Ghosted

Chapter 1

"Dating sucks." - from the bullet journal of Paige Wilson

***

Someone pinch me. The perfect man existed. After years of hopeless encounters, blind matches, and the full body shudder that was online dating, I'd finally found him.

Then he ghosted me.

You heard that right. Elijah Saunders, III, the rich, successful entrepreneur who lavished me with attention for an entire month, up and vanished. No texts. No snapchats of his abs, which were spectacular by the way. No flirty tweets. Nothing. He thrust me head first into a social media Bermuda Triangle where doomed relationships are never heard from again.

I was pissed. Seriously pissed.

My friend Becca shook her head in pity and stirred the chocolate sauce at the bottom of her iced mocha. "Maybe he's dead."

"He's not dead." I punctuated the statement with my straw, sending droplets of caramel macchiato shooting across the table. "He's a jerk who doesn't know how to break up with a woman in a respectful manner."

Becca wiped coffee from her cheek and made a face. "Maybe he's scared of being assaulted by a plastic straw. Ghosting you is safer. I'm considering doing it to you right now."

I lifted a brow. "You wouldn't last a day. You've already texted me ten times since this morning. You're codependent and you know it."

"Good point." Becca sipped her coffee, sucking around the ice filling her cup. "Besides, if we stopped being friends, I'd have to give back all your stuff. I'd literally be cutting my wardrobe in half." She tossed a wave of thick blond hair over her shoulder and revealed the edges of my favorite silk scarf.

"Hey, I was looking for that. That scarf is expensive!" I threatened her again with my straw. She didn't even flinch. "It wasn't on the clearance rack. I paid full price."

"I know. It's why I love it. Plus I think the green silk matches my eyes."

It didn't match her eyes. Her eyes were brown. But, that hardly mattered. What mattered was my hurt and humiliation circa the last week of silence from Elijah.

"Seriously, Bec, what am I going to do? I can't let him get away with this. There's that little thing called pride I used to have." I groaned and dropped my head onto the table. Becca rapped her knuckles on the polished wood, and I peaked at her from my slumped position.

"Listen up, Paige. You have to go over there. Preferably with a baseball bat and a jar of tomato sauce. I distinctly remember you telling me about his tan leather couch. People with expensive furniture always have to be on their best behavior or risk defacement with a jar of tomato sauce. Elijah broke the rules. You know what you have to do."

"I'm not going to deface his couch. He'd probably bill me for the damage and send me straight into bankruptcy. And I'm not filing bankruptcy because of tomato sauce. It will be because I overspend on shoes and fancy cheese like everyone else."

Becca snorted. "It's only a matter of time then."

"Exactly."

I rolled my head onto my arm and stared at the pattern on my cardboard coffee cup. I should go over there. A confident woman would step out from behind her phone and confront him face to face. After all, generations before me had been having uncomfortable in-person conversations since the dawn of time. And that was exactly my problem. I deserved a proper breakup, not some vanishing act. I needed to hear the obligatory, 'it's not you, it's me' or some other phony line that at least let me move on with a false sense of dignity. I needed to speak my peace. Tell him he shouldn't treat women this way, if not for me, then for the next woman to cross his path. I had a duty. A calling. A—"