Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“It could be worse,” Willow says. “You could be me. I have a fashion degree that couldn’t land me a job to save my life. Now, I’m stuck working for an asshole talent agent who won’t even let me speak to any of the stars.”
I pat her on the shoulder. “With your personality, you’ll land a client at some point. You have to work your way up to it. Look how long it took my dad to give me a managerial position, when Nate and his brother were handed jobs on silver platters because they’re men.”
She purses her lips. “Yeah, good point. I’m making friends with assistants at other agencies, so I can see who’s on the market before agents scoop them up. If I buy them enough lattes and sushi to butter them up, it will pay off someday.” Willow’s eyes fall to the floor and then the bed as she takes in the mess I made. “Anyway, we have to get you dressed for this date. But you sure did a number on this place.”
“I don’t know what to wear.”
“Everything will work out.” She holds up her hands and shrugs. “And if it doesn’t, you can always use Date Crashers.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Date Crashers? No thanks. Nate’s friend from MIT coded that stupid app.”
Willow steers me away from the mirror. I follow her into the walk-in closet and watch as she flips through the hangers.
“Red is your color,” she says with her back turned to me. “I think Kevin will like you in red.”
Willow throws a cranberry-colored dress with lacy cap sleeves at me. I hold it in front of my body to admire its simplistic perfection. The top scoops low enough to show some cleavage and stops a few inches above my knee.
“Wear this one. I have it in black. If Kevin doesn’t want to rip this off you, I can guarantee other men at the restaurant will be happy to take his place.”
I smile at myself in the mirror. “This is perfect.”
Willow opens her palm. “Give me your phone.”
I fish my cell phone from my pocket and hand it to Willow.
“If this date sucks, you have to get out of there.” The keys click as she types. “No more losers. You don’t have time for scrubs.”
“What are you doing? You have a devious look in your eyes. I don’t like it.”
She laughs as she types at a rapid pace. “Making sure you have a way out if this date goes south.”
“I’m not using Date Crashers.”
“This app has saved me so many times. You have no idea.”
I roll my eyes at her. “When have you ever tried online dating?”
“Hello, I use Tinder all the time.”
“But you never go out with any of the guys.”
“That’s because I almost always swipe left. A girl needs standards when it comes to men. The guys on there are so gross. You would be surprised how many guys ask for tit pics.”
“What do you write back?”
“Dick pic?”
I chuckle. “Do they send it?”
She stares at me as if I asked the dumbest question in the world. “Are you kidding me? They can’t wait to send that shit. Especially the hung guys. Let me tell you, girl, the face rarely matches the dick. I need the whole package.”
I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy awesome,” she counters. “So, this is Date Crashers.” Willow comes up to my side and opens the app. “I can’t believe you haven’t used this yet.” She points at the Crash My Date icon on her phone. “If your date sucks, click here. I’m already a member, so don’t worry about entering your personal information. I logged you in under my account. They’ll track your location using the GPS on your phone. Make sure you have your location services turned on. Otherwise, you could be stuck on the date from hell, up shits creek, and without a paddle.”
“We’ve gone out twice before. I doubt I’ll need to use this with Kevin.” I take my phone from her and study the icons. “How is this considered a dating app? They pull people apart instead of bringing them together.”
“Most people meet online now. Not everyone on those sites is who they say they are.” She scrunches her nose and makes a weird face. “You have to be careful of creeps. An app like Date Crashers keeps you from sitting through a shitty dinner with a guy you don’t like.”
“I know Dylan Banks,” I confess. “He coded Date Crashers while he was living in a Hacker Hostel with Nate. Dylan and Nate were thinking about coding a video game kind of like The Sims, but it would focus on breaking up bad dates.”
Willow bends down to retrieve a pair of black pumps from one of the built-in shelves at the bottom of the closet. She slides them in front of me and pushes herself up from the floor.