“Sam, we’re going,” I call out.
“Already?” he whines, not even glancing up from the game he and Jeremy are playing.
A short while later I spot Grant smiling at two very young and very beautiful girls. He’s busy signing something for them. The creepy smiles they return tell me it’s not the signature they want. Who knows, maybe they’ll get lucky tonight. Maybe all three of them will. The thought turns my stomach.
“Come on,” I tell Sam. “Grant looks like he wants to stay.”
Half an hour later there’s a soft knock on my bedroom door. Why do I feel relief? Because clearly I’m an idiot. That’s why. With my lights off, I pretend I’m asleep.
Technically, to those girls who appeared no older that twenty-four, I am the old chick with the kid. Everything is relative.
And Grant is attractive. Okay, hot. He’s a very sexy, famous, wealthy man. With no divorce and no kids. So no baggage. Basically, he’s the perfect man. He could have anybody he wants. Anybody.
I need to stop thinking about him––like yesterday.
“Amanda,” I hear him murmur. The knob rattles. I locked my bedroom door for the first time in years. The sound of feet walking away follows a short time later.
“How do people date now?” I ask Dev, pinning my iPhone to my shoulder while I close the curtains. She should know, she dates like it’s a competitive sport. Mostly because she’s trying to crowd out the memory of her escape from the altar but you didn’t hear it from me. “I mean how do people meet without someone winding up in a dog crate in some random basement.”
It’s close to midnight and Hendricks’ curtains are open, the lights on. For a brief moment I wonder if he’s talking to honey. Is he smiling and laughing? Does he tell her he loves her? Does he jerk off thinking about her every night? The thought makes me instantly hot and irritable so I shake it off.
“Through social media. You’re such a goober. Did you open an Instagram account like I told you to?”
“Why, so my brothers can see what I’m having for lunch? I barely make a contribution to our business account, I don’t need a personal one.”
“Correction, you make no contribution to our business account.”
Sigh. She’s right. Along the way, the world decided to go digital and forgot to send me the alert. “I’ll be better about that. I promise. I’ve been taking some pictures around town.”
“And everyone has a safe word,” she continues.
“Everyone? Even if you’re not into BDSM?”
“Everyone.”
“You have a safe word?” I make no bones about my skepticism. “C’mon.”
“Of course, I do.”
“You do?” I practically shout. This is troubling. “ How come you never told me?”
“Because every time I mention dating you look like you’re going to vomit.”
She may have a point. “Fine. What’s your safe word?”
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to use the same one.”
She sounds so serious it makes me laugh. “I’ve got news for you. I’m not dating anyone that requires me to have a safe word. And if it turns out that I do, then my safe word is 911. So––what is it?”
A heavy sigh comes through the phone. “Keanu Reeves.”
I can’t say I’m surprised. Dev has a tendency for drama. She got that from her mother who used to be a famous Bollywood actress. She inherited her tenacity from her father, a big Hollywood producer and a total prick.
He once told her that she wouldn’t amount to much because she lacked “follow-through.” Dev followed through on her threat to make his life a living hell when she secretly dumped a canister full of fleas under the covers of his bed. He had an important meeting the next morning with the chairman of a studio and had to go covered head to toe in fleabites.
“Your safe word is Keanu Reeves?”
“Yup.”
“Why would your safe word be Keanu Reeves?”
“Because––if I’m spooked enough to be calling out my safe word, it means it’s never going to happen. Same with the chance I’ll ever get to sleep with Keanu Reeves.”
“I don’t know what’s more disturbing––your answer, or that it makes perfect sense to me.”
“Why the twenty questions?”
It’s time to grow a vagina and tell her about the date. The day after the Fourth of July this old chick got asked out on a date. Steven came over while I was making breakfast and asked me out with Hendricks watching us as if he were mentally vivisecting the poor man.
Pulling the covers up to my nose, I mutter, “I got asked out on a date and I said yes.”
She’s going to make this into a much bigger deal than it needs to be. Heavy silence is followed shortly after by an eardrum-busting shriek. “Eeek!! I’m so excited for you! What happened?”
“Ronan’s engaged and Hendricks has a honey. If those two can manage to have a social life, I figured I should probably give it a shot.”