Irresistible Illusion

Dating sucks.

First dates, especially.

It’s either I’m trying to oversell myself in hopes that he may find anything about me interesting enough to ask me out on a second date, or butterflies rage in my abdomen like they had too much caffeine as I overthink every single word he says and every slight touch. Where some people get a dose of adrenaline from the experience, it makes me nauseous, and I’m counting down every second until the torturous event is over, and I’m lying undisturbed in my bed.

So naturally, I tend to avoid the situation as much as I can. And I was doing quite a fine job if I don’t say so myself.

Which leads me to now.

Sitting across a two-person table with the guy my best friend and roommate, Gwen, found on Plenty of Fish. With the profile she made for me without my knowledge, because she feared I was turning into a recluse. And I only agreed because…I feared she might be right.

But now, after sitting here for the past five minutes in awkward silence as Fred hasn’t looked up from his phone the entire time we’ve been here, maybe recluse is the better option.

“So, uh,” I scratched at my temple, trying to remember the rundown Gwen had given me ten minutes prior to the date. “You work in IT. What’s that like?”

He shrugged, his mop of red hair swaying in the movement, “It’s alright.”

Fred didn’t even bother to tear his eyes from his game. I tried not to be nosy about what he thought would be more appealing than a date with me. But curiosity got the better of me, and I leaned slightly forward, trying to catch a view of his screen.

It was Subway Surfers.

Yep, a game meant for middle schoolers was apparently more entertaining than I was. I folded my arms and sank into the wooden chair.

Well, just so you know, Fred Subway Surfers can’t give you an orgasm, but I can.

Not that that was ever on the table. But if it was, it was certainly off now.

My eyes drifted above his shoulders, making eye contact with the couple sitting two tables behind us. The girl with the black coily hair with caramel highlights gave me a big grin and two thumbs up, and I leveled my stare at her.

Of course, we weren’t idiots. First date with a total stranger she catfished online pretending to be me, I wasn’t going to go completely alone. I wanted to unrecluse myself, not get kidnapped.

Eventually, Fred locked his phone and looked at me. So we’re going to have a conversation after–

“I’m going to head to the restroom.” He said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder and getting out of his seat.

Spoke too soon.

Once he left the table, the dumb as shit pressure under my collarbone that squeezed me tighter every second I was on this date, liking to remind me that I had other things I should be prioritizing right now than dating, finally relinquished its grip on me a little bit.

Gwen replaced Fred’s seat in record time, with a dumb-looking grin on her face.

Her raspberry-and-iris petal fragrance from her perfume overtook the peppercorn and sage scent radiating off my date. I took in a long inhale, now that I wasn’t struck in the face of a scent reminiscent of a high school boy’s locker room, which, unfortunately, I know that odor well enough firsthand.

“So, how’s it going?” She cooed.

“How does it look like it’s going?” I deadpanned. I circled my face with my forefinger, “Does this look like the face of someone having a good time?”

She tilted her head to the side, “To be fair, that’s what you normally look like.”

“Jerk,” I said, grabbing one of the plastic jelly containers in the black organizer on the table and throwing it at her, hitting her square in her chest.

She watched it unceremoniously fall onto the black table top from the ricochet and then picked it up between her two forefingers.

“So I’m going to take it that you won’t be using your plus one to your dad’s wedding on him,” Gwen said, rolling the jelly in her hand.

Ah, we get into the true reason of Gwen catfishing people, like me, on the internet. It wasn’t because she feared I was turning into a recluse after all.

I sat up straighter in my chair and pointed at her, “Jacques!”

She waved her hand dismissively at me, “Please, let’s not pretend you didn’t know my MO on this the entire time. I’ve only been bothering you about this for months now.”

That she has. I just didn’t think her bitching and moaning about how this day would be a lot easier on me if I had an ally in it all would turn into her completely blind siding me.

It’s not that I’m not happy for my dad; in fact, I’m thrilled. Jocelynn is fantastic, and I’ve never seen anyone compliment my dad so well as she has. I wouldn’t say that my dad is a sharp man, but he’s definitely rough around the edges. And before Jocelynn, the only person he’s ever shown a soft spot for was me. It was nice to see my dad feel again.

No, Jocelynn wasn’t the issue I had with these upcoming nuptials.

“I have an idea.” I snapped my fingers like I’d just had an epiphany, and not saying the same thing for the hundredth time. “If you’re so insistent that I bring a date to the wedding, why don’t you go with me instead of pushing me onto a date with a random stranger?”

“Because I might stab a bitch if I’m in the same room as Kaylynn. So I’m a liability.” Gwen innocently twirled a curl around her index finger. “And I didn’t force you to do jack.”

“Bullshit,” I scoffed. “You said, and this is a direct quote: ‘Rikki, if you don’t go out with this Fred guy I found on the POF app that I made an account for you on without your knowledge, I’m going to throw your fox-tailed toy thing out the window.’” I glared at her. “And Kurama is limited edition. You left me no choice.”

A coy grin hooked the corner of her mouth. “Well, can you blame me? When my best friend is a martyr, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

My shoulders crept up toward my ears, and my face burned. “I’m not a martyr.”

At least, it’s not what I intend. I just want my dad to be happy. And considering he sacrificed his own happiness because of me for eighteen years, it’s the least I could do to return the favor.

Maybe it’s my tone that softens Gwen’s face.

“Rikki, what else would you call someone who never told her dad he’s marrying the mother of her high school bully?”

I bit my lip. “And say what exactly? ‘Dad, I know she’s your first girlfriend since Mom died, but her oldest daughter is the girl who tortured me so badly all four years of high school, you had to come to the front office once a week and talk me down from my panic attacks. Oh, and she also got the entire boys’ basketball team to nickname me Elephant Legs.”

At the old name, the one it took me a full year to finally shake, I rubbed at my thighs.

Gwen’s eyes narrowed, lips pinching. “I wish I knew you back then. I totally would’ve—”

“Stabbed a bitch, I know.” I cut her off, and we both laughed.

I met Gwen in my freshman year, when we first dormed together. I’ve never been a believer in love at first sight, but then I met Gwen, and suddenly I believed in platonic soulmates at first sight. We were instantly attached at the hip, and I cannot fathom how I made it through the first eighteen years of my life without her.

“Okay, so Plenty of Fish is a no-go. I’ve heard good things about Hinge and Bumble.” Her eyes lit up. “And if all else fails, we can always try Farmer’s Only.”

An image of me pulling hay on a farm appeared in the back of my mind, and I shivered. I was not made for physical labor.

“And waste another night of tips?” I motioned around the room of the sports bar Rising Ashes, where I also happen to work when I’m not on first dates. The only other people in the dining area were Gwen’s girlfriend, Lillian, and another couple in a red booth in the back corner, and there were three other people sitting at the bar. “It’s completely booming here tonight.”

Even though this place was dead, there was truth in what I was saying. I don’t have the schedule for another one of these time-wasting dates where I sacrifice a night of football-season tips at work. I was just lucky today’s Wednesday, and it’s a slow night.

The men’s bathroom door opened, and I groaned. Gwen turned around to my eyesight and shot me a Cheshire cat smile.

“Have fun.”

I flipped her off in response as she slid out of the seat and went back to her girlfriend. When Fred slid back into his chair, he pulled out his phone and continued his mission of Subway Surfers without another word.

Gwen better sleep with one eye open tonight.

The grey double doors leading to the back of the bar opened to my left, catching my attention, and my heart thundered a staccato beat, causing me to suck in a breath between my teeth at the movement.

Black brow rimmed glasses were down to the tip of his nose, and a black smock was tied around his hips over his scarlet polo, which was a little tight around his biceps, was the bar manager Sean. And the butterfly-like feeling I had at the beginning of the date that were long gone by now came back, but they weren’t the nauseous kind.

Sean pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and then ran a hand through his perfectly quiffed black hair. And my eyes followed every single movement, the way they normally do with him.

Now, Sean would definitely be someone I’d invite as my plus-one to my dad’s wedding. Conversation has always flowed so easily with him, as we share many interests, like anime, books, and video games. I could be a complete nerd around him, and he would nerd back at me, probably one of the reasons why I developed a crush on him in the first place.

I mean, just last night we got into a huge debate on Naruto. He said that Naruto and Hinata were the perfect couple, but I had to point out that the only couple in the entire show that had any development in it whatsoever was Naruto and Sakura. Even though we were at complete opposite ends of the argument, a smile never left my face. Neither did the tingling and floating sensation pull behind my ribs.

And I genuinely would ask him to go with me if there weren’t so many hurdles in my way.

Like, well, A. I don’t even know if he likes me like that. B. If he did like me like that, he’s my manager, and if we end like my last relationship did (with me yelling “I don’t ever want to see you again”), then that would make work a tad awkward. And C. I learned a long, long time ago you shouldn’t go mixing romantic feelings with friends–

“No, shit, is that George Mercer?”Fred asked, finally pulling his attention from his phone to look over my shoulder.

Something like a bucket of ice water drenched over my nerves, making my muscles contract, creating a tangled, claustrophobic sensation to flatten me so hard that all the air evaporated from my lungs at the mention of my former childhood best friend’s name. I haven’t seen him since he abruptly ended our friendship freshman year of college. And the way Fred said his name sounded like he was right behind me.

I slowly turned around, and my lungs expanded a bit. George was behind me, but it was a picture of him on ESPN. Although I’m not too sure he’s thrilled about the current photo being shown, as it’s one of him being caught in a compromising position with a woman in a bar.

“Star quarterback for the Denver State Phoenixes, George Mercer, was caught with a prostitute Monday night,” one of the ESPN announcers said, and I couldn’t stop my heart from growing so heavy that it’s threatening to send me to the ground.

I stared at the photo of George on the screen. He was at a club, and from what I could tell, nothing about the image clearly proved the woman was a prostitute. Still, the photo had been taken by someone who clearly knew more than I did. And really, who does something like that in public? If anything, it looked more like public indecency than solicitation.

“This wouldn’t be the first time the QB from the UK has found himself in the middle of a scandal,” the commentator said.

I clamped down on the inside of my lip, forcing myself to stay quiet about that asinine nickname sports media had given George. Somehow, the press had latched onto the fact that he was technically from Wolverhampton, England. Even though I know for a fact that he lists Lexingfield, Colorado, as his hometown. He moved to the US when he was five. He even sounds American now, his accent so watered down it only slips through every few words during interviews.

All he’s ever talked about since we were kids was starting at a Division One school and chasing the Heisman and national championship. He’s on track to achieve all of that this year, but the media would rather talk about his personal scandals. And lately, he’s been giving them a lot to talk about. That stupid moniker wasn’t doing him any favors, either.

“Take a look here,” the announcer said, pointing to a graphic of every controversy George had been involved in since the start of his collegiate career at UCLA.“He failed a routine drug screening, testing positive for marijuana in his freshman year.” Well, to be fair, if he were 21 instead of 19 at the time, he wouldn’t have gotten flagged. “Then we have his sophomore season at Denver State University, fresh out of the transfer portal, and he finds himself publicly intoxicated and underage at a bar.” Yeah, I’ll admit that one is pretty bad, but the bartender should’ve known better. I bet George didn’t even use a fake ID and was just handed alcohol because of who he is. “Then of course there was the massive incident last year where he got arrested for a DUI, pinging over both the legal alcohol limit and THC allowance.”

And now they can add whatever the fuck he found himself involved in. I sure was watching him flush everything he’d worked for down the drain in real time. An ache squeezed in my chest, and I absent-mindedly rubbed at it.

I can’t deal with your clinginess, Rikki. I can’t drop everything and coddle you. George’s words from our last conversation echoed in my head, reminding me why I shouldn’t feel any sympathy toward him.

Even three years later, those words still stung just as badly as they had back then. In the span of two months, I lost my mother and my best friend, causing me to completely spiral.

I stayed in bed for two weeks and nearly flunked my entire first semester. For a long time, I couldn’t find the light. Gwen, being the angel she is, dragged me out of it. She helped me breathe again. Helped me enjoy life without feeling suffocated. I hadn’t spoken to or about him since.

Which is getting increasingly harder by the day, considering that he transferred to my campus two years ago, and I happen to work at a sports bar.

I couldn’t help but shake my head at the screen for his poor decision. That movement actually piqued Fred’s interest in me.

“Do you know him?” He asked.

I turned around to give him my full attention, determined to look at Fred and only Fred as all the TV’s in the bar must be getting the same report at the same time as the photo of George starts to circulate.

“I mean, he probably comes in here a lot to eat, right?” To my dismay, it was like his voice started to pick up the more he talked about George. “My friend saw him at a Frat party last year, and he pounded back like all of the hot dogs and rotel dip. He apparently wouldn’t let go of the tortilla chip bag the entire time he was there.”

I ran my tongue across the fronts of my teeth. If he was eating that much, he must’ve been higher than a kite.

I mentally slapped myself. I shouldn’t still know that about him. Well, not like I could really forget that information, at one point, I knew him better than I did myself. But at the very least, it didn’t have to automatically pop into my head as it did.

My eyes drifted to that photo once more. He sure did resemble the boy I grew up with, the boy I used to tell everything to. But I don’t see that boy anymore. The George Mercer I knew wouldn’t behave like this.

“No,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t know, George Mercer.”

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