2 Years Later
You're cursed. Always have been. You cross that threshold into Ash Court, and you'll fall into an endless sleep during which the blood of fae will spill for eternity.
Guen
"He's definitely watching your ass," Nickie whispers in my ear, glancing over her shoulder at the line of guys by the bar. "I bet he ends up being your date."
I exhale loudly. "Why did I let you talk me into a blind date? I suck at talking to strangers. My tongue does that thing where it swells to twice its size and I drool."
"Flimflam. You just need to find the right guy. There are guys who love droolers." She pokes her tongue out at me.
What sucks the most is that I think she's right. About finding the right guy part, not the drool—loving thing. Find the perfect match, and everything will come together, right? Except I'm not sure I believe in the whole fairytale ending, the prince coming for me, and me discovering I'm perfect just as I am. Maybe some people are just not meant to find their mates or live happily ever after.
Someone clears her voice from somewhere behind me. I turn to the organizer. She's in a short skirt and tank top, standing near the doorway to this small private room next to the bar. "Ladies, please take your seats. We'll begin in one minute." Her voice is stern, and I can tell this isn't her first rodeo.
Nickie nudges me in the back toward one of ten two—seater tables set up around the room. "It's show time."
"By the way, you sound like a granny saying flimflam. Just letting you know as a friend." I smirk at her and poke my tongue out this time. I love my best friend, even when she's being super pushy. Except, she's radiating excitement from getting me on this blind date, and as much as I hate to admit it, the energy is contagious. What if I meet a decent guy? What if I find myself easily tossing out smiles that demand attention? I've watched guys fall prey to Nickie's flirting, so tonight might be a good time to try it out myself.
"I'm on a no—swearing diet," she admits, which is news to me since she was swearing like a sailor this morning. She pulls down on her tight red skirt that inches up her thighs, though she can wear a hessian sack and she'll still attract attention. She has a blue band around her wrist just like I do… this bar allows those under twenty—one to enter as long as we wear bright bands so no alcohol is sold to us.
Nickie has that girl—next—door beauty where she barely wears makeup, and yet, has unblemished skin, lips that are naturally pouty, and stunning red curls I might kill for. Me… I have to work to look half as good as her, but what I adore about her is that when we're together, she's down—to—earth and she doesn't judge me.
"Plus, Jack loves when I talk like this in the bedroom." She winks.
"Ew, I don't want to know. But for real, what the hell am I meant to say to my date? Talk about the weather? Ask what he does for a job? God, I'm already bored." And I'm talking too much, a sure sign of nerves, not to mention my hands are sweaty. I can't shake anyone's hand now. I rub them down my black dress. It's simple with spaghetti straps, and the best part, the shape gives me a cinched—in waist. Brings out my slightly curvy bust and hips that hide in most clothes.
"You look hot in that dress by the way, the black really makes your pale skin pop. Like one of those porcelain dolls."
"Is that a compliment?"
She scrunches her face and shakes her head at me. "Of course it is. Have you not seen the latest in fashion? Tans are no longer in style." Her eyes dart around the room. "Now, when the lucky man arrives, just chat to him normally like you're at college."
"I can't even do that." I start to walk away because this isn't going to work, and I made a mistake agreeing to this in the first place.
Nickie tugs my arm and pivots me back to my seat, to the table with a big number seven painted on a piece of paper.
That's what I've been reduced to. Specimen seven for a random guy to come and try out, as if this were an ice cream sampling booth.
"It's just a blind date, and it's being done as a group so everyone feels more comfortable, so you don't need to be nervous. Sugar knows, with all those strange dreams about kingdoms and princes you keep having, you need to get laid by a real guy."
"I do get action!" I whisper a bit too loudly, gaining the attention of a cute redhead girl two tables away, who winks at me. But Nickie's words hurt because I confided in her about the dreams that have been plaguing me my whole life. Dreams that I swore were real two years ago… Dreams I can barely remember anymore.
"I've seen all my potential dates somewhere at the bar, and none—"
"Gah! Just sit your ass down and stop overthinking this." Nickie flips open her tiny silver purse and pulls out a small piece of folded paper. "I made you something to help if you get stuck, because I knew you'd freak out." She leans in close and presses the note into my hand. "I pray your date is that fine glass of whiskey in the pin—striped suit. Did you see the size of his feet? Always look at a man's feet for everything you need to know. His shoes tell you how wealthy he is, how much he takes care of those close to him by the state of his shoes, and how loud he'll make you scream in the bedroom."
"If this goes wrong, I'm blaming you."
"Have fun," she murmurs before strolling across the room toward the door that leads into the main bar area, while the desperate and lonely remain gathered in this room. Balloons decorate the corners, obscuring lights covered in a red fabric, tainting everything in a reddish hue.
I feel stupid and uncomfortable and—
"Let's begin." The organizer draws the glass door shut to our room, closing out the chatter from the bar, and all I see is Nickie pressing her face to the glass, pulling a face at me.
I flip her the finger, and she laughs before vanishing into the crowd in the other room.
