guess I’m not serious enough for him.” I roll my eyes.

“What do you mean?” Chloe presses, her lips formed into a tight line.

“Start at the beginning,” Nora adds. “I want to know everything.”

The last thing I want is to rehash what just happened. I’m surprised I made it out of that sushi restaurant without having a complete breakdown. There’s no telling how much longer I’ll be able to keep it together. At least I’m in a place with an endless supply of alcohol.

“When I got there, he was sitting at a table in the corner. His legs were bouncing as he chewed on his nails. I thought he was nervous about popping the question. I guess the first clue should have been when I leaned in to kiss him and he turned so I kissed his cheek instead.”

“He did not!” With wide eyes, Nora slams her hands on the bar, drawing the attention of several people.

“He’s working on a huge case and the trial starts next week. I figured he might be worried about getting sick. I didn’t even think twice about it. He always turns into a germaphobe right before trial. When I sat down, he was still visibly anxious, which was absolutely adorable. I mean, he was about to propose. At least that’s what I thought.” I take another long sip of my manhattan, the effects of the alcohol loosening my lips.

“Then he grabbed my hand and toyed with my ring finger. Or maybe I imagined he did because, in retrospect, there’s no way he’d do that. It doesn’t make sense. Anyway, he went on and on about how he’d been thinking about doing this for a while but didn’t know how I’d react, blah blah blah. I mean, the entire lead-up…the way he held my hand, the way he was so excitable, the way he made it sound like this was a monumental time in our relationship…made me think this was it. He was finally going to pop the question.”