• Bachelor regrets his past dalliances with this femme fatale
Image: PIXABAY
Diary,
You know how you get a phone call and you get so excited that butterflies breed in your stomach? And then there are other calls you get and you feel like you just got punched in the stomach.
Few calls give me butterflies. As the for the latter, I got one such call just a few minutes ago.
“Hello?” I said to the stranger.
“Tom,” said an excited, vaguely familiar voice. “How’ve you been, my friend?”
“Friend? Who are you?”
“Take a guess.”
Now, I may never have told you this before, but there are few things I hate more than mind games over the phone. Even as a kid, I hated when someone would cover my eyes and say, “Guess who?”
“I have no time for games,” I said. “I’ll hang up if you don’t—”
“It’s Gina, silly.”
“I don’t know any Gina Silly.”
She laughed. I hate to admit this, but her laughter was like a chorus of crystal-clear bells, and it had brought promises of unbridled heavenly pleasure. It had given me butterflies, but it had culminated in disaster.
“Gina,” I said. “I never expected to hear from you, and I wanted to keep it that way.”
“Are you still sore about our date?”
I had made small talk with a guy waiting for his date at The Drink bar, the same thing I was there for. Turned out Gina was both my date and his. Talk about embarrassing.
“His name is Lucas,” I said, “and we have something we both hate in common. You.”
“I thought we buried the hatchet over drinks. And you even became my plus-one at that one wedding, remember?”
“I was curious, bored, and out of my mind.” I found out she was a serial dater like me. It was like looking through a mirror in a horror show. “What can I do for you, Gina?”
“Come bail me out?”
I gasped. “You’re in jail?”
“No, I’m at the Grand Regency. Of course, I’m in jail.”
“What did you do this time? Kill one of your unfortunate prey?”
“I wish. It’s worse. Got nabbed with someone’s hubby.”
That made no sense. “That’s not a crime, Gina.”
“Not if the wife is a Superintendent of Police. She made up some charges and here we are. But there’s hope.”
“Yeah?”
“I told them you’re my husband and you’re very well connected.”
“What?”
“I dropped a few heavy names, several ministers included. I know you’re still curious about… the stuff we talked about. You can find out, Tom. Tonight.”
Diary, I know this is a bad, bad idea, but why am I so tempted to go along?