LAYLA
"Well, that sucked giant balls." I close the door with a little more force than necessary, relieved to be back home in my apartment. The television's on in the living room and it looks like my housemate's been watching one of her serial killer documentaries to wind down before bed. "Millie!" I call out. "Where are you?"
"Bathroom!" she yells back. "There in a sec."
I slip off my black stilettos and rest my hand against the wall, lifting my foot to massage my tortured toes. At twenty-five, I think I've just worn my last pair of heels--and I'm ninety-nine percent sure I'm done with dating apps, too.
I rub my other foot and straighten, wondering why I keep putting myself through this crap. I've just wasted two precious hours listening to a man go on and on about his psycho exes and how women are all the same and you can't trust a single one of them, you know? News flash, buddy: if all your exes are psychos, you either made them that way or you have a type.
Oh shit. Awareness speeds through me, and I stiffen in realisation. Does that mean I have a type? Am I attracting these men... or am I actively seeking them out? I don't know which answer's worse. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. Dammit. Maybe I'm the problem here.
"Oh, Layla. What happened?"
I open my eyes to find Millie standing in the hallway. She's a willowy blonde goddess with blue eyes and a sweet personality, all wrapped up in a pair of short, pink pyjamas. Millie's had her share of dating disasters too, but with a new girlfriend in her life who appears as if she might be a permanent presence, my best friend is disgustingly loved up and off the market.
"Another dud. All he did was talk about women--many, many women--and he got himself so worked up he sounded unhinged." I push off the wall and nudge my discarded shoes to the side. "Sometimes I wish I could be into women, but you're beautiful and when I look at you, my vagina does nothing. Not even a twinge. It's dead down there."
Millie smiles and returns to the oversized corner couch, patting the spot beside her in invitation. "Come sit with me."
I yank down the hem of my stupid, suffocating dress and cross the room, sinking onto the couch with a sigh. "Maybe I should forget about men for a while and work on being happy alone." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wail and fall against the backrest. "I can't, though," I say, feeling hopeless. "I love dick. I hate that I love dick."
Millie drops a cushion on her lap and encourages me to rest my head there. I turn on my side and lay in the fetal position with my legs curled beneath me, letting her play with my long, dark hair. She sifts the strands through her fingers until she has me shivering in response. It feels nice. Comforting. It makes me immediately suspicious.
"You're softening me up to deliver a tough love speech, aren't you?" I ask, closing my eyes.
"Maybe." There's a smile in her voice.
I try to relax and take slow breaths to ease the lingering tension from my date, but my curiosity grows, and I can't let it go. "All right, let me have it. Tell me where I'm going wrong."
"I can see right down your dress," she says. "The neckline's so low your boobs are falling out."
"I'm sorry. If there's one thing I know for sure, I have great tits. Being in a committed relationship and all, that must be very frustrating for you."
Millie lets out a huff of laughter and smacks my shoulder. "That's not what I'm talking about."
"Why don't you explain it to me, then?"
When she resumes her stroking motions through my hair, I want to purr like a cat. She has the most gentle hands and looks after me so much better than I deserve. "You don't need to do this, Layla. The dress, the heels, the full face of makeup. It's fun for women who are into it. I love getting all girly and dressed up--but it's just not you. I think you're attracting dodgy men because all the good ones can sense you're not being real with them."
"But this is what I need to do if I want to get noticed. Guys are dating multiple women these days. It's competitive out there." I try to keep my voice calm, but the frustration's creeping in again. "How am I supposed to win the prize if I don't play the game?"
Millie sweeps my hair away from my face and trails her fingertips over my forehead, swirling circles that have me cuddling closer to her. "Layla, honey, you're the prize. The quicker you embrace that, the luckier you'll be with men."
Affection flows through me, and I smile. Millie's known me for so long that she's forgotten how I can come across to new people. I border on too blunt, too honest. I have a smart mouth that offends almost as much as it amuses. If I don't play up my appearance and dull down my personality, I won't get another first date, let alone progress to a second one. "You're like the sister I never had," I admit, "and you're so loyal it blinds you to all my faults."
She plays with the gold hoop in my ear, pausing a minute while she considers my comment. "Or maybe you're so critical of yourself that you don't see all your amazing qualities."
I roll onto my back and rest my hands on my stomach, thinking about her observation. Millie's the kindest person I know. She cares for everyone with the same enthusiasm regardless of how well she knows you, and she shares herself around like it fills her cup rather than taking something from her. If a woman like her can like me, love me, and treat me like I'm special, maybe she understands how the outside world views me better than I do. I don't know.
"I have a challenge for you," she says.
I tilt my head back a little to meet her eyes. "That tone has an evil-plan ring to it, and I already want no part of whatever you're about to say."
She smiles. "Hannah and I are going out for drinks tomorrow night at The Crest. Nice and early before the crowds show up. Come with us."
Maybe not so evil after all. At least I'll have fun with Millie and her girlfriend, and I won't come home feeling dejected. "All right. I can do that."
"There's a catch, though."
I blow out a sigh. "Isn't there always?"
She ignores me and dives straight into the details. "You need to be yourself. Completely yourself. Casual clothes, natural hair. No makeup--and none of this on show." She shakes the neckline of my dress so my boobs do a little jig.
"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" I ask, looking up at her again.
She lets out an embarrassed laugh. "A tiny bit."
I smile. "Is that all? Nothing more to add?"
"One more thing."
I cover my face with my hands and groan. "No. The answer's no."
She ignores my protest. "Hannah and I get to pick a guy at random, and you have to approach him with your true personality--no holding back or dimming your light--then come away from the conversation with his number."
