Page 16 of The Bleeding Hearts Club

“Oh, that’s strange. Hi. Do I sound strange, too?” I ask, chuckling a little. It’s so fucking awkward.

“Yeah. It sounds like you’re talking through a fan,” they reply.

Great. Okay. This can’t be that bad.

“How is this supposed to go? I didn’t realize how weird it would be to talk to strangers and not see their faces,” I trail off, wrapping the phone cord around my fingers nervously.

“Yeah. Uh, well, I can tell you about myself?” they ask, sounding almost a little excited.

My brows furrow.

Excited to talk about themselves, huh? Red flag.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Go ahead.” I cringe. This is going to be a long ass day.

“Oh, great! I’m thirty-four. I have three kids, two are from my first marriage, the third is from my second. I think the oldest is, twelve? I’m not really sure. I haven’t seen them in a few years. Their mom is a bi—”

He doesn’t even get to finish his little speech before the phone is immediately slammed back down on the receiver.

Fucking jerk-off.

I can handle a dude who has kids. That’s perfectly fine, if not a little bit of a turn on, because kids are cute, and seeing a grown ass man get all mushy and soft over babies? Fucking adorable. But that guy is a cunt-waffle.

Dickheads: 0 Mina: 1

Well, I have twenty-five minutes until the next call. Time to count tiles, I guess.

* * *

One more call. That’s all I have to get through and I can go back to my room and take a fat ass nap and maybe drink one of those little shot bottles of tequila, because this shit has been fucking ridiculous.

The count right now… Dickheads: 0 Mina: 5

Five times, I have hung up on whoever was on the other line because they were: A. Being a huge douche-canoe or B. Creepy as all hell.

Second caller tried to mansplain football. Like, sir, listen. Just because my knowledge of sports might be minuscule, I don’t need you to go into great details on what a touchdown is. When I tried to tell him I knew the basics because I have a cousin who plays, he just cut me off and was all like, “But did you actually watch the games, or just stare at the players?” Both. If you want to know the answer is both, and completely valid.

Third caller didn’t even say five words. He just breathed heavily into the phone which ended rather quickly when I heard the first grunt and moan. Made a note for Amara on that one.

Fourth caller used me like some kind of therapy call service where he cried over the girl that just dumped him. I felt pretty sorry for the dude, but like come on. I can’t say I rather blame the girl for it, especially after he explained that the reason they broke up was because she was rather pissed off that he told her he was working late and couldn’t meet her parents, but she found him at his friend’s house playing a new video game that had come out that day.

Caller five was another weirdo creep who kept trying to get me to have phone sex with him. Using innuendos in every fun fact he revealed about himself. Like how hard it is to be a manager for a fast food chain. He was flagged for Amara as well.

By this point, I’m tired, hungry, and need to stretch out my legs beyond pacing in this six by six box I’ve been stuffed into.

The light begins beeping on the phone again, and before the ring can have its chance to scare the bejesus out of me again, I’ve snatched it off the receiver.

“Man or woman?” The person on the other side says frantically.

“Uh, woman?” I am a little confused. I thought the calls were fixed up so that we spoke to our preferences.

“Oh, thank god. I think they got my schedule mixed up. I wanted to be sure before I started hearing grunts and groans again. Three times. Three times I have answered this stupid thing to some freako rubbing his shit just for them to start bitching me out for being a guy,” the guy screeched, causing me to snort.

“I know. It’s fucking gross, huh? It’s happened twice to me.”

“Why is there not some kind of safety thing about this? I feel violated. Like I need to scrub my ears with a wire brush,” he replied mortified.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t know, but I’m starting to think this whole ‘matchmaking’ thing is just a front for a sanctioned orgy or something.”