Too Good to Be Real
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Synopsis
"The perfect combination of sweet, sexy, and make-you-grin moments." - Lyssa Kay Adams, author of The Bromance Book Club
"An ode to everything we love about rom-coms." - Alexis Daria, author of You Had Me at Hola
In her trade paperback debut, Melonie Johnson brings her signature humor, sexy romance, and strong female friendships in this hilarious romantic comedy about finding perfectly imperfect love, Too Good to Be Real.
She plans to prove there's a dozen reasons why life isn't like a romantic comedy, only to discover the one reason it is…
While her friends wish for meet cutes worthy of their favorite rom-coms, Julia is ready to give up on love. Swiping right has replaced getting swept off your feet and good old-fashioned romance has become, well, old-fashioned.
A writer for a popular website, love becomes the last thing on her mind wh
Release date: July 6, 2021
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages: 320
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Too Good to Be Real
Melonie Johnson
Chapter 1
Julia
“His penis looks like your shrimp.”
Julia Carpenter paused, chopsticks hovering near her lips as she stared at her friend Andie, seated on the other side of their regular lunch booth in Tasty Thai. Next to Julia, their friend Kat hid a snicker in her noodles.
“What?” Andie reached across the table for Julia’s phone. “Am I wrong?” She tilted the image on the screen toward them for comparison. “See?”
“Well,” Kat snickered again, “maybe her shrimp looks like his penis.”
The shrimp in question slipped from between Julia’s chopsticks and landed back in her bowl with a squicky splat. She set the utensils down and made a grab for her phone. “Stop waving that thing around.”
Kat and Andie both snickered this time.
Julia resisted the urge to join in their juvenile appreciation of the unintentional innuendo and plucked her phone from Andie’s grasp. But when she glanced at the screen, she had to admit the male anatomy currently on display did bear an unfortunate resemblance to the shrimp in her pad kee mao. And now she was snickering too. Really, it was either laugh or cry. Shaking her head, she deleted the image sent by her most recent dating fail. “Why do guys think we like looking at pictures of their junk?”
“Because they like looking at ours.” Andie shrugged. “How often does a dick pic come accompanied by the eloquent request to”—she paused and lowered her voice to dude-bro level—“send me your nudes?”
“All the time.” Kat rolled her eyes as she sipped her tea.
“And how often do you comply?” Andie crossed her arms and rested against the back of the booth, one dark brow arched.
Kat’s full lips pursed around the rim of her cup. “Never.” She swallowed and added, “Well, there was that one time . . .”
Andie’s other eyebrow jumped to join its twin as she leaned forward. “What?”
“I’m kidding.” Kat’s smile was wicked. “What about you, Jules?”
“Not on purpose.” Julia picked up the teapot and poured out a measure of steaming liquid.
“Now you’re the one who’s kidding,” Kat insisted.
“It was one time, and it was just my butt.” Julia lifted her teacup, inhaling the soothing scent of jasmine while enjoying the looks of fascinated horror on her friends’ faces. “And it was an accident.”
“I’ve heard of accidentally butt dialing someone.” Andie shook her head, her dark fringe of bangs falling over one eye. “But sending a butt pic by accident?”
“Forget sending it. I’m still confused about how you managed to take a selfie of your naked butt by mistake in the first place,” Kat admitted.
“Oh,” Julia confessed, “that part was on purpose.”
“What do you call a butt selfie, anyway?” Andie mused.
“A belfie,” Julia answered immediately.
“For the record, I knew that, but I refuse to ever use that word,” Kat declared.
“Also, in case you were wondering, yes, there is such a thing as a belfie stick.”
“I refuse to use that, too,” Kat amended.
“For someone who claims it was ‘one time,’” Andie made quotation marks with her fingers, “and ‘an accident,’ you sure know a lot about butt pic stuff.”
“In my first year at TrendList, I wrote an article about the top five ways to get the best angle for your belfie,” Julia explained. “And yes, it was an accident, and it really was just that one time. I can’t believe either of you are surprised. This is me we’re talking about, remember? Murphy’s Law on two legs.”
“Oh, come on. You’re not that bad.” Kat patted her on the shoulder. “You make yourself sound like a walking disaster.”
“I mean, she kind of is.” Andie blew her bangs out of her face. “No offense, Jules.”
“None taken.” Julia grimaced good-naturedly. It was true. In her experience, anything that could go wrong, did go wrong. Murphy’s Law incarnate. If there was a way she could screw something up, odds were, she would. Case in point: sending a dude she’d gone on a few casual dates with a close-up of her bare ass by mistake. “I never told either of you about this?”
“Trust me, I’d remember,” Kat assured her.
“It’s not really a big deal.” Julia recalled the incident, cheeks heating from more than just the tea. “I had a bug bite on my butt, and it was swelling up and itching and I was worried it might be a deadly spider or something that bit me.”
“So you took a selfie of your dupa?” Kat shook her head. “Why not just look in the mirror?”
“It was at an odd angle and I wanted to send a picture to my mom for her opinion.” Her mother was a dermatologist who saw plenty of weirder things in her average day on the job.
“Too bad you didn’t have a belfie stick.” Andie smirked.
“Anyway . . .” Julia ignored her and continued. “Let’s talk about the plan for Friday night.”
“Hold on.” Andie raised a hand. “I still have questions.”
“It wasn’t poisonous,” Julia assured her. “Just a mosquito bite.”
“Uh-huh, yeah, great.” Andie waved that aside. “What I want to know is who’d you accidentally send the belfie to?”
“Yeah,” Kat chimed in, blue eyes twinkling. “Who got the literal booty call?”
“Funny you should call it that.” A reluctant smile tugged at Julia’s lips. She really did have a talent for messing things up. “Because that’s exactly what Derek thought when he got it.”
“Derek?” Kat tapped her chopsticks together in thought. “The I just bought a boat guy?”
“The I took an hour to make my hair look like I slept funny guy?” Andie added.
“That’s the one.” Julia nodded. “He showed up at my door so fast, I still didn’t have my pants back on.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him the truth. That it was a mistake. That I’d meant to send the pic to someone else.”
“Uh-oh.” Andie winced. “Did you explain to him it was meant for your mom?”
“I don’t know if that would have been better,” Kat chortled. “He bailed before I could.” Julia shrugged, then stopped, eyes widening. “Oh, God. He thought I was sending the pic to another guy, didn’t he? No wonder he was so mad!”
“You’re just putting that together?” Kat made a noise in the back of her throat, half disgusted and half amused. “Honestly, Jules, I don’t know how you manage any sort of love life.”
“Easy. I don’t.”
“But you go on dates all the time,” Kat insisted.
“Yeah, and they all end in disaster.” Julia poked at the remaining food in her bowl. “Or with dick pics.”
“Or both,” Andie added.
“Definitely both,” Kat agreed.
“Then why do we keep doing it?” Julia asked, as much to herself as to her friends.
“Because we keep hoping we’ll find the one,” Andie said.
“Which one?” Julia wondered.
“She means the one.” Kat fluttered her fingers. “You know, the one meant just for you.”
“Oh.” Julia stabbed a chopstick through the shrimp. “That one.”
“The right one is out there,” Andie promised. “We just have to keep looking.”
“It’s what we have to keep looking at that bothers me.” Julia held up her chopstick, phallic shellfish speared on the end.
“Does this mean it’s a no to seeing shrimp boy again?” Andie asked.
Julia twirled her chopstick, sending the little crustacean spinning. “I think so.” She sighed. “I need to enact a strict no dick pics policy. If they send me an unsolicited shot of their wiener, I’m out.”
“That’ll narrow down your dating options real quick,” Andie snorted.
Kat’s face took on a dreamy, pensive look. “What if it’s a really good one though?”
“Nope.” Julia shook her head.
“Like, really good,” Kat insisted.
“Still no,” Julia said, equally insistent. She twirled her chopstick faster. Hell, no. She was tired of that line so casually getting crossed.
“Well, send them my way, then.” Kat reached out and tapped her chopstick against Julia’s, knocking the shrimp back into the bowl. “But only the really good ones.”
Julia and Andie both stared at their friend.
“Relax. I’m just messing with you.” Kat met their gazes, a sly smile in the corner of her mouth. “Though maybe it’s not a bad thing to know what the package looks like before it’s delivered.”
“Yeah, but you should be allowed to order the package first.” Julia’s peeved tone turned teasing. “Nobody appreciates junk mail.”
“Wow.” Andie snorted. “You two make it all sound so romantic.”
“When’s the last time you went on a romantic date?” Kat shot back.
“Honestly, at this point I’d settle for someone who wasn’t looking for me to play mommy.” Andie made a face. “For him or his kids.”
“Uh-oh.” Julia shared a glance with Kat before asking, “Did you try dating another team dad?”
“I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.” Andie shook her head. “I mean, if I fall in love with a guy, I’d be fine having a relationship with his kids, but I need to have a relationship with him first. All these dudes seem to want is a babysitter with benefits.”
“That’s like one step away from banging the nanny.” Julia bit her lip, holding back from saying more. Her friend had a habit of going out with the single dads of girls she coached. Widowed, divorced, separated—whatever their story was at the start, inevitably they all ended the same.
“Definitely not romantic,” Kat agreed, frowning. “Though I’m not really one to talk. I can’t remember the last time a date felt romantic or the last romantic gesture someone did for me. I’d blame my notorious ability to be attracted to assholes, but it’s not like the odds are in our favor.”
“Why do you say that?” Julia asked.
“Jerks are everywhere.” Kat spread her arms wide. “I sell way more I screwed up bouquets at work than I do Let’s make this night special ones.”
“How do you know which is which?” “Someone has to type up the messages that go on those little cards.” Kat leaned closer and lowered her voice. “You would not believe some of the shit I’ve had dictated to me.”
“Maybe if guys started sending flowers instead of dick pics, they’d get more action,” Julia suggested.
“Or they could send flowers with their dick pics,” Andie observed drily.
Kat clapped her hands. “You might be onto something. That would make a great marketing campaign for the shop!”
“It would make a great article for TrendList,” Julia agreed, pulling a pen from her purse along with the mini notebook she always carried to jot down story ideas.
“How to make your dick pics more romantic?” Andie crinkled her nose.
“Would you click on that article?” Julia challenged.
“You know I would,” Andie admitted, face splitting in a You’ve got me there grin.
“ ‘A Dozen Ways to Up Your Dick Pic Game,’ ” Julia muttered, writing the possible title down in her notebook.
“Up your game?” Kat shook her head. “Uh-uh.”
“What? Too dude-bro?” Julia tapped her pen against the edge of the table. “How about ‘A Dozen Ways to Say I Love You With Your—’”
“Actually,” Andie interrupted, “I’m more concerned about the number. Isn’t a dozen rather optimistic?”
Julia doodled on the corner of the page. “Planning this article in the first place is optimistic.”
“Layoff rumors again?” Concern softened Andie’s voice.
“It’s journalism. There’s always layoff rumors.” Julia scribbled over the titles, pen scratching back and forth in jerky, irritated movements. “But I have confirmation from a reliable source that another wave of cuts is coming.”
“You’re the hardest-working person I’ve ever met.” Kat put an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve survived every layoff so far. Do you really think this will actually affect you?”
“The ax could drop any day,” Julia sighed, shrimp and noodles squirming unpleasantly in her gut. She’d told herself she wouldn’t bring this up at lunch, but she could never hide anything from her friends for long. “And I don’t think I’m going to escape the chopping block this time.”
Kat sighed too. “Shit, Jules.” She squeezed Julia’s shoulder. “Maybe this is a good thing.”
“How?”
“You were just complaining about being tired of writing yet another quiz on how to use your horoscope sign to determine which candidate on The Bachelorette would be right for you.”
“I like writing those quizzes. I’m tired of writing about The Bachelorette,” Julia amended.
“Then why torture yourself?”
“Because for some inexplicable reason, people really seem to enjoy reading about The Bachelorette.” “Excuse me.” Kat poked her. “I’m one of those people.”
“If I didn’t write it, they’d find someone else who would.” Julia paused and glared into her teacup. “Though it looks like that’s about to happen anyway.”
“If you’re creating stuff people want, why do you think TrendList is going to lay you off?” Andie asked.
“I don’t think they will; I know it. I told you. The news came from a very reliable source.” Julia shook her head. “When I first started at TrendList, freelancers were the exception, not the norm. But they’ve been cleaning house. Firing writing teams and replacing them with part-timers who are cheaper and don’t qualify for benefits.”
“That sucks.” Kat frowned.
“Honestly, I’m lucky to have survived there this long.”
“Your career is just getting started,” Andie scoffed. “Maybe now, with some experience under your belt, you’ll find a better job somewhere else. One door closes another opens and all that.”
“Like every other job prospect in journalism isn’t struggling with the same issue. How do you think I score so many side gigs?” Julia didn’t make any attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice. Her gut twisted again. She tried not to think about how taking those freelance writing assignments meant she was probably taking a job from someone just like her. But it was the nature of the business, and she depended on the extra income from those gigs to make ends meet.
“You summarized it perfectly, Kat. It sucks.” Andie scowled. “And it’s not just journalism. My mom’s said similar things about teaching positions at her university. They’re retaining fewer fulltime professors and hiring more adjuncts.”
“Who get paid a lot less and don’t qualify for a benefits package,” Julia grumbled.
“I can’t imagine TrendList paying anyone much less. You’ve been there almost three years and your pay is still peanuts.” Kat paused when the server returned to clear their table.
“The pay is peanuts, thanks for the reminder,” Julia agreed. “But the benefit package is solid, and you know how much I need that.” The words summoned forth the weight of her parents’ judgment from hundreds of miles away. She slumped deeper into the booth.
They didn’t agree on much, but when it came to Julia’s life choices, her parents formed an irritatingly unified front. At the top of Fifty Reasons Our Daughter Shouldn’t Pursue a Career in Journalism was their concern over a lack of steady full-time jobs with health benefits. Perhaps even more irritating was the fact they were right. Though Julia was determined to do whatever she could to prove them wrong.
She’d been so proud when she first scored the position at the popular digital media company, sure that it was the start of great things. Julia liked her job at TrendList. She enjoyed creating lighthearted content that offered entertainment and distraction to the masses. But she’d been churning out lists and quizzes for nearly three years and didn’t seem to have much to show for it. She had to admit she was starting to feel stuck.
Maybe Kat was onto something and getting canned would be a good thing. The thought hadn’t even finished forming in her brain before Julia was already dismissing it. Being underappreciated and occasionally understimulated was more appealing than unemployment, definitely easier than losing her health insurance, and infinitely better than having to head back home and acknowledge that her parents had known best all along.
“Whoa, I’m getting some very negative vibes from you right now,” Kat said, nudging Julia with her shoulder. “Bright side time. You still have your job at this current moment, correct?”
“As far as I know.” Only Kat could use the phrase “bright side time” without making Julia want to inflict bodily harm. The waitress dropped the bill and Julia fidgeted with a corner of the receipt. “We’ll see what happens when I get back to the office.”
“That’s it?” Kat pressed.
“What do you mean?”
“You never give up that easily.” Kat grabbed the check out of her hands. “What are you going to do?”
“Um, what can I do?” Julia flipped to a new page in her notepad. “Let’s see . . . ten ways to avoid getting canned.” She began to make a list. “Number one. Beg. Number two. Cry.”
“I’m serious, Jules.”
“Number three,” Julia continued. “Plead.”
“Isn’t plead the same thing as beg?” Andie asked.
“Not helping,” Kat growled. She took the pen from Julia. “Number four.” Kat scrawled, adding to the list. “Show them your worth.”
Julia snorted. “Okay, Miss Bright Side. I’ve had enough of your positive energy for today.”
“I’m serious, Jules.” Kat underlined what she’d written. “You said anybody could make those list things.”
“Listicles. And maybe not anybody—” Julia began.
“Fine,” Kat cut her off. “Anybody with an internet connection and a decent understanding of pop culture. Whatever. My point is you’re more than that. You’re worth more than the peanuts they pay you. So much more. You’re a great writer. You’re smart and funny and ridiculously creative. Make them see it.”
Andie brightened. “That’s actually a really good idea.”
“You’re on Li’l Miss Sunshine’s side too now?” Julia groused, but it was halfhearted at best. Hard to be annoyed at your friends when they’re showering you with compliments.
“I deal with this on the field all the time. A hundred or more girls vying for the same handful of spots on a team. All of them are competent. All of them could get the job done. Who’s bringing something a little extra to the table?”
“I’m not bribing my boss,” Julia warned.
“You’ve been watching too much reality TV, Jules.” Andie rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about the TADA factor.”
“You lost me,” Kat said.
“TADA.” Andie ticked off her fingers. “Talent. Ambition. Determination. Athleticism.”
“You can forget about that last one,” Julia said, laughing.
“Well, it was created for soccer players. How about we swap it out for something highly valued in a journalist.” Andie’s face scrunched in thought. “Accuracy?”
“Sadly, not as important as one would hope.” Julia shook her head. “I get what you’re trying to say, though.”
“I ask my players all the time, ‘What are you bringing that the others aren’t?’ They’re performing at a level where phenomenal skill isn’t just expected, it’s the baseline. Which means, if they don’t want to get cut, they have to prove themselves valuable to the team in other ways.” Andie leaned across the table, dark eyes intense. “Do you wanna get cut?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do about it then?”
“Um . . .” Julia squirmed in the booth. It was hard to ignore Andie when she used her coach voice. Julia bet if her friend demanded that everyone in the restaurant stand up and start doing speed drills the entire place would be on their feet in seconds. “Show my boss I’m a valuable team player?”
“You got it, MVP.” Andie pounded the table with her fist.
“Exactly what I was trying to say.” Kat squeezed Julia’s arm. “Make your ass invaluable to them.”
“How did this conversation circle back around to my butt?” Julia teased. The alarm on her phone chimed. Julia jumped and crammed her notebook and pen back in her purse. “Shit. I won’t have a job to save if I don’t get back to work.” She scooted out of the booth. Dropping some cash on the table, she turned to her friends. “So, Friday . . . I’ll take care of the movie?”
“And I’ve got the drinks,” Andie added, standing as well.
“I guess that leaves me in charge of snacks.” Kat wriggled out of the booth. “I’m on it.”
Once outside the Thai place, Julia gave each of her friends a quick hug. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“You’re going to schedule a meeting with your boss?” Andie asked. “Show ’em your TADA?”
“Yes,” Julia said, striving to sound more confident. “Definitely.”
“Today.” Kat wagged a finger at her. “You promise?”
“TADA today. I promise. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you Friday.” With a wave, Julia turned and headed toward her L stop. A moment later she laughed out loud when she heard Kat shout, “Remember to show them you’re an ass . . . et!”
Julia
“His penis looks like your shrimp.”
Julia Carpenter paused, chopsticks hovering near her lips as she stared at her friend Andie, seated on the other side of their regular lunch booth in Tasty Thai. Next to Julia, their friend Kat hid a snicker in her noodles.
“What?” Andie reached across the table for Julia’s phone. “Am I wrong?” She tilted the image on the screen toward them for comparison. “See?”
“Well,” Kat snickered again, “maybe her shrimp looks like his penis.”
The shrimp in question slipped from between Julia’s chopsticks and landed back in her bowl with a squicky splat. She set the utensils down and made a grab for her phone. “Stop waving that thing around.”
Kat and Andie both snickered this time.
Julia resisted the urge to join in their juvenile appreciation of the unintentional innuendo and plucked her phone from Andie’s grasp. But when she glanced at the screen, she had to admit the male anatomy currently on display did bear an unfortunate resemblance to the shrimp in her pad kee mao. And now she was snickering too. Really, it was either laugh or cry. Shaking her head, she deleted the image sent by her most recent dating fail. “Why do guys think we like looking at pictures of their junk?”
“Because they like looking at ours.” Andie shrugged. “How often does a dick pic come accompanied by the eloquent request to”—she paused and lowered her voice to dude-bro level—“send me your nudes?”
“All the time.” Kat rolled her eyes as she sipped her tea.
“And how often do you comply?” Andie crossed her arms and rested against the back of the booth, one dark brow arched.
Kat’s full lips pursed around the rim of her cup. “Never.” She swallowed and added, “Well, there was that one time . . .”
Andie’s other eyebrow jumped to join its twin as she leaned forward. “What?”
“I’m kidding.” Kat’s smile was wicked. “What about you, Jules?”
“Not on purpose.” Julia picked up the teapot and poured out a measure of steaming liquid.
“Now you’re the one who’s kidding,” Kat insisted.
“It was one time, and it was just my butt.” Julia lifted her teacup, inhaling the soothing scent of jasmine while enjoying the looks of fascinated horror on her friends’ faces. “And it was an accident.”
“I’ve heard of accidentally butt dialing someone.” Andie shook her head, her dark fringe of bangs falling over one eye. “But sending a butt pic by accident?”
“Forget sending it. I’m still confused about how you managed to take a selfie of your naked butt by mistake in the first place,” Kat admitted.
“Oh,” Julia confessed, “that part was on purpose.”
“What do you call a butt selfie, anyway?” Andie mused.
“A belfie,” Julia answered immediately.
“For the record, I knew that, but I refuse to ever use that word,” Kat declared.
“Also, in case you were wondering, yes, there is such a thing as a belfie stick.”
“I refuse to use that, too,” Kat amended.
“For someone who claims it was ‘one time,’” Andie made quotation marks with her fingers, “and ‘an accident,’ you sure know a lot about butt pic stuff.”
“In my first year at TrendList, I wrote an article about the top five ways to get the best angle for your belfie,” Julia explained. “And yes, it was an accident, and it really was just that one time. I can’t believe either of you are surprised. This is me we’re talking about, remember? Murphy’s Law on two legs.”
“Oh, come on. You’re not that bad.” Kat patted her on the shoulder. “You make yourself sound like a walking disaster.”
“I mean, she kind of is.” Andie blew her bangs out of her face. “No offense, Jules.”
“None taken.” Julia grimaced good-naturedly. It was true. In her experience, anything that could go wrong, did go wrong. Murphy’s Law incarnate. If there was a way she could screw something up, odds were, she would. Case in point: sending a dude she’d gone on a few casual dates with a close-up of her bare ass by mistake. “I never told either of you about this?”
“Trust me, I’d remember,” Kat assured her.
“It’s not really a big deal.” Julia recalled the incident, cheeks heating from more than just the tea. “I had a bug bite on my butt, and it was swelling up and itching and I was worried it might be a deadly spider or something that bit me.”
“So you took a selfie of your dupa?” Kat shook her head. “Why not just look in the mirror?”
“It was at an odd angle and I wanted to send a picture to my mom for her opinion.” Her mother was a dermatologist who saw plenty of weirder things in her average day on the job.
“Too bad you didn’t have a belfie stick.” Andie smirked.
“Anyway . . .” Julia ignored her and continued. “Let’s talk about the plan for Friday night.”
“Hold on.” Andie raised a hand. “I still have questions.”
“It wasn’t poisonous,” Julia assured her. “Just a mosquito bite.”
“Uh-huh, yeah, great.” Andie waved that aside. “What I want to know is who’d you accidentally send the belfie to?”
“Yeah,” Kat chimed in, blue eyes twinkling. “Who got the literal booty call?”
“Funny you should call it that.” A reluctant smile tugged at Julia’s lips. She really did have a talent for messing things up. “Because that’s exactly what Derek thought when he got it.”
“Derek?” Kat tapped her chopsticks together in thought. “The I just bought a boat guy?”
“The I took an hour to make my hair look like I slept funny guy?” Andie added.
“That’s the one.” Julia nodded. “He showed up at my door so fast, I still didn’t have my pants back on.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him the truth. That it was a mistake. That I’d meant to send the pic to someone else.”
“Uh-oh.” Andie winced. “Did you explain to him it was meant for your mom?”
“I don’t know if that would have been better,” Kat chortled. “He bailed before I could.” Julia shrugged, then stopped, eyes widening. “Oh, God. He thought I was sending the pic to another guy, didn’t he? No wonder he was so mad!”
“You’re just putting that together?” Kat made a noise in the back of her throat, half disgusted and half amused. “Honestly, Jules, I don’t know how you manage any sort of love life.”
“Easy. I don’t.”
“But you go on dates all the time,” Kat insisted.
“Yeah, and they all end in disaster.” Julia poked at the remaining food in her bowl. “Or with dick pics.”
“Or both,” Andie added.
“Definitely both,” Kat agreed.
“Then why do we keep doing it?” Julia asked, as much to herself as to her friends.
“Because we keep hoping we’ll find the one,” Andie said.
“Which one?” Julia wondered.
“She means the one.” Kat fluttered her fingers. “You know, the one meant just for you.”
“Oh.” Julia stabbed a chopstick through the shrimp. “That one.”
“The right one is out there,” Andie promised. “We just have to keep looking.”
“It’s what we have to keep looking at that bothers me.” Julia held up her chopstick, phallic shellfish speared on the end.
“Does this mean it’s a no to seeing shrimp boy again?” Andie asked.
Julia twirled her chopstick, sending the little crustacean spinning. “I think so.” She sighed. “I need to enact a strict no dick pics policy. If they send me an unsolicited shot of their wiener, I’m out.”
“That’ll narrow down your dating options real quick,” Andie snorted.
Kat’s face took on a dreamy, pensive look. “What if it’s a really good one though?”
“Nope.” Julia shook her head.
“Like, really good,” Kat insisted.
“Still no,” Julia said, equally insistent. She twirled her chopstick faster. Hell, no. She was tired of that line so casually getting crossed.
“Well, send them my way, then.” Kat reached out and tapped her chopstick against Julia’s, knocking the shrimp back into the bowl. “But only the really good ones.”
Julia and Andie both stared at their friend.
“Relax. I’m just messing with you.” Kat met their gazes, a sly smile in the corner of her mouth. “Though maybe it’s not a bad thing to know what the package looks like before it’s delivered.”
“Yeah, but you should be allowed to order the package first.” Julia’s peeved tone turned teasing. “Nobody appreciates junk mail.”
“Wow.” Andie snorted. “You two make it all sound so romantic.”
“When’s the last time you went on a romantic date?” Kat shot back.
“Honestly, at this point I’d settle for someone who wasn’t looking for me to play mommy.” Andie made a face. “For him or his kids.”
“Uh-oh.” Julia shared a glance with Kat before asking, “Did you try dating another team dad?”
“I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.” Andie shook her head. “I mean, if I fall in love with a guy, I’d be fine having a relationship with his kids, but I need to have a relationship with him first. All these dudes seem to want is a babysitter with benefits.”
“That’s like one step away from banging the nanny.” Julia bit her lip, holding back from saying more. Her friend had a habit of going out with the single dads of girls she coached. Widowed, divorced, separated—whatever their story was at the start, inevitably they all ended the same.
“Definitely not romantic,” Kat agreed, frowning. “Though I’m not really one to talk. I can’t remember the last time a date felt romantic or the last romantic gesture someone did for me. I’d blame my notorious ability to be attracted to assholes, but it’s not like the odds are in our favor.”
“Why do you say that?” Julia asked.
“Jerks are everywhere.” Kat spread her arms wide. “I sell way more I screwed up bouquets at work than I do Let’s make this night special ones.”
“How do you know which is which?” “Someone has to type up the messages that go on those little cards.” Kat leaned closer and lowered her voice. “You would not believe some of the shit I’ve had dictated to me.”
“Maybe if guys started sending flowers instead of dick pics, they’d get more action,” Julia suggested.
“Or they could send flowers with their dick pics,” Andie observed drily.
Kat clapped her hands. “You might be onto something. That would make a great marketing campaign for the shop!”
“It would make a great article for TrendList,” Julia agreed, pulling a pen from her purse along with the mini notebook she always carried to jot down story ideas.
“How to make your dick pics more romantic?” Andie crinkled her nose.
“Would you click on that article?” Julia challenged.
“You know I would,” Andie admitted, face splitting in a You’ve got me there grin.
“ ‘A Dozen Ways to Up Your Dick Pic Game,’ ” Julia muttered, writing the possible title down in her notebook.
“Up your game?” Kat shook her head. “Uh-uh.”
“What? Too dude-bro?” Julia tapped her pen against the edge of the table. “How about ‘A Dozen Ways to Say I Love You With Your—’”
“Actually,” Andie interrupted, “I’m more concerned about the number. Isn’t a dozen rather optimistic?”
Julia doodled on the corner of the page. “Planning this article in the first place is optimistic.”
“Layoff rumors again?” Concern softened Andie’s voice.
“It’s journalism. There’s always layoff rumors.” Julia scribbled over the titles, pen scratching back and forth in jerky, irritated movements. “But I have confirmation from a reliable source that another wave of cuts is coming.”
“You’re the hardest-working person I’ve ever met.” Kat put an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve survived every layoff so far. Do you really think this will actually affect you?”
“The ax could drop any day,” Julia sighed, shrimp and noodles squirming unpleasantly in her gut. She’d told herself she wouldn’t bring this up at lunch, but she could never hide anything from her friends for long. “And I don’t think I’m going to escape the chopping block this time.”
Kat sighed too. “Shit, Jules.” She squeezed Julia’s shoulder. “Maybe this is a good thing.”
“How?”
“You were just complaining about being tired of writing yet another quiz on how to use your horoscope sign to determine which candidate on The Bachelorette would be right for you.”
“I like writing those quizzes. I’m tired of writing about The Bachelorette,” Julia amended.
“Then why torture yourself?”
“Because for some inexplicable reason, people really seem to enjoy reading about The Bachelorette.” “Excuse me.” Kat poked her. “I’m one of those people.”
“If I didn’t write it, they’d find someone else who would.” Julia paused and glared into her teacup. “Though it looks like that’s about to happen anyway.”
“If you’re creating stuff people want, why do you think TrendList is going to lay you off?” Andie asked.
“I don’t think they will; I know it. I told you. The news came from a very reliable source.” Julia shook her head. “When I first started at TrendList, freelancers were the exception, not the norm. But they’ve been cleaning house. Firing writing teams and replacing them with part-timers who are cheaper and don’t qualify for benefits.”
“That sucks.” Kat frowned.
“Honestly, I’m lucky to have survived there this long.”
“Your career is just getting started,” Andie scoffed. “Maybe now, with some experience under your belt, you’ll find a better job somewhere else. One door closes another opens and all that.”
“Like every other job prospect in journalism isn’t struggling with the same issue. How do you think I score so many side gigs?” Julia didn’t make any attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice. Her gut twisted again. She tried not to think about how taking those freelance writing assignments meant she was probably taking a job from someone just like her. But it was the nature of the business, and she depended on the extra income from those gigs to make ends meet.
“You summarized it perfectly, Kat. It sucks.” Andie scowled. “And it’s not just journalism. My mom’s said similar things about teaching positions at her university. They’re retaining fewer fulltime professors and hiring more adjuncts.”
“Who get paid a lot less and don’t qualify for a benefits package,” Julia grumbled.
“I can’t imagine TrendList paying anyone much less. You’ve been there almost three years and your pay is still peanuts.” Kat paused when the server returned to clear their table.
“The pay is peanuts, thanks for the reminder,” Julia agreed. “But the benefit package is solid, and you know how much I need that.” The words summoned forth the weight of her parents’ judgment from hundreds of miles away. She slumped deeper into the booth.
They didn’t agree on much, but when it came to Julia’s life choices, her parents formed an irritatingly unified front. At the top of Fifty Reasons Our Daughter Shouldn’t Pursue a Career in Journalism was their concern over a lack of steady full-time jobs with health benefits. Perhaps even more irritating was the fact they were right. Though Julia was determined to do whatever she could to prove them wrong.
She’d been so proud when she first scored the position at the popular digital media company, sure that it was the start of great things. Julia liked her job at TrendList. She enjoyed creating lighthearted content that offered entertainment and distraction to the masses. But she’d been churning out lists and quizzes for nearly three years and didn’t seem to have much to show for it. She had to admit she was starting to feel stuck.
Maybe Kat was onto something and getting canned would be a good thing. The thought hadn’t even finished forming in her brain before Julia was already dismissing it. Being underappreciated and occasionally understimulated was more appealing than unemployment, definitely easier than losing her health insurance, and infinitely better than having to head back home and acknowledge that her parents had known best all along.
“Whoa, I’m getting some very negative vibes from you right now,” Kat said, nudging Julia with her shoulder. “Bright side time. You still have your job at this current moment, correct?”
“As far as I know.” Only Kat could use the phrase “bright side time” without making Julia want to inflict bodily harm. The waitress dropped the bill and Julia fidgeted with a corner of the receipt. “We’ll see what happens when I get back to the office.”
“That’s it?” Kat pressed.
“What do you mean?”
“You never give up that easily.” Kat grabbed the check out of her hands. “What are you going to do?”
“Um, what can I do?” Julia flipped to a new page in her notepad. “Let’s see . . . ten ways to avoid getting canned.” She began to make a list. “Number one. Beg. Number two. Cry.”
“I’m serious, Jules.”
“Number three,” Julia continued. “Plead.”
“Isn’t plead the same thing as beg?” Andie asked.
“Not helping,” Kat growled. She took the pen from Julia. “Number four.” Kat scrawled, adding to the list. “Show them your worth.”
Julia snorted. “Okay, Miss Bright Side. I’ve had enough of your positive energy for today.”
“I’m serious, Jules.” Kat underlined what she’d written. “You said anybody could make those list things.”
“Listicles. And maybe not anybody—” Julia began.
“Fine,” Kat cut her off. “Anybody with an internet connection and a decent understanding of pop culture. Whatever. My point is you’re more than that. You’re worth more than the peanuts they pay you. So much more. You’re a great writer. You’re smart and funny and ridiculously creative. Make them see it.”
Andie brightened. “That’s actually a really good idea.”
“You’re on Li’l Miss Sunshine’s side too now?” Julia groused, but it was halfhearted at best. Hard to be annoyed at your friends when they’re showering you with compliments.
“I deal with this on the field all the time. A hundred or more girls vying for the same handful of spots on a team. All of them are competent. All of them could get the job done. Who’s bringing something a little extra to the table?”
“I’m not bribing my boss,” Julia warned.
“You’ve been watching too much reality TV, Jules.” Andie rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about the TADA factor.”
“You lost me,” Kat said.
“TADA.” Andie ticked off her fingers. “Talent. Ambition. Determination. Athleticism.”
“You can forget about that last one,” Julia said, laughing.
“Well, it was created for soccer players. How about we swap it out for something highly valued in a journalist.” Andie’s face scrunched in thought. “Accuracy?”
“Sadly, not as important as one would hope.” Julia shook her head. “I get what you’re trying to say, though.”
“I ask my players all the time, ‘What are you bringing that the others aren’t?’ They’re performing at a level where phenomenal skill isn’t just expected, it’s the baseline. Which means, if they don’t want to get cut, they have to prove themselves valuable to the team in other ways.” Andie leaned across the table, dark eyes intense. “Do you wanna get cut?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do about it then?”
“Um . . .” Julia squirmed in the booth. It was hard to ignore Andie when she used her coach voice. Julia bet if her friend demanded that everyone in the restaurant stand up and start doing speed drills the entire place would be on their feet in seconds. “Show my boss I’m a valuable team player?”
“You got it, MVP.” Andie pounded the table with her fist.
“Exactly what I was trying to say.” Kat squeezed Julia’s arm. “Make your ass invaluable to them.”
“How did this conversation circle back around to my butt?” Julia teased. The alarm on her phone chimed. Julia jumped and crammed her notebook and pen back in her purse. “Shit. I won’t have a job to save if I don’t get back to work.” She scooted out of the booth. Dropping some cash on the table, she turned to her friends. “So, Friday . . . I’ll take care of the movie?”
“And I’ve got the drinks,” Andie added, standing as well.
“I guess that leaves me in charge of snacks.” Kat wriggled out of the booth. “I’m on it.”
Once outside the Thai place, Julia gave each of her friends a quick hug. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“You’re going to schedule a meeting with your boss?” Andie asked. “Show ’em your TADA?”
“Yes,” Julia said, striving to sound more confident. “Definitely.”
“Today.” Kat wagged a finger at her. “You promise?”
“TADA today. I promise. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you Friday.” With a wave, Julia turned and headed toward her L stop. A moment later she laughed out loud when she heard Kat shout, “Remember to show them you’re an ass . . . et!”
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Too Good to Be Real
Melonie Johnson
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