Feel The Heat. Cheris Hodges
than my mother misspelling Michelle and naming me Michael! You do realize that Fast Love is going to come after you when they read this.”
Mimi shrugged as she read over her post about the horrific dating event she’d attended the week before. Fast Love billed itself as the last site singles ever needed to log on to in order to find love.
What a bunch of bull. The Fast Love Mix and Mingle, which was held at SkyLounge in Atlanta, turned out to be casting call for “let’s have a one-night stand.” The first two men who’d approached her held conversations with her breasts; the third man just came out and asked her when she planned to get naked for him, then he’d flashed her a wad of cash. She’d been offended and confused, so Mimi approached some of the other women who’d been invited to the event. Their stories had mirrored hers.
When Mimi had headed to the bar, she’d noticed a man sitting alone nursing a whiskey sour.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she’d asked as she waved for the bartender.
He rolled his eyes at her and grumbled no. “This isn’t what I expected from the email Fast Love sent,” he’d replied, then took a long sip of his drink.
“What was in your email?”
“Hot girls looking for action.”
“Seriously?”
Nodding, he’d opened the mail app on his smartphone and showed her the Fast Love email. Mimi’s mouth dropped at the image of half-naked women underneath the headline: Hot Girls Willing to Do Whatever... Fast Love Dating Event.
“What in the...” Mimi waved for the bartender, again. She needed a drink. She asked the man to forward her the email.
“What’s in it for me?” he’d asked as he wiggled his eyebrows.
Narrowing her eyes at him, Mimi asked him if his wife knew where he was, then nodded toward his left hand and the telltale tan line on his ring finger.
“Whatever,” he said, then agreed to forward her the email. After downing her single-malt scotch, Mimi headed over to a group of women who looked as if they were about to leave. After introducing herself as a relationship blogger, she asked them if they would share their thoughts about the event and why they’d signed up for Fast Love.
Two of the three women agreed to talk, and her story was born.
“Mariah Danielle Collins!” MJ said, breaking into her thoughts. “Are you listening to me?”
“Nope,” Mimi replied. “And the post is already getting hits.” She turned her computer screen toward MJ. “Look! Five thousand hits in ten minutes. This is going to be epic. Let’s go celebrate.”
MJ shook her head. “As a brand manager, I know that Fast Love isn’t going to take this sitting down. And you have to think about your own brand! Hello, you are a New York Times bestselling author and we’re in the middle of contract negotiations. You can’t have this kind of publicity. This is going to be so ugly. So ugly.”
“Nothing I said was a lie. They should’ve done a better job marketing this event. It was like a one-sided meat market. I’m doing the world a favor by exposing this nonsense. Too many people exploit single women to make money, and Fast Love is just another one of those companies. Like that obnoxious radio host who has been married four times but is supposed to be a relationship expert.”
MJ cleared her throat. “And some people have labeled you the same, and I don’t see you saying that you aren’t an expert.”
Mimi threw up her hands. “I’m a lifestyle blogger and author.”
“And when that cable news network asked you to speak about dating in the digital age, I didn’t hear you tell Bianca Norman that you weren’t an expert.”
“Listen,” Mimi said, “that was the producer’s job to get her straight. And I’m not an expert.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” MJ quipped.
Mimi glanced at her computer and saw that her post had reached ten thousand views. “Guess who’s about to go viral! Come on, let’s go.”
The two friends headed for the Buckhead Saloon, one of Mimi’s favorite bars. She could always depend on the bartenders to hip her to the latest drinks and celebrity gossip in the city. She even had her own drink there, the aptly named Mimi Collins—a fruity version of a Tom Collins. Mimi’s book, Dating in Atlanta: The Mis-Adventures of Mimi Collins, had given the place a huge buzz because many of the dates she’d written about had started there. And when one of the reality stars from the city had talked about Mimi’s book and the bar in a popular magazine, the place became a bona fide hot spot. The owners knew they had Mimi to thank for that. This afternoon, though, MJ and Mimi were going to celebrate with some hot wings.
“Mimi,” MJ said as they walked into the bar. “What if Fast Love doesn’t take to kindly to your viral post? You have a lot going on right now. You have the movie and second book deal in the works, and this could derail all of that.”
“You worry too much.” She waved to her favorite bartender as she and MJ took their seats at the end of the bar.
“Mimi, girl,” Lydia said as she poured two drinks. “You’re blowing up today! I was going to sign up for Fast Love, but after reading your blog I’m glad I didn’t. I can meet creeps right here for free.”
Mimi turned to MJ. “I did a public service. Now, what was that you were saying about Fast Love coming after me?”
Before MJ could answer, Mimi’s cell phone rang. “Oh my goodness, it’s World Wide News,” Mimi said, then answered her phone.
* * *
Sweat poured from Brent Daniels’s face as he and Jamal Carver, his best friend, lifted the sofa from the back of the moving truck. “Tell me again why you didn’t hire movers?” Jamal asked as they maneuvered the sofa up the stairs of the condo complex.
“Because the movers were booked up today and I need my furniture,” Brent grunted.
“So damned impatient! If I didn’t like this sofa, I’d drop it on your feet.”
“We’re strong enough to do this. Besides, you could use the exercise.”
“You know I can drop it and go home.”
“All right, all right. Dinner’s on me.”
“That’s a given.” The men climbed the three stories and made it to Brent’s front door.
“Why did you decide to move anyway?” Jamal asked.
“Tired of yard work,” Brent joked. “Besides, I moved out to the burbs because I thought I’d be starting a family.”
Jamal dropped his head. “I tried to warn you. Denisha Tate wasn’t worth your lifestyle change.”
Brent sucked his teeth. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Nope. Because you keep dating these paper broads.”
“Here we go,” Brent said as he unlocked the door.
“You want these women who have all of the right papers. The Spelman graduates, the PhDs from Yale, the Links sisters...”
“Stop it.”
“You need to stop it. You’re so busy trying to craft a perfect life that you’re not living. You’re a litigating machine, but when you crawl out of your work hole, you’re boring.”
Brent shook his head. “I’m far from boring. I just choose not to run the streets like a college student looking to score.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark. Dude, we’re living in the land of plenty. Plenty of booty, plenty of breasts and plenty of women who are down for whatever. You’d know that if got out of your law office every now and then. As a matter of