Perfect 10. Erin McCarthy

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СКАЧАТЬ the red frames of her glasses, her fringe bangs starting to brush the top. She was into the granny chic look, with Peter Pan collars and lots of floral patterns and blouses, and she was smart enough not to have a BootyBook account. “Trina, you need to do damage control.”

      “How do I do that?” she demanded, wanting her glass refilled but unable to get off her couch and walk the three steps to her pseudo kitchen. It was really just a three-foot space in the corner outfitted with appliances better suited to a leprechaun family, but she didn’t cook anyway. She had created a makeshift island in front of the row of cabinets and the minifridge out of an old dresser, and Samantha was leaning on it, having poured herself a fresh glass of wine.

      Katrina removed her purple scarf from around her neck and threw it on the coffee table. It was too tempting to strangle herself with it. She had already gotten several emails from clients demanding an explanation, and the truth was, she didn’t have one. No one was going to buy that she had been hacked. The information was too detailed, and it would serve no purpose for a hacker other than to humiliate her, and that generally speaking wasn’t their MO. No, everyone was going to know it was her screwup and hers alone.

      “Well, you need to issue a statement, both on your personal page and your professional page. I mean, it worked for Kristen Stewart, right? She apologized within hours and RPattz was hers again. She’s not unemployed, either.”

      “I’m not sure it’s the same thing. And they didn’t end up together ultimately anyway.” But Samantha was right. Katrina sighed. “I guess I should do that before I get drunk.”

      “Yeah, let’s not compound the problem. We’ll write the statement, post it, then we’ll go out to dinner and try to pretend none of this happened. You can leave your phone at home.”

      It was a plan, though not much of one. Katrina was debating using the phrase “sincerely regret” versus “deeply sorry” as her phone continued to blow up. In the end, she went for “deeply regret an unfortunate technical error that caused private data to appear in a public forum.” She went on to say the information seen was neither accurate nor factual in any way, but merely an opinion based on personal observations and that she apologized sincerely for any embarrassment caused.

      Awful. Plain and simple. “I’m done. Shitty damage control, but there you have it. I’m a social media manager. That’s my job. But I just proved that I can’t manage my own. Great endorsement for my business. Fabulous.”

      Samantha sat down beside her. “It was up for about three minutes. Probably none of your clients even saw it. Plus look at the bright side. If you ever had a moment where you wanted a guy to truly know how you felt, you just got them all clumped together.”

      Katrina raised an eyebrow. “That is supposed to make me feel better how?”

      “And you know, it could be like a public service announcement. All those guys who thought they were the shit in bed now know the score. Maybe they’ll be more sensitive, maybe they’ll ask for sexual directions. Maybe they’ll discover why clitorises matter.”

      “So I set off a wave of men in New York checking their prowess and embarking on a sexual odyssey?” She snorted. “Yeah, I doubt it.”

      Her phone dinged for the nine thousandth time. She sighed and glanced at the screen. “Shit, it’s Drew again.”

      “What did he say?”

      Heart thumping at a rate more appropriate for a hummingbird, she unlocked her phone and tapped on the message.

      Want to talk to you. Working tonight. Can you come up?

      “Omigod, he wants me to meet him at the bar tonight. He’s working, but he wants to talk to me. What do you think that means?”

      “That he wants to talk to you.”

      Katrina threw back her wine, taking down half a glass in one swallow. “Yeah, but why? I mean, what is there to say?” Other than that she was a fuckup? That was a fact; it didn’t need to be discussed.

      “Maybe he wants to talk about his magnificent penis. Maybe he wants to show you his magnificent penis.”

      “What should I say?”

      Samantha looked at her as if she was first idiot on the command bridge of the USS Moron. “That you’ll meet him. Look, we’re buzzed, you’ve been pining over him for years, I say you go for it. It can’t possibly be even more embarrassing than it already is.”

      That remained to be seen, but she was just masochistic enough to want to know what Drew would say to her. “Okay, but I’m cutting myself off from wine then. No more alcohol or somehow I’ll end up crying in front of him. You know I’m a teary drunk.”

      “Oh, yes, I do know that.” Samantha studied her. “What is it about Drew anyway? I mean, he’s cute and all, and I can see why he makes your lady parts flutter, but you wanted to legit date him, didn’t you?”

      She had. For a minute, she reflected, thinking back to her years as an undergrad, new to the big city, feeling very pedestrian next to fellow students from Hong Kong and Hollywood and Istanbul. Students who were valedictorians, overachievers, with awesome style and raging confidence. She’d just been Trina, an A-minus student from the burbs with no particular skill but a drive to make something happen for herself. Drew was one of the first classmates she had felt completely comfortable around. He wasn’t pretentious, or arrogant, and he had listened to her.

      Many late nights had been spent in her dorm room on her bed, their legs stretched out, listening to music and talking about everything from childhood memories to how to pull off the ultimate catfish. It was a lot of little things and it was one big thing.

      “When my father had a heart attack, everyone was all ‘oh, I’m sorry,’” she told Samantha, whom she’d actually met the semester after that. “But Drew skipped class and went home with me on the train. He let me cry until I fell asleep on his shoulder, and he went to the hospital with me.” She swirled the wine remaining in her glass and stared at it, a lump in her throat. “That’s why I always feel like he’s the one who got away. He’s a good guy and we had a deep friendship.”

      “Then you definitely need to see him. Even if it never becomes a relationship, you should try to reclaim your friendship.”

      “You’re right.” Katrina tapped out a response. Sure. Be there around eleven.

      Cool. :)

      The smiley made her feel better. He couldn’t be super pissed if he was using positive emoticons. What it meant beyond that, she had no clue, but she was only going to allow herself one minute to think it was that he wanted to repeat that magnificent penis performance.

      She set the timer on her phone.

      “What the hell are you doing?”

      “I’m giving myself exactly sixty seconds to fantasize that Drew wants to be with me.” She closed her eyes and remembered the sensation of his mouth on hers, kissing her with passion and intensity. By the time she got to his lips trailing down over her breasts and to her girl bits, the phone alarm squawked.

      She opened her eyes. “Okay, I’m good.”

      Samantha pushed up her glasses. “You’re a freak.”

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