It didn’t help that his pickup attire was usually a thin white T-shirt that revealed all of his muscles, or that he insisted on wearing this spicy, intoxicating cologne that seemed to draw the onlookers even closer. He also had a perfect, pearly white smile that he flashed to anyone who glanced in his direction.
Completely oblivious to whatever charm he had on people, I hardly ever said more than, “Hello, Dane,” and “Thanks for picking me up.”
I was too preoccupied with my endless string of teenage crushes to ever pay that much attention to him. The main thing I remembered was my Dad always joking, “Dane is a pussy magnet who can have any woman he wants…I can’t believe that I settled for your mother.”
“Is that it, Daniella?” I asked.
“No, there’s one more thing. You also sent a ‘Cut the Shit’ letter to your friend Ryan.”
What? “No, I didn’t.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “I haven’t written him since Monday.”
“That’s because I wrote it,” she said. “You always talk about this guy like he’s one of your best friends, so I was wondering why he’s never offered to meet you in person.”
“We both agreed to keep things online.” I crossed my arms. “What did you say?”
“We’ll discuss it after you finish.” She tapped her watch and smiled a bit wider.
“Will I have any desire to kill you whenever I read it?” I asked.
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “I was super nice in the letter, and I didn’t write anything that you wouldn’t say. I mean, I might’ve sexed it up a tad more than you usually do, but—”
“Give me my phone right now.” I jumped up from my chair and chased her around the balcony like a madwoman. I managed to grab the phone from her hands, and she went down laughing, face-first into a bean bag.
Catching my breath as I leaned against the railing, I opened the message.
Letter Topic: Let’s Cut the Shit.
Dear Ryan,
We’ve been sending letters through this app for way too long, and we have yet to meet in person. (Are you hiding something?)
Since I’m currently single after my last disaster of a breakup. I’m looking for someone new to date—someone I can be with in person and not online.
Please describe yourself so that I can know if you’re worth my time. I’m 5’5 with hazel brown eyes. Long, dark brown and curly hair. I’m also fit and pretty tight down there, if you catch my drift. (I can send you my picture if you send me yours, but take my best friend’s word for it: I’m super sexy and quite the catch.)
Lightning round:
Have you ever committed a felony?
Are you planning to ask me for any money down the line?
Do you want to continue just talking to me online?
Tell me these things now.
Bella
OH. MY. GOD…
I looked over at Daniella as she rolled onto the floor laughing, and debated whether this was worthy of a strangle or first-degree murder.
I started typing a new letter to Ryan—letting him know that these weren’t my words, but before I could finish typing it, he sent me a response.
Letter Topic: Re: Let’s Cut the Shit.
Dear Bella,
The beauty of this app is that it’s implied that we don’t want to meet. We’ve also discussed this on a number of occasions, and we’ve both agreed that our friendship is better left digital. (No. I have nothing to hide.)
I do know that you’re single, and I’m sure that you can easily find a new boyfriend on Tinder—the same place where you found your last three.
I don’t need to know what you look like to send you letters, but good to know that your pussy is “tight.” Then again, since you asked: I’m 6’5’ with blue eyes. I work out every day for at least three hours if you catch my drift.
You don’t need to send me your picture, as I won’t send you mine. I’ll take your best friend’s word for it, and you can take my employees’ secret ‘Sexiest Man in the Office’ poll for the word as to what I look like.
No, I’ve never committed a felony, and I would never need to ask anyone for any money. Trust me.
Yes, I would like to keep ‘just talking’ to you. That’s our original agreement, and it will always remain that way.
I take it that Daniella wrote this letter while she had your phone at her gallery today?
Write me back whenever she returns it.
Ryan
PS—I refuse to believe that we share the same definition of “fit” since you’ve never once mentioned working out a gym… So, even if your pussy is tight, I doubt your stamina is anywhere near as high as mine.
PSS—It’s almost the end of another week, and your book still isn’t published…
I set down my phone and decided that strangling her was the best option.