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BRIT LEFT HER SISTER hanging for more details right up until Brit was leaving her apartment to get to her date. She had spent an hour trying different clothes on, throwing things on the bed. She didn’t want to come across too desperate, not that she felt desperate in the least. But she didn’t want to look desperate either. She also didn’t want to come off too conservative or boring. Cute. Cute was the right adjective for a first date, she thought.
With the word cute in mind, Brit zeroed in on the meager pink section of her closet. It was girlier than her normal aesthetic, but her normal aesthetic was also kind of tough and intimidating. Sometimes if she really wanted to test a guy, she’d wear her clip-on nose ring that went between her nostrils.
In fact, it was a test she had tried the first time her father introduced her to Cord. She distinctly remembered Cord simply saying, “Nice nose ring.” Just that, with no sarcasm in his voice at all. Honest, direct, like he really meant it. His simple three words were going through her head when Brit was deciding whether she wanted to test this guy or not. She didn’t want to deal with it tonight if the guy didn’t have the right answer though. She didn’t want to deal with the sarcastic, “Nice nose ring.”
As she tapped her phone to find her sister’s number, Brit hummed J.J. Mack’s song she heard the other day. She didn’t bother hitting Call until she was in her car and out of her enclosed underground parking garage because she knew she didn’t get the best cell reception there.
“It’s about time!” her sister yelled into the phone.
“Well, hello to you, too.”
“Britnee Angelina Byers. I thought you were trapped in some creepy ex-frat-bro’s house or something, bound and gagged.”
“OK, Mom. Settle down.”
Barbara just groaned. Brit knew why. The truth would’ve been too painful. Their mom didn’t want harm to come to her daughters, but she was never around to prevent it either. Brit had fended for herself for a long time.
“So what happened?”
Brit relayed what she remembered, filling in the details of what Daisy had told her too.
“Brit, I am so sorry. Are you going to press charges?”
“No, I don’t know who did it, and besides, our vodka rep pulled me away before any real harm was done. I just want to put it behind me.”
“You should at least report it to the club, so they can watch for it in the future.”
“Barbie.”
“What?”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“Sure it will. I’m going to suggest it to Lander. He’s DJed there quite a bit in the past. He’s got some pull. He can tell them to shove any further DJing gigs up their rear ends if they don’t come down on the right side of this issue.”
“That’s never going to happen—they won’t do anything to upset the vibe. All they’ll do is show Lander the door and tell him not to let it hit him where the good Lord split him. That club is a big deal. Do you know how many A-listers turn up there? And that vodka rep guy was still all worried that people would want to take my picture.”
“You are a socialite.”
“Hardly. I’ve been interviewed on a few blogs before, and I have a famous father. Whatever.”
“What are you up to today?” Barbara asked, changing the subject.
Brit checked the rear-view mirror and flipped on her turn signal. She couldn’t remember exactly where the cafe was that they were meeting.
“I’m headed to a date right now.”
“A date! Tell me, tell me, tell me! Where’d you meet this guy?”
“On Slammer.”
“Is that some bar I don’t know about?”
“Jeez, Barbara. You’re not that old. It’s a dating app.”
“Oh wait, I did hear about that one. I heard about it on the news, I think. That’s not a dating app. That’s a hookup app. Not that I’m judging. You do whatever, or whomever, little sis. Just be careful.”
“Pump your brakes.” Brit subconsciously pumped the brakes in her own car as she whizzed through a green light, squinting at the street sign as she passed. “By the way, remind me to get my eyes checked again. I think I need new contacts.”
“Stay on subject. So this hookup guy.”
“Not a hookup. We’re meeting at a cafe, not a sleazy bar or anything. I’m going to get one 900-calorie drink and then split.”
“So what’s he like? Can you text me a picture? No, wait, you’re driving. Text me one when you stop.”
“He seems pretty chill and preppy from what his profile says, but he looks moody and artsy in his picture. Black turtleneck sweater, clasped hands, and everything.”
Barbara grunted in disapproval. “Who does the guy think he is, Steve Jobs?”
“Kind of, but think of a dangerous Steve Jobs with black hair and without glasses.”
“You have a very weird taste in guys. Eclectic. I’ll be positive and call it eclectic.”
“I’m pretty sure you said you couldn’t see yourself with a black guy, and poof. There you are, living in sin with a black guy.”
“Well, little sis. You know what they say. When you go black, you’ll never go back.”
“OK, gross. I gotta go. I should probably concentrate on the road so I can find this place sometime before my date up and leaves.”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay put. However this goes tonight, remember, Brit, you’re a total babe and a major catch. He should kiss the ground and thank whoever he prays to that you even accepted this date.”
“Laying it on a little thick there, Barbie.”
“I’m not saying anything that’s not true. Have fun, Brit. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That rules out just about everything. Love ya, mean it.”
Brit tossed her phone back into her purse and focused all her attention on the road again. She considered pulling up GPS to try to find this place, but she knew she’d been there before. It was a point of pride with her to be able to find anything in Toronto if she drove around long enough. These streets were home to her, and her memory of them wouldn’t let her down.
She hadn’t spent her whole life in Toronto. Just all the best parts. For a while, she and Barbara lived in Amsterdam. Her parents met in L.A. before she was born when her dad was doing a show, and her mom was meeting some high-profile clients of hers. Her clients had wined and dined her and took her to a concert, where Brit’s dad was playing. Of course, they went backstage, and the rest was history. Well, nine months later, to no one’s surprise except Brit’s dear parents, they brought a baby into the world—Barbara.
Brit was almost ten minutes late in meeting her date, and a lap around the cafe left Brit with a rock in her stomach. She had either been stood up, or this guy was a catfish, pretending to be someone else online. There was an old man in the corner who could easily be her grandpa and two college-age-looking people, a girl and a guy, tapping away at their laptops. And it looked like a book club of some sort was meeting with five women clustered around a small table that should probably only fit two people.
Should she wait for her date to arrive before ordering? Was this really a date? The guy didn’t pick her up or anything. She didn’t know what he did for a living. Maybe she should offer to pay. On the other hand, maybe that would be emasculating to him. She didn’t mind paying, but she wanted him to at least have the chivalry to offer.
The door jingled lightly, and a man in a black shirt stepped in, flattening the collar of his jean jacket so that it was no longer standing up on end. This guy didn’t look like the moody artist that had contacted Brit on the app. He didn’t seem like the ambitious entrepreneur described on his profile. It’s not that he wasn’t OK looking, per se, but he wasn’t the guy in the profile picture. Or, he hadn’t been that guy for at least five years. She averted her eyes and waited for him to come to her.
“Britnee?” the guy asked, sticking a hand out.
Brit cringed. It was him. She politely shook his hand anyway. “Brit actually.”
“OK, Brit Actually, can I get you something to drink?”
Oh good, he came with dad jokes, too.
Brit could’ve died right on the spot when this dude—he hadn’t even introduced himself yet—pulled out his Velcro wallet. She ordered something she knew she could drink fast—a hot chocolate—and stepped back to await whatever genius order this guy was going to bestow upon the awaiting barista.
“I’ll have a venti—”
She couldn’t handle this. They weren’t at a Starbucks. In fact, he had picked the place, saying that he did lots of business here. He should darn well know he’s not at a Starbucks.
“A venti Americano with extra foam and a Splenda.”
Fighting the urge to slap her head, Brit rubbed her elbow instead, protecting herself and everyone around her from a scene erupting. It wasn’t a big deal. It’s just a drink order. Never mind the fact that this guy was nearly bald, unlike his picture, and also at least thirty pounds heavier. He looked mid-twenties in his pictures, too, but this guy in front of her was easily over thirty. Not that she minded thirty-year-olds. Lander was in his thirties, and she thought Cord was teetering around the big 3-0 mark, but neither of them tried to play it off as if they weren’t. Neither of them would have the audacity to rein in cute, young girls with their deep-thinking senior picture on a dating website.
As she stood there and thought of it, she grew more and more angry. The woodland creature on the bag of coffee next to her looked inquisitively at her with its cartoon eyes, waiting for her to snap.
She took a deep breath that came out like a sigh and opened her mouth to be proactive about the situation when the dude turned around.
“Come here often?”
This time, Brit couldn’t help rolling her eyes. She didn’t try to stop herself.
“I know, that was cheesy. I get a little nervous around pretty girls.”
The comment was nice enough, but this guy would have to bring a lot more than flattery if he wanted to win over Brit at this point. She was fine with the bald. She was fine with the weight and his age. But what was with the deception? Why the cover-up? She opened her mouth to accuse him of something when the barista called her name to pick up her drink.
She took it, and the cup warmed her hand. She wrapped both palms around it and wondered how tightly she could squeeze before the lid popped off and sent warm brown liquid all over the floor.
The guy eyed her uneasily. He must’ve caught onto the fact that she was disappointed. How could he not catch onto it? He didn’t look a thing like his picture. Brit waited until he got his drink, then trudged after him as he selected a table in a far corner. The glass door called out to Brit, welcoming her to bolt at any time. But she persevered. She at least wanted to get some answers from this guy first.
“So Brit, what do you do for a living?”
Brit dreaded this question, but she knew it would come up. She had a rich daddy, so she did nothing? How was she supposed to broach this question? Not that it mattered. It’s not like she wanted to impress this guy at all. “I work at the family business,” she said vaguely. “And you?”
He took a sip of his artificial-sugar Americano, and Brit took the opportunity to add, “By the way, I didn’t get your name. I don’t think you said it in any of your messages.”
“I didn’t? Weird. I’m Pip Roslin.” He held out his hand over the table.
“I’m sorry, Pup?”
They had already done this, but Brit pinched the end of his fingers while he enthusiastically shook them. She wasn’t going to give her own last name up so easily.
“Pip, not Pup. It’s a nickname.”
Was that better or worse? “What do you do, Pip?”
“I’m an accountant.”
Hmm, same background as Cord.
“I wouldn’t have guessed that from your profile.”
“What do I look like?”
“An artist. A philosopher. Someone who thinks deep thoughts and takes himself very seriously.”
It was a joke, but Pip didn’t seem to get the memo that he was supposed to laugh. Brit squeezed her hands around the cardboard cup again, daring it to burst open.
“You’re right about the last part. Accounting is serious business. I’m going for partner in my accounting firm. Been there for ten years. Raking in the dough. Just raking it in. You might not think accountants make bank, but this place pays out. And I’m a saver, not a spender. Good with money. Do you date much?”
Brit shook her head, and Pip took this as a sign that he was supposed to continue.
“Dating in this town is hard. In my town where I grew up, everyone knew everyone else. I loved that. You knew what you were getting. Here, people can be whoever they want. This town is fake. You mind if I get some food?”
Brit bristled at the insult to Toronto, one she didn’t believe was warranted in the least. She made an audible single “ha” when he said the word “fake.” Hypocritical much?
“I know, right? It is funny. I’ll be right back.”
Instead of coming back to the table to wait for his food, he stood at the counter chatting up the barista. She handed him his sandwich, and upon returning to the table, he chomped a hefty bite of bread and ham off the corner before continuing...with his mouth full and a glob of mustard at the corner of his lips. Brit could do little more than watch in disgust as the mustard moved with every word of his rant.
“I can’t go back home though because all the girls know my situation. They know I’m doing well, so they’d want to trick me into marrying them to be in a comfortable situation, you know? Some girls are like that. I’m sure not you. You look like you have plenty of resources. I like that top by the way.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and pointed it in her direction.
Damn. The little cleavage she had decided to show was too much, and now he was peeking at it right before her eyes. She blurted, “How old are you?”
Pip’s left eyebrow went up like he wasn’t expecting something that forward to come from this city girl. He wasn’t in the sticks anymore.
“I mean, your profile has an age range, so I didn’t know for sure.”
“How old are you?”
Brit bit down on the back of her jaw, but answered smoothly. “You come from a small town. You should know it’s not polite to ask a lady her age. Besides, I asked first.”
“Twenty-nine.”
Bull. Shit.
“And I won’t even ask you your age. You’re pretty and you’re spunky. Your age doesn’t matter. I like you.”
Jeez. How could he possibly know if he liked her? Might as well go all in.
“I’m curious, where was your picture taken? High school?”
“Oh that. You probably noticed that was kind of an old one.”
Kind of, you say?
“That was from shortly after college. My girlfriend at the time was taking a photography class. That’s my favorite picture of me.”
“You almost don’t look like the same person.”
“I believe you had black hair in your picture,” Pip pointed out, not accusingly, but like they were trying to recall facts they knew about each other from online. Which were minimal and pretty much limited to appearances from a tiny JPEG.
But at least she had hair.
“I like to change it up. What do you think of the pink?” She set him up for a compliment. This was the last chance she was giving him.
“The girls I date usually have a more natural look.”
And scene. Brit checked her phone. “Oh no, my sister needs me. I gotta go.”
“What? Now?”
“She slipped in the shower, and her fiancé isn’t home. She thinks she might have broken something. I really...I might have to take her to the hospital.”
“Do you need some help?”
“Getting my naked sister with her natural-colored hair out of the shower? Nope, I’m pretty sure I have that covered. And her fiancé is a big black guy with a bad attitude, so don’t bother following me.” Brit smiled at the last part to show him it wasn’t a threat. Hell, it wasn’t even true. Lander was as chill as they came.
“Ha, OK, good luck. Hey, can I get a hug?”
Brit went to throw her jacket over her shoulder, but she stopped and curled her lip in disgust. She leaned her torso toward Pip and rested one of her hands on his back. When they broke apart, he went in for a kiss, but Brit jerked her head away in time.
“Ah, just like hugging my grandma,” he said. “I know what that means.”
So that’s what it took to make him get the picture.
“Thanks for the hot chocolate.” Brit waved and finished putting her arms in the sleeves of her jacket.
“This is it, I’m guessing?”
“Yup.”
Safely outside of the cafe, she texted Barbara.
BRIT: If anyone named Pip asks, you fell in the shower, and I had to rescue you.
BARBIE-DOLL: Oh Britnee.