Page 37 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Great lips,’ I say fervently.

‘Oh my God, Arjun finally delivered.’

‘Totally.’ I feel a little twinge of guilt for deceiving my friend. But if I unloaded the truth that Arjun may have set me up with a serial killer, George would be apoplectic. It could even ruin their wedding. Anyway, the kiss was nice. I’m not lying. Just leaving out a few details.

‘So when are you seeing him again?’

‘I don’t know … he left kind of abruptly.’

‘Oh?’

‘And forward into warrior three!’ says the instructor, adopting the balance position on one leg, her torso perfectly parallel with the floor.

I lean carefully forward, wobbling on my right leg and airplaning out my arms to keep my balance as I try to flatten my torso.

‘Well, first, some rando grabbed my purse and made a run for it. And Liam went after him, like, no hesitation. Believe it or not, he caught the guy. It was actually kind of …’ I debate my word choice. Impressive? Terrifying? Confusing?

‘Hot,’ purrs George. ‘Love that feral energy.’

‘So then I’m thinking we’re going to keep hanging out, like we’d been talking about. And then suddenly he switches gears and he’s like, “I have to go.”’

‘Huh?’

‘He said he had an early meeting.’ I grunt, wobbling even more.

‘On a Sunday?’ George’s tone of offended disbelief is balm to my soul. She gets it.

‘Yeah … a little sus, right?’

‘Oh, total bullshit. And he hasn’t texted?’

‘Nothing,’ I say. All day yesterday, as I alternated between Reddit and a calming ocean documentary that taught me more than I ever needed to know about jellyfish, I debated texting him. Then I remembered the scary expression on his face after he punched that guy, and I didn’t. ‘But, fun fact, did you know there’s an immortal species of jellyfish? Turritopsis dohrnii. They can, like, revert back to their younger—’ And then I’m losing my balance. As I fall, I fling my arms out, catching George’s arm.

‘Whoa!’ she cries, and before I know it, we’re both on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. George is having a silent fit of laughter, and I’m not far behind. Oh my God, I might actually pee myself.

The instructor looks at us from her perfectly balanced pose. Her voice remains perfectly Zen.

‘Perhaps a little more focus, a little less talk, ladies?’

George and I look at each other and stifle our laughter. For the remaining twenty minutes, we’re on our best behavior. When the class finally ends, George and I head to the ladies’ locker room, where we shower and change, since we’re both headed to work from here. As she does her makeup at a small sink, I perch on a bench next to her.

‘So should I wait for him to text?’ I ask. ‘Or text him?’

‘Girl, you know I’m a feminist, but do not text him. ’Kay? This is where he proves if he’s actually interested or just fucking around.’

‘How do I know, though, if he’s interested in me, or in …’ I gesture vaguely with my hands.

‘Screwing you?’

More like killing me, but I murmur my assent anyway.

‘I hate to say it, Margot, because I know this is a sore subject for you, but …’ George spears me with her gaze, her mascara wand poised. ‘You have to make your best judgment call and go with your gut.’

‘But my gut sucks!’ I cover my face with my hands and growl. ‘You know this about me! I’m tired of getting hurt. I want to know for sure.’

‘But you can’t,’ she says, completely calm, like this isn’t a totally terrifying part of existence. ‘Even with Arjun, babe, I can’t know for sure for sure for sure. I mean, I’m for sure, don’t get me wrong, but … you know what I mean.’

‘Do I?’