The Setup

Hi, I'm Sam. Short for Samantha. Do try to keep up.

The dating pool is a disaster these days. Between catfishing, ghosting, and worrying about getting roofied, I mostly just hang out with my friends. Call me a spinster now. There is absolutely nothing remarkable about me, and that's probably the problem.

Enter my core friend group. And that's another thing—they're all guys. Now that I think about it, there was that one nice guy, actually named Sam, but when he met my friends he tucked tail and ran. Skedaddled. That's always my test. Can a guy I start to like handle that my five best friends are all guys?

Anyway, as I was saying, the boys and I had discussed what we now call “my situation.” Because I just want to experience falling in love, aka The Falling. Just once. Is that too much for a girl to ask? I think not. Everyone should have the opportunity to experience The Great Love once in their lifetime. Ok, ok…I'll stop putting my wishes on everyone else. Honestly, don't judge me though, I'm not getting any younger.

In the end, we concluded that they were all ideal for dating except—and this was the deal-breaker—we were friends and therefore off-limits. Enter their clever workaround. One that would keep us firmly in friend-camp. Each promised me the perfect date so I could experience the start of The Falling. Just one date with each of them.

I shuffled through my closet, weighing the options. I just couldn't make up my mind what color I was in the mood to wear. Maybe purple. Let's try purple. I flicked my hand and a wash of various shades of purple settled over blouses, skirts and dresses alike. No, purple wasn't right. Red, perhaps? I barely had to flick my hand. Nope, too aggressive. It was just a first date, after all.

I turned and floated through the wall into the bathroom, turning the curling iron on. Certainly the right color would come to me once my hair and makeup were done.

Curling my hair was a chore itself. Having long, thick hair was no fun, and no matter how many times I tried to cut it shorter, it never lasted. I'd given up five years into my ghost era.

The boys had drawn straws over who took me out first. Strauss had won, and for that I was happy. Strauss was a teddy bear. My snuggle buddy for scary movies. Perfect for the first one.

My thoughts wandered back to my closet situation. Tonight was the final night. The final date. Four down, one to go. Macklin was last, and I was glad for that too. Maybe I should wear the red dress after all? Macklin had a type—blonde hair, blue eyes, lush curves, short, red dresses, lots of skin on display. Maybe, just maybe, tonight I would try to have a little fun with it. Turn the tables. Despite being one of my best friends, I knew he always had his way with the women. There was rarely a date that didn't end in sex—and you know how I feel about that—and wouldn't it be fun to tease him and leave him coming up empty? So many girls just threw themselves at him. What would he do when the tables were turned? Excitement skittered through me. Yes, red. I mentally settled on my choice and moved from hair to makeup.

In order for me to fully appreciate my five perfect dates, just like anyone else, you have to go on some bad ones first.

Which brings me to Jack. There was nothing really wrong with Jack per se, and that was exactly the problem. He was very polished and smooth. He said all the right things, he inquired about the right things, which made me really suspicious because nobody's that squeaky clean. I should know. And even the goodnight kiss at the end—it was very rubber stamp. Now I'm not saying I'm looking for a bad boy, but he was Mr. Missionary Position Only kind of material. And that's not really my vibe. I'm pretty sure. Boring.

Then there was Prince, and boy did they get his name wrong. He should've just introduced himself as Mr. Handsy. He grabbed my ass no less than a million times before we sat down for dinner. And the kiss—my God, his tongue went straight for the back of my throat, and nobody needs a tonsil tickle.

And just to be clear about the kind of girl I am, I need to tell you about Balls. Necessary information and all that. Because Balls suggested, instead of going out for a first date, that we could stay in. Netflix and chill, he said. Which, at the time, it really was my fault because I didn't know what that actually meant. He quickly clarified with body language, and that was the very moment I knew I wasn't a sex-on-the-first-date kind of girl. And so here we are. Now that brings you up to speed.

Dance music filtered up from below. Another perk of living above Club59. Also my queue to hurry up. I traced bold red onto my lips and coated it with a glossy topper, giving them extra plumpness.

Slipping into a long red gown with an open back and bare arms, I gave a quick twirl. Perfect. And thankfully we were heading to a ghosts only restaurant. I'd had enough of vampires for a lifetime. This would be the one date where I could be sure of no run-ins with Cooper.