Chapter Two

There's a pounding in my head that won't go away. Even in my sleep, I can feel it. What the hell is happening to me? Am I dying of some unknown disease?

Seeking some comfort, I wiggle closer to Edward with a mumble, wrapping an arm and a leg across his frame. I stay there for a few seconds until I realize something's wrong. This body is softer than Eddie's, and it's wearing sequins instead of the usual cotton and silk blend pajamas.

My heavy eyelids flutter open, and my gaze falls on a lush mass of black hair. Oh, right. Hana came over. And we drank way too much. Because Eddie dumped me after telling me I was boring in bed.

Which I am.

The reminder has my heart dropping low into my stomach, making me nauseous. Or maybe it's the alcohol painfully leaving my bloodstream.

I haven't been single in over five years, and I don't mind it as much as I should. My biggest issue is that it sets back my plans. Without Edward, I'll eventually have to start over and find someone else to build a future with. The prospect is unappealing, to say the least.

"Are you awake?" I whisper in Hana's ear. A vague grunt comes as a response. "How's that first postpartum hangover treating you?"

"My boobs hurt more than my head, so it's not that bad."

"Did you bring your pump?"

"Yeah, it's in my overnight bag by the door."

To thank her for rushing to me in my time of need, I slither out of the covers. That's when I remember that I'm not wearing a nightgown. At some point, Hana slipped on a blue sequin dress from my closet that fit her silhouette, and by the time we went to bed, we were both too drunk to change into something else. I broke one of the spaghetti straps in my sleep, a costly mistake.

Hana is sitting up when I return, and I hand her the pump before heading to the dressing room.

"As much as I regret it now," she says from the bedroom while I take the dress off and make a mental note to have it fixed soon, "I'm glad we caught up."

"Me too. You've been so busy lately with little Lucas."

"Yeah, who knew having a child would be so time consuming."

"Literally everybody, Hana."

"Hmm… And you? How's work going?"

I wince, slipping on a comfortable sweater while I think of my answer. "My boss is still a pain in the ass. But he's retiring in a few months, so I'm biting my tongue and waiting."

"You think you'll get his position?"

"No one else is as qualified as I am, so I should."

"That's exciting!"

Once I have flannel shorts on, I pick a similar outfit for my girl suffering out there. "I know. In three months, I could be the head of NexaCorp's legal department."

"Worldwide?"

"Just the US."

"Also impressive," she approves with a lopsided grin.

"Worldwide will be the step after that."

Her head is leaned back on the headboard when I return, her expression one of relief, while she holds the pump against her left breast. "Will you still remember me when you're head of the world?"

"Always," I promise with a chuckle.

"Good."

I sit on the bed, and we recuperate in silence for a moment. The only sound that fills the room is the rhythmic sucking of the pump, and I welcome it as it anchors us in time. "Did you get any matches?" she randomly asks.

"For what?"

"The dating app."

Oh.

Oh! Crap!

All the wine and vodka shots entirely wiped that part out of my memory. Full-on panicking, I seek my phone, fragments of what we did the night before resurfacing. Just how drunk was I to agree to this?! I find the iPhone lying face down by the foot of the bed and come back to sit next to Hana. I barely have any battery left, but enough to do a quick check. My teeth gnaw at my lower lip, anxiety wrenching and twisting my guts. Holy cow, I have over a hundred notifications, and they are all from that kinky dating app we drunkenly downloaded.

What a stupid thing to do.

I open the app, which leads me straight to my page. The profile picture I uploaded only shows my chin and the deep cleavage of my now-torn Dior dress. I vaguely remember telling Hana that I didn't want to be recognizable on an app like this, and I thank my drunk self for that.

There are two more pictures attached to my profile—one of my cleavage and one of my ass, which is only covered by the narrow V of my tanga. Alright, I take it back. My drunk self can go to hell. Before it's out there any longer, I head to the settings and remove the two extra pics, scolding myself internally. At least we used a fake name—Jessica.

Gathering my courage, I read the description Hana and I came up with. Oh, God… It's bad.

"Down to fuck with a man who has a Jacob's ladder. Please, only DM me if you have one. Otherwise, abstain," I read aloud, in case she forgot as well.

"Did it work?"

"Too well. I have 153 messages."

"I told you it would," she brags with a proud grin.

Mortified, I open the app's inbox, wondering what kind of desperate creatures my profile attracted. The first message is a very poorly executed dick pic.

"Ew," I let out with disgust.

"Damn, that is one ugly dong," Hana says with unmasked amusement.

"And it's not even pierced."

"Men will use every opportunity they get to show their dicks."

The other messages I open aren't any better. By the twentieth, I'm certain I won't go through with that stupid bucket list thing. This is providing terrifying insight into the dating pool out there, and if this is my alternative to being single, I'll get myself a couple of cats and call it a day. These men are pigs and the odds that I'll ever let another one inside me are getting slimmer with every dick pic.

The one that takes the cake is a picture with a spunk-covered hand with an attached message that brings back my nausea at once. "Look at what your ass did to me, you dirty, dirty slut," I read, scandalized. "Okay, I'm done."

"No, keep going!"

"This is turning me gay, Hana. I swear, I've never been as unattracted to men as I am right now."

"Do you want me to open them so you won't see how they defiled that beautiful bum of yours?"

Since there is no better alternative, I hand her the phone. While she scrolls through the many messages, I twist to collect the charger's cable to plug it in. "Okay, this one has potential," she says after a few minutes have passed.

She shoves the phone in my face and I read the message, reassured to see it isn't another inappropriate picture.

Eli

Hey, I don't have a Jacob's, but my best bud does. Let me know if you're interested and I'll set you two up!

"Well, that looks promising," I say.

"Right? He's the only one who wasn't downright sexual and trying to get into your panties."

"And he has good grammar."

I visit the man's profile to get a better idea of what he might be like. Eli, 31, apparently lives in Brooklyn. He looks like a decent guy and gets bonus points for not having a picture of himself with a fish. His light chestnut hair, a little too long in every picture, matches his eyes, which have something in them that beckons trust.

"Too bad it was all for nothing," I let out, throwing the phone on the covers.

"What?!"

"Oh, come on. It was a stupid, drunken idea. There's no way I'll go through with it."

"It's not like you're committing to anything," she carefully argues. "You can meet up with that guy and decide whether or not you want to go further."

Ugh, that sounds time consuming."I don't like sex enough to go through all that."

"Then you've never had great sex, Gen, because it's definitely worth it."

It's my turn to purse my lips in a disapproving way. I always favored intimacy with long-term partners over one-night stands. Hana used to tell me I was doing it wrong, insistent that I'd never discover the true joys of sex that way. She's always been more adventurous than me, and I can't count how many times she encouraged me to put myself out there and experiment, try new men, or discover what I like. But this is going too far.

At the same time, I try to excel at everything I do, pushed by a deeply rooted need to gain my parents' approval—something my therapist and I are working on during our rare sessions.

I give my everything at work, doing better than all my colleagues. I made the dean's list at Harvard, finished high school as valedictorian, won championships for my extracurricular activities… Everything I undertake, I give my all and nail it. Somehow, my unhealthy need for perfection and nothing less is taking over my subpar sex life. While I don't have to become the best at it, I can't possibly remain the worst.

My drunken enterprise led me into a position I never thought I'd ever be in, and now I'm cornered, having to choose between my need for perfection and the comfort zone I so fiercely cherish.

"You have to try that ladder thing," Hana insists. "And then let me know if it's worth it. I'm sure I can convince Tyrone to get pierced."

My nose scrunches on its own at the idea of her poor fiancé going through that. It must take a certain kind of man to undergo such mutilations. And for what? Is it to receive more pleasure? Or is it to give more of it? Regardless, it seems entirely unnecessary.

When Hana grabs my phone, I'm still torn, unsure if I want to disturb my neatly organized life for this. Nearly every hour of my days is already claimed, and sacrificing my little leisure time doesn't sound appealing. But I say nothing and watch as she returns to the message Eli sent.

"Hi, thanks for reaching out," she says as she types the words. "I'd like to know more about your friend. Is he hot? Is he a serial killer? Or a weirdo?"

"Nice priorities," I scoff.

"You'll thank me later."

I'm genuinely surprised when Eli's answer comes five minutes later. Hana is now pumping on the other side, and I'm still trying to muster the energy to go get us some ibuprofen.

Eli

It's my understanding that he's hot, yeah. And he was forced to put his serial killer career aside when he ran out of space to bury bodies in his basement. As for the weirdo part, I guess that one's subjective. But he isn't a creep, if that helps.

"A basement in New York? In this economy? He's a catch," Hana jokes.

I chuckle, rereading the response. It's odd how a man selling himself to get laid feels untrustworthy, but this doesn't. Not as much, at least. There's some amount of authenticity to it that I wouldn't trust otherwise.

We're not expecting another message, but it comes nevertheless.

Eli

I realize this is weird, but you're looking for a Jacob's, and he's into redheads. I thought it might be a good match. Fair warning though, he isn't looking for anything serious. I hope you don't have expectations regarding that.

"See? The stars are aligning," Hana says with a grin.

"It's kind of perfect, yes."

"Then ask for the guy's number. You can make it safe if you're the one in charge."

As I type an answer to Eli, I wonder again how I ended up in this situation. My life was perfectly fine twenty-four hours ago, with my dream Upper East Side apartment, a successful man in my life, a coveted job… And now, I'm messaging a stranger on a dating app, already way down the rabbit hole. The only excuse I can think of is that I'm still a little drunk and definitely sleep deprived.

But like Hana said, I'm in charge, so what's the worst that can happen?

Eli is just as quick as before to send the number, and yet again, Hana spurs me on, encouraging me to send a text before my courage wavers. So, I save the number as "Ladder Guy" in my contact list and send a quick text.

Me

This is Jessica from the dating app. I think Eli told you about me? Would you like to meet?

There, that's it. Now, all I have to do is wait for Ladder Guy's answer. And if it never comes, then I'll focus on another item from that list and circle back to this one. I got 153 messages in one night, so I'm sure it won't be hard to find willing men.

When the phone vibrates in my hand, I almost drop it, surprised. My eyes widen when I see he is already texting me back. Oh, I'm not ready for this. I thought I'd have hours to prepare.

With a hand that slightly trembles from anticipation and worry, I unlock the screen to see his response.

Ladder Guy

Hello, Jessica from the dating app. He just sent me your profile's screenshots.

Then, there's nothing for a moment, and I wonder if he'll ignore my offer to meet. Which I understand if I'm being honest. Had Hana come to me with such an offer—setting me up with some random guy she came across on a dating app—I would have refused too.

Well, now that I've flipped the situation around and realized the absurdity of it, I'm beyond confident that he'll keep his distance. And if he doesn't, he might not be very sane.

Just as I think it's over, the phone vibrates again. He sent a second text.

Ladder Guy

Absolutely I'd like to meet.

My heart's in my throat, anxiety wrenching my gut. This is how women get killed, isn't it?

"If I end up murdered and found in a ditch, I hope you'll regret doing this to me for the rest of your life," I mumble to Hana.

"Oh, come on," she says with a roll of her eyes. "It's not like you have to meet him in Central Park in the dead of the night."

A quick look at my schedule informs me that the only time I'll have before a while is Friday. It's definitely short notice, but the sooner, the better. And it's the most scary and complicated item on that list, so I'm glad I get to cross it out first.

Me

The only time I have this month is Friday evening. Is 6:30 alright for you?

As I wait for his reply, I fidget with my phone. "What the hell am I doing?" I mutter to myself.

"Living a little, for once," Hana replies, clearly excited about the whole situation.

My phone buzzes again, and my heart races. "Please, don't be free," I whisper as I unlock the screen.

Ladder Guy

I can make that work. Do you have a place in mind?

The sensation under my ribs intensifies, and I can't tell if it's anxiety, excitement, or worry. Hana was right about making it safe, so I decide on somewhere with CCTV and a security detail where no one would attempt something. Even the elevators have cameras, so I'll feel safe enough to relax and let go of my worries.

Me

The Plaza Hotel's bar on 5th Avenue.

I'm not entirely sure that we'll end up sleeping together, but it being a hotel would be convenient if we decide to.

Ladder Guy

I'll be there.

Me

Should I wear something specific so you'll recognize me?

He doesn't know what I look like, and I won't send him a picture of myself. I'm pretty wary of such things and maintain a low online presence.

Ladder Guy

Cleavage.

My jaw drops, my cheeks burning from his audacity. Right, he doesn't know my face, but he has Eli's screenshots. Before I can get too offended by the rudeness of his suggestion, another message comes in.

Ladder Guy

I'll recognize the freckles.

Well, it's not as bad as him distinguishing me because of my breasts. But maybe he's being humorous or flirty and I'm not getting it.

Me

And how will I recognize you?

Ladder Guy

Oh, don't worry, love. You'll notice me.

That almost sounds like a threat. Or is it a promise?