Page 4 of Unexpectedly In Love

Cassia screams out laughing. “You’re done, Ani.”

Sage begins to dance in her chair as she makes a miserable attempt to beatbox.

“You two are a mess,” I cry, pressing my fingers to the corner of my eyes to make sure my mascara is not running.

“It’s your fault doing a remix to Sir Mix A Lot ‘I Like Big Butts,’” Sage bemoans while tying her hair net over her head.

Walking to bed, I pick up a magenta clutch and a hot red slick clutch.

“What do you guys think?” I ask, posing with each clutch in front of me.

“The red,” Sage comments while she wraps her hair up.

“Agreed,” Cassia chimes in.

“Red it is.” I drop the magenta into my luggage. I spritz my perfume behind my ear, wrist and knees. Searching the table, I swipe my room key.

“Somebody is about to get lucky tonight,” Cassia teases.

“Yup, she is about to rest it down on them,” Sage adds.

I feel a little twinge of sadness.

Even though my sisters love me, they think of me as promiscuous, flighty…when I’m not. In my 29 years of living, I had had sex with four men. My high school boyfriend, a college crush, and my ex-boyfriend (who I will not name). We spent five years together, and he cheated and dumped me. Apparently, me wanting to spend quality time was nagging.

Last time I had sex was one year ago with a man I found on the Flirtback app. Do I talk like I have a lot of sex? Yes. Am I good at it? I don’t know. I believe in telling your truth.

Am I a serial dater? Yes. But it doesn’t mean that I lie down with every man I meet. It’s so frustrating.

“So, you didn’t like the book,” Cassia interrupts my thoughts.

“Sis that book is a ten. I loved it,” I reply because I knew I frustrated the crap out of my sister for no reason.

“Stop playing with me, Annie,” Cassia cries.

“The book is a ten, Cassy. I love you, and I have to go.”

“I wanna read it. Send it to me, Cassy,” Sage shouts to the screen.

“No wait, Annie. I have more questions,” Cassia screams.

I press the end button on my phone. I love my sisters. They drive me crazy some days, especially since I am the youngest, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

Closing the door behind me, I head toward the elevator. The door opens upon my arrival.

As I enter the door, I spot a short man. His pink, balding head shines under the elevator light. I can see the small beads of sweat on his head. I place myself to the far corner of the elevator, listening to the lame elevator music.

“Beautiful night,” he says. Judging from his accent, he isn’t a local.

I nod and smile tightly, watching the numbers go down. How slow is this elevator?

“Are you here by yourself?” he asks.

“No, my boyfriend is waiting for me,” I lie.

“Oh, you’re American. I thought you were a local,” he replies. I watch his reflection inch closer to me.

“If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you come down to dinner by yourself.”

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