London has been out with the same guy at least half a dozen times, even with our busy schedule. Harley is exceptionally picky when it comes to men, so she’s turned down more than a dozen prospective dates already.
I try to shove my phone in my pocket before London can see, but she nabs it out of my hand and reads the preview.
“You have a date? You’re supposed to share that information!”
“I’m still on the fence as to whether or not I want to go. It’s tomorrow night and I should be here for the dinner party. Besides, this guy seems way too enthusiastic about drinks.” I’m not a huge fan of being dependent on anyone but myself for my own happiness, so usually any dating I do tends to be casual, and Brock’s exclamation point–laden messages seem like a red flag.
“Enthusiasm is usually a good thing, and we can handle the dinner party.” London holds the phone in front of my face to unlock it and spins away before I can snatch it back. She clicks on the message and pulls up his profile. “Oh wow! This guy is ridiculously hot!” She fans her face dramatically as she scrolls and reads aloud, “Brock Stone? He sounds like a porn star.” Instead of handing my phone back, she tosses it behind me to Harley, who, despite being short and not super athletic, catches it.
“Ooh! Six-two, brown hair, green eyes, loves sports. And he’s smokin’ hot!” Harley keeps scrolling through his profile. “Played varsity rugby? This one’s a winner. London and I will definitely be able to handle the dinner event tomorrow night. This guy is too pretty not to go out with.”
“Are you sure? I can reschedule. I don’t know what I was thinking planning drinks on a Saturday night. I’ll tell him we’ll have to do it another time.” I try to grab my phone from Harley, but she hides it behind her back.
“You will not! You have been all about Spark House twenty-four seven, and you need to take time for yourself. Even if it’s just a couple of hours. You are going for drinks, and if it turns into dinner, you are going to stay and enjoy yourself and not worry. We can totally handle dinner with these guys.” She motions to the field.
“I agree you have to go. When was the last time you went on a date?” London asks.
“I dunno, a while.” Like several months.
“Exactly. You need to go out for drinks. With a hot rugby player,” Harley says.
“It’ll probably only be a couple of hours, and I’ll stop here before I go home. That way I can help with end of the night cleanup.”
“Seriously, we’ll be fine, but I know you’re going to show up anyway because you can’t help yourself.” She passes my phone back. “Message him back and tell him you’re excited.”
“You scheduled some pre-date pampering for tomorrow, right?” London grabs my hands and makes a face at my nails, which are not in the best shape. London is always impeccably put together. She sees her hairstylist every six weeks, goes for bimonthly manicures, and gets her eyebrows waxed, among other parts. If I remember to shave my legs once a week, it’s a miracle. Harley falls somewhere in the middle.
“Uh…”
“Oh, come on, Avery, when was the last time you plucked your eyebrows?” She gives the hairs on the right one a little tug, and I bat her hand away. “You’ve been hanging around with bachelor jocks for way too long. Do you even have a dress picked out?” She slashes a hand through the air. “You know what, don’t say a word, I already know the answer.”
I figure drinks at a sports bar call for jeans and a T-shirt, but apparently my more refined, hipper younger sister does not agree. Within ten minutes, I have a waxing appointment and a mani-pedi scheduled for this evening. “I’ll bring dresses tomorrow. If he’s taking you out for dinner, you need to look like you’re dessert.”
“It’s drinks. Not dinner,” I protest.
“Drinks are always subject to change.” Arguing with London will get me nowhere. Besides, my wardrobe consists mostly of workout gear and exactly five pairs of dress pants, two pairs of heels, and the Spark House shirts we had designed to circumvent my having to actually shop for girly clothes.
London always looks professional, as does Harley in her slightly more casual, funky way. I tend to dress for comfort since I’m the one who plans all the physical and group activities, many of which take place outdoors. Wearing heels, dress pants, and blouses is certainly not conducive to hobbyhorse rail jumping. And yes, I’ve run one of the courses. Hobbyhorse and all. It’s harder than it looks.
“I’ll accept the offer for dresses, but I cannot promise I’ll wear any of them.” She’s going to bring them to work tomorrow anyway, so saying no is pointless.