My Boyfriend’s Dad Is My Gynecologist
She always is.
Cross-legged on my couch, sushi boxes between us, my laptop balanced on a pillow, Rachel types before I can object.
“Username?”
I mumble, “Professional Trainwreck.”
She smirks. “Cute, but let’s sell aspiration, not despair. How about BrunchAndBanter?”
“Kill me now.”
She ignores me. “Bio?”
“I’m a marketing exec with excellent credit and no free time.”
She snorts. “Too honest. How about: Creative strategist who loves good coffee, bad puns, and long lunches I can call networking.”