“Why are we going to this bar? You’re not even single,” I say to my best friend, Blakely, as I pull on the hem of my dress for the twentieth time since we climbed out of the Uber. The dress was cute on the hanger. It was cute on me when I stood still in front of the mirror. But now that I’m walking the streets of Vancouver, nothing about this dress is cute. It keeps riding higher and higher on my thighs. It would be the ultimate success if I skate away from this night without showing off my underwear.
“Yes, but Perry is out of town, and it’s fun being your wing-woman.”
“I didn’t even want to go out tonight,” I say. “It feels ridiculous to go out on Valentine’s Day as a single person.”
“It’s not ridiculous.” Blakely loops her arm through mine and pulls me in close to her side. A half a foot taller than me, Blakely is a five-foot-ten beauty with chestnut-brown hair, emerald-green eyes, and a smile that only falters when she’s been wronged. She’s my work wife, best friend, and skin-care expert who’s determined never to look a day over twenty-one. “The best time to go out is when you’re single because you can hook up with someone just looking to fill a void.”
“Ah, yes, because being someone’s void filler really screams good time,” I say sarcastically.
“Could be a good time if you allowed it to be. Don’t you think it’s time you start dating? You got the promotion you’ve worked so hard for, so it’s time you relax and have some fun.” She is right. I’ve worked my butt off for the past two years, and there have been many long days and few party-filled nights.
“I don’t need a man to have fun.”
“Facts,” Blakely says. “But getting out of your apartment is necessary. And I didn’t want to pull this card on you, but best friends have needs too, you know, and coming out with me tonight is a need.”
“Wow, you’re going there?”
“Of course, I am. I can’t have you grouchy tonight. We need to have fun. Can you do that? Have fun?”
I sigh dramatically. “I think I can manage such a thing.”
“Good. Now, when we enter the bar, I want nothing but good spirits from you. And if you just happen to meet a guy, so be it, but that won’t be our end goal. Our end goal is to just have fun, maybe do some dancing, and of course people-watch as they navigate this romantic night as singles.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say as we reach the bar that Blakely has not stopped talking about.
According to her, on Valentine’s Day, the place is decked out in red with balloons, streamers, and singles ready to mingle. Not to mention appetizers are passed around by catering staff, the music is “fire,” and it’s an exclusive invite list, so not just anyone can join the party.
It sounded like fun when she told me, and now that I’m committed, short dress and all, I might as well enjoy the night. I started as an intern for the Vancouver Agitators and worked my way up to the in-house social media coordinator, specializing in TikTok. And I love my job so hard.
I get to hang out with professional hockey players and make them keep up with TikTok trends, troll fans on our social media accounts, and watch my brother play the sport we’re both in love with.
So I might as well celebrate, let loose, and have some fun.
When we reach the door to the bar, a very large and gruff-looking man holding a clipboard greets us. His brow is turned down, and as we draw closer, he slowly takes us in. “Name,” he says in a brusque tone.
“Blakely White and guest.” She bounces on her heels and smiles at me, clearly excited about our night out.
The bouncer looks through the names on his clipboard, and just when I think he can’t find my friend’s name, he makes a slashing mark across his paper and then steps aside while releasing a velvet rope.
“No smoking inside. Eat as much as you want. Have fun,” he says in such a monotone voice that I wonder how many times he’s said that already this evening.
Hand in hand, Blakely and I enter the bar, and I’m immediately struck by the hundreds of balloons pressed against the already low ceiling. Different colors of pink and red, the balloons are the main focus of the decorations, but they don’t deter the observing eye from the crepe streamers hanging from one end of the bar to the other and the glitter scattered all over the floor. The balloons alone would be a nightmare but attach the sweaty, dragged-around glitter from the floor, and that doesn’t scream good time to me.