Page 5 of Lucky
Used the phrase “alpha energy” in reference to himself.
I reach for my water, not quite at a loss for words.I’m a great conversationalist, but I’m honestly afraid of provoking more out of him.
“So, your job,” he continues, like we’ve been mid-conversation instead of him monologuing for an hour.“Kindergarten teacher, right?Must be cute.Kids love you because you’re short.”
“Not just because I’m short,” I say mildly.
He grins.“Feisty.I like that.”
I smile again.It feels like chewing glass and not for the first time on a first date, I consider going to the bathroom and shimmying my way out the window.
“Plus, you’ve got that whole influencer thing.That’s wild.I watched one of your TikToks before our date—my sister follows you.Said you’re funny in a ‘girl next door with baggage’ kind of way.”
I blink.“Wow.High praise.”
“I mean, not everyone can go viral just by being… you know, relatable.That whole ‘average-girl authenticity’ thing you do—people eat it up.”
Fantastic.Somewhere between desperate and marketable.
I never planned on becoming an influencer.Teaching has always been my passion, and the TikTok thing was an accident—a single viral rant after a truly terrible date.I’d filmed myself in sweatpants, eating cold leftover pizza and venting about a guy who asked if I “identified as emotionally available.”
It blew up overnight and I was praised for my self-deprecating humor and the real talk that women were afraid to have.So, I made another video that went viral, and then another, and suddenly, I was a heroine for embracing normality.
I’m known as @WinnieTheNotWild and have about seven hundred thousand followers on TikTok and another couple hundred thousand on Instagram.My niche is basically average girl lifestyle with relatable humor and cozy content, or as I like to call it… humble dating realism.
Who knew that you could make a living off this stuff?I earn around ten grand a month, depending on brand campaigns, affiliate clicks and how funny my videos are.It’s enough to live on, but I’ll never give up teaching kindergarten because I love it—and well, because five-year-olds don’t care about algorithms.They are pure of heart.
It started with one video about the hellscape that is online dating, but people stuck around for the cozy normalcy of my life.Now I get paid to drink tea on camera while I talk to my pet rabbit, Buttermilk, about the facts of life while we hawk lip balm, homemade granola and soft girl sweaters.
And they pay me to do it!
My phone buzzes in my purse, and I nearly kiss it in gratitude.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and Jason looks completely put out that my gaze dares to leave his.I glance at the text and see it’s only from my brother and non-urgent, but I latch onto the lifeline of the timely text.
I frown hard at the screen.“Oh, shoot.There’s a parent situation and I’m afraid I have to go.”I glance up and try to look sad at the situation, but I know I’m not quite pulling it off.“Such a shame.”
He tilts his head.“Aren’t you off tomorrow?”
“Actually,” I say, my brain scrambling for something that sounds legit, “I do have to work.”
“Kindergarten’s open on the weekend?”
“No, but we’re redecorating for spring,” I say lamely as I stand from the table and heft my purse over my shoulder.It’s a Chanel, one of the few luxuries I’ve bought for myself since I started earning far more than I could ever hope to earn as a teacher.“You know how it is.Got to keep the kids visually stimulated.Nothing like papier mâché flowers to open the mind.”
Jason stands politely, confusion still etched on his face, but I wave him off with a tight smile.“No, please… stay and finish this lovely meal.I’m really sorry I have to go.”
Before he can reply, I hastily pull out some cash and set it on the table.“It’s the least I can do since I have to cut this short,” I say, not daring to look back.I bolt.
I envision that he’s following me out of the restaurant… on the hunt to convince me to go on a second date.
I’d rather eat slugs.
Dipped in ghost pepper sauce.
While listening to nails scratch down a chalkboard.
I pick up the pace.The night air is brisk, and the door shuts behind me with no Jason.“Thank you, baby Jesus,” I say, offering up the gratitude.
