Mister Weston

“See you soon,” Meredith whispered, opening the door for him.

“I hope so.” He returned the whisper and gave her one last slap on the ass before heading down the steps.

“Well, that was a very fulfilling four star!” She walked over and turned on the stove. “You’re home early. I thought you were going to spend your entire birthday with Ben.”

“I thought so, too.” I felt a lump forming in my throat, but I forced it back down. “Until he decided to tell me that he’s been cheating on me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” I said. “But he said he only ‘uses’ the other girls for sex. He ‘damn near loves me’ he claims.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, you know I’m biased because I’ve always hated him, but if you do choose to go back, I’ll still be willing to be your shoulder to cry on. Although, I will definitely judge the hell out of you.”

I laughed for the first time today. “I’m not going back, and I’m not going to cry anymore. I’m going to treat myself to an art show and try to meet someone new tonight. Somewhat smart, witty, and funny. Someone—”

“You can fuck.” She cut me off, crossing her arms. “Do you not see the issue here? Can you not see the pattern?”

“The pattern of me wanting to find a nice guy?”

“Yes. Your exes all fit into the same boring box. Art show lovers, coffee shop sitters, sweater wearing Wall Street boys. The cookie cutter, All-American, ‘we-don’t-fuck-until-the-tenth-date’ types and they have yet to work out for you.” She pulled out a box of pancake mix. “You need to switch it up and maybe attempt having sex with no strings attached. Get a few notches under your belt to see what you like, what you don’t like, and then you can start looking for love again.”

“So, in other words, I should be more like you.”

“No, you couldn’t be like me if you tried. I don’t even think you could handle a single one-night stand, let alone no-strings attached sex.”

“I can definitely handle a one-night stand,” I said, turning around in my chair. “I’ve just never wanted to have one.”

“Ha!” She suddenly burst into loud, uncontrolled laughter, holding her hands over her stomach. She didn’t stop for several minutes, and when she finally had her laughter under control, there were tears in her eyes.

“Gillian,” she said, letting out a breath, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but having a one-night stand means you can’t expect anything afterwards. I don’t think that lifestyle is for you, no offense.”

“None taken. But since I’m newly single, and never going back to Ben, I think I’d like to prove you wrong.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, then.” She walked over to the refrigerator and plucked a beige card from a magnet, tossing it to me. “How about tonight?”

“On my birthday?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “On your effin’ birthday. Worst case scenario, you’ll still be helping me out if you decide not to go through with it. This party conflicts with a runway dress rehearsal I have to go to tonight, and I need to drop something off.”

I flipped the invitation over and realized that the word “party” was nowhere on the card. There was only an address.

“It’s a secret party,” Meredith said as if she’d read my mind. “A lot of high profile people will be there, so the less words on paper, the better. All I need you to do is find the host—Mark Strauss, and hand him this.” She unclipped a USB drive from around her neck and set it on the table. “Tell him it’s on behalf of me, and he’ll know exactly what it is. And while you’re there, because you’ll be in great company of several eligible, sexy-as-hell bachelors, try to find someone to go home with. Say, ‘Hello, my name is Gillian,’ lie about what you do for a living, and then lie about everything else because it never matters, and get some great sex.”

“That’s such a cliché.”

“It’s an amazing cliché.” She smiled. “I have a five star picking me up for a rendezvous two hours before my runway assignment, but if you bail on the party early, walk down to the Waldorf Astoria. We can ride home together.”

“Meredith...” I set the invitation down. “I thought we agreed that you were going to stop rating every guy you sleep with.”

“I never agreed to that, and I’m not ‘rating’ them. I’m categorizing them so I know exactly who to call when I’m in the mood for a certain type of repeat.”

I gave her a blank stare.

“Like, sometimes,” she said, stirring a bowl. “I’m in the mood for a 3.5 star cock. Something good, but nothing too taxing that’ll keep me up late at night.”

“You know what? Forget I ever said anything.”