GENRE: Adult women's fiction
My eyes have special powers. They see things others can’t. My eyes, with the help of a few margaritas, can turn a hobbit into a Hemsworth brother. It’s a talent curated by inebriation and fermented by cheap booze. However impressive, it’s a fruitless gift, which to date has produced nothing more than a series of bad decisions.
Morning light streams through the dusty plastic blinds. I glance at the face occupying the pillow to my left and sigh. Ben the banker, last night’s date, has hit his expiration. His snores and my sobriety have stripped him of his swagger. At midnight, he was a dead ringer for his profile picture. Now, he’s morphed back into a distant—less attractive—relative of that man.
I slip out of the unfamiliar bed, reassured by the fact I’m still wearing my bra and panties, and begin the scavenger hunt for my scattered belongings and whatever memories I can collect from last night.
I grab my phone from the borrowed charger. How is it already six? I have to be at Capitol Hill by seven.
Where’s my other shoe? I kneel to search under the nightstand. Please God, don’t make me hobble out of here on one wedge. I pause and lift my eyes to the ceiling. Sorry, God. I know helping promiscuous girls isn’t exactly your forte. But just this once? There’s no room for mistakes today.