Page 1 of Flirting With Disaster

One

“Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.”

Albert Einstein

“How many calories are in a…Screaming Orgasm?” Jude Duffy glanced at the young man behind the bar in hopes of some guidance. “No, wait…what about the Bend Over Shirley? Could I have that with seltzer instead of Sprite? Or the Mickey Slim, maybe?”

She returned the drink list to the bar. “I knew a man named Mickey once. He attended one of my studies regarding the hormonal imbalances of mono-zygotic twins in relationship to the concordance for homosexuality.”

Alas, Jude wouldn’t likely experience the sterile safety of her precious lab ever again.

She sighed and slid the resort brochure from her purse. Castle Alainn in October, A Mystical Adventure. Jude snorted. This whole vacation/contest win, organized by her dear Aunt Agnes before her death a month ago, was nothing but a frivolous excursion to help Jude forget the most humiliating moment of her life. And she hated frivolity. It was a threat to her safety and the safety of those around her. She was not a frivolous type of being if one considered her PhD, her Chevy Spark Hatchback, and the 401K she’d invested in since she was sixteen.

The bartender’s brows lifted. “Honey, how about we start with a nice Long Island Iced Tea?” The room echoed with the delight of other patrons, muffling the bartender’s comments. “You look a little…uptight.”

Jude relaxed a bit on the bar stool. “Yes, an iced tea would be lovely.” A simple iced tea for an unfamiliar experience. Perfect. “Is your water filtered? I’d prefer spring water, if that’s okay?” He smiled and turned away. She reached into her purse for an antibacterial wipe, cleansed her hands and the bar surface before tucking the wipe safely into the sleeve of her cardigan.

The place was beautiful. Exposed beams, luxurious couches, and ornate chandeliers. This castle resort in Noble Pass, Colorado was known for its reclusive opulence—owned by an eclectic Irish couple who organized a ridiculous “Noble Pass Affaire” contest each month. And the prize? A week’s stay to give a failure like her a break from her unpalatable state of affairs.

Too bad October’s win had been wasted on a thirty-eight-year-old, misanthropic virgin like her.

“Here you go, Sweetie.”

Jude glanced at the bartender’s name tag. “Thank you, Steven.”

He nodded then winked and walked away. She sipped from the tall crystal glass, the sweet, pungent flavor tweaking her taste buds while she admired the rustic architecture of the room.

That horrid Harry Strubel Show would air across the country tonight. When Evan, her ex-fiancé, had introduced her to the producers of the famous talk show three months ago, she’d been under the impression she was to appear to discuss her anthropological studies. The ones she’d been conducting with her research team to debunk the antagonistic myths for the causes of homosexuality.

Instead, she’d been used as nothing but a prop for a comedic debacle involving her fiancé…and his newly acquired Latin lover.

She’d been so imbecilic. Evan had been perfect during their three year engagement, but Jude should’ve listened when her lab partner had voiced her concerns over Evan’s uncanny ability to yard sale for hours on end, and the fact he wore eyeliner…sometimes.

Jude had just figured he was inextricably in touch with his feminine side, a metro sexual. But her foresight and intelligence had been sabotaged by her innate yearning to be a mother, have a family.

Harry Strubel had to point out her pedantic impotence, her complete deficiency in the face of her fellow anthropologists—on national television—by having Evan announce he was leaving her for the effeminate Timothy Cammarerra, her wedding planner. She sincerely hoped Timothy dumped Evan one day for an androgynous hooker from Henry Street. After tonight’s airing, she’d forever be known as the “Honey, you’re nice, but I like his package better than yours” girl.

God, the humiliation.

She sipped from her second iced tea—Steven was so obliging and prompt with his refills—and glanced toward the couple two stools down. The male was going to leave his partner. The body language, the incongruity of their appearances, the apathetic physiognomy…love was a game for fools.

Jude had been more in love with the idea of being married so she could start a family—something she’d never had—than she’d ever been in love with Evan.

It was tough to love a man who had better eyebrows than her.

She cringed and stirred her iced tea. Maybe she should’ve gone with the Rocky Mountain Bear Fucker. She needed something strong and alcoholic to numb the shame. Plain old iced tea just wasn’t cutting it.

Nine-fifty. Ten minutes until her national humiliation, the end of her career, the end of any credibility she’d ever had in the world of science. How had she not known? Had she been so out of touch with her own life, she’d not even noticed the signs?

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