by E. Cleveland
Player puts the rest of the information in his phone, and his girlfriend teases him, “Now make sure you don’t go breaking that poor woman’s heart.” She pushes her glasses up her nose and smiles up at him.
He grins down at her and gives her a kiss. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs.
“Player, get that GILF!” Blaze takes a break from kissing the girl in the corner to yell out.
All the guys from Hector House laugh, and everything backstage just seems louder. People are in party mode. With how much money we made tonight, it’s a celebration they earned. All of a sudden, Griz is front and center, simply unavoidable.
He looks down at me and I can’t keep blinking like this. It’s not normal. Instead, I let my eyes rest on the half-crooked smile tugging at his lips. His thick, well-kept beard makes me notice his lips more. They look soft, where his beard looks rugged. Inviting, where the rest of him is wild.
Imagine if I brought him on my arm to her wedding? That permanent smug look would melt off her face. My gaze lifts to his intense, dark eyes. His brown hair frames his face. I can see his smirk in his eyes.
“You’ve got some big plans, huh?” he says.
Heat floods my cheeks. “Excuse me?”
He’s not calling the police to report a “single-female-stalker” situation, so I know he doesn’t know why I bid on him. You know you made a colossal mistake when just the idea of explaining why you did something is too much. Obviously, I’m going to take the truth to my grave, but just the idea of him knowing why I bid so much for him is making me burn up pink.
“Your bid,” he continues. “A thousand dollars?” He gives a low whistle. “That’s got to be some date you’ve got in mind.”
I swallow, nod and blush, but no words come out of me. My mind is racing. What do I say?
“Hattie!” Etta has no qualms about interrupting her brother. She just literally jumps right in front of him, breaking up our moment and saving me from embarrassing myself.
“Ya?” I have never been more grateful for someone to step all over a conversation. Now I can chat with her, duck out of here, head home and figure out this whole situation.
“We’re all going to Oliver’s to celebrate. How about you come with Gucci and me? It’s too packed in my brother’s car. We’re going to take an Uber.”
“Oh, uh, I don’t know.” My eyes dart back to Griz’s lips. They’re smiling now as he watches me stammer, searching for an excuse not to go. “It’s getting late and…”
“No way, come on! You’re responsible for this whole thing.” She wraps her arm in around mine. “We made over ten thousand dollars for the paper. You know that’s something to celebrate,” she buzzes.
It’s nice to work at The Westbury Tribune with someone who cares as much about it as I do. Etta’s right, tonight was a raving success.
“Come on out, and have a drink,” Griz chimes in. “Don’t worry, I won’t count it against our time on our next date.” If I didn’t find him so damn sexy, I’d say he looks smug. Sexy-smug. Big, tall and smug-exy.
For the low price of One. Thousand. Dollars.
What have I done?
4
The Boyfriend Experience
Griz
Oliver’s is usually a lot busier than it is tonight. With only a few couples scattered at tables around the sports bar, it’s almost eerie. Normally when we show up here, it’s after a game. I’d like to say it’s after a win, but that hasn’t been happening lately.
Winning is just another reason I’ve gotta keep my focus on only one hockey stick this year, and not the one between my legs. He's got to stay in my pants, slightly curved to the right. After the mind-fuck of being an almost-dad, I got into a slump. It sucks to admit it, but my hockey team is in a slump right now too.
On New Year’s Eve, I made myself a promise. Not a fucking resolution. Resolutions are big, vague lies we tell our friends. “I’m going to get healthy.” No, you’re not. “I’m going to get out of debt.” I hate to break it to ya, but you’ll probably have even more debt in a year. “This is the year I’m putting me first. I’m going to learn to…” Just stop. It’s not happening. These aren’t resolutions…they’re fucking lies.
I made myself a promise because a promise is something I won’t break. If you don’t have your word, you’ve got nothing, and I’m a man of my word. Sure, sometimes that makes me the parent of Hector House. I prefer to think of myself as the sexy dad, but I think the other guys would call me the mother hen.
I was sitting there with my family, avoiding my mother’s endless pitying glances, and I promised myself that I will never let my cock get me into trouble again. No more puck bunnies or random girls or random nights. No more pregnancy scares with chicks I don’t even know.
When I agreed to be a bachelor for the charity auction, I never said I was bringing any sausage to the BBQ. When women see me around campus in gray sweatpants, I’m about to give a whole new meaning to “cock-tease”.
Player and Kaylee are already carting glasses and a pitcher from what’s on-tap over to a couple tables we always throw together. Canuck’s pumped up from the auction. I think he got a rush out of it or something.
“If you think about it,” – he’s leaning across one of the tables, pouring himself a beer as he talks to the couple – “I got the second-highest bid tonight.” He looks genuinely impressed with himself and leans back in his chair.
“How’s that?” Player grabs the pitcher, filling Kaylee’s glass before his own. “Don’t get me wrong, five hundred bones is nothing to sneeze at. It’s good money. You should be proud.” He smirks at Canuck. “But it’s not six hundred dollars, is it? No, it’s a hundred less. So, I’m pretty sure I got the second-highest bid tonight.”
Blaze heads over to the pool tables, and I have half a mind to join him. I turn to follow him and the girl who won him at the auction tonight. My feet stop abruptly when he picks her up and starts making out with her on the side of the fucking table. Does he think he lives in a music video or something? I get that it’s not packed in here, but there are still rules.
Fuck it. Not my monkeys, not my circus. If Blaze wants to get his ass booted from the bar for indecency, well – it’s nothing he hasn’t been through before.
I walk back and join Canuck on his side of the table. He has his phone out and keeps pointing down at it, but Player won’t look. Kaylee rolls her eyes and takes a drink of her beer as the guys argue.
“No, listen.” Canuck gets louder. “Look at this.” He keeps trying to show Player his screen. “If you count the currency exchange rate, look at how much I made in Canadian dollars.” He holds up his phone. Six hundred seventy dollars. That blows six hundred out of the water.” He sweeps his hands upward like a geyser just blew underneath them.
“Why would it matter how much it would be in Canada?” Player counters. “We’re not in Canada, no matter how much you try to dress like it.” Player tips his beer toward him, circling the glass with his finger and thumb but pointing the remaining three fingers at Canuck’s get-up. He looks like Paul Bunyan’s love-child.
“Oh, you’re talking about clothes?” Canuck laughs and Player looks down at his golf-getaway outfit like he forgot he was even wearing it. That look of disbelief – like he can’t believe he’s being betrayed by his own clothing – that’s what makes me laugh. Probably too loud. I don’t feel so bad once his girlfriend starts laughing too.
“You guys all did awesome.” Kaylee adjusts her glasses and smiles at Player. She looks over at me. “But you did insane. A thousand dollars? Congrats on that.” She gives me a nod.
“Yeah, you blew us out of the water, exchange rate or not,” Canuck agrees, putting away his phone.
“I don’t know what discount-bin date Canuck has planned for that five hundred bucks.” Player fires another shot at our favorite Canadian, looks to make sure it landed, and then brings his attention back to me. “But for six hundred, I’m doling out The Gentleman Experience.”<
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“Wait,” Kaylee interrupts him, “you’re doling out what?” She crinkles her nose at him.
“The Gentleman Experience,” Player answers. “I figure, five hundred would get you The Dumpster-Dive Experience.” He jerks his thumb at Canuck.
“Not in Canada,” he counters.
“We’re not in Canada, man.” Player gives him a look then continues, “For six hundred U.S. dollars, you’re looking at The Gentleman Experience. Open doors, tuck in seats, be good company… Professor Grenshaw is getting a dapper guy for a couple hours who will laugh at her jokes, maybe even flirt a little,” – Kaylee raises her eyebrow at him, and he starts speaking even louder – “but stay a complete and total gentleman.”
“Awww, that sounds sweet.” She smiles at him.
“Well, that’s what I’m saying. It’s sweet. I don’t think someone who spends a thousand dollars is looking for The Gentleman Experience though.”
“No, man.” Canuck’s eyes light up, and he gets in on Player’s train of thought. “That’s more like that Pretty Woman movie, except you’re Julia Roberts, and Hattie is Richard Gere.” He snorts.
“That’s called The Boyfriend Experience,” Player continues. “The Boyfriend Experience isn’t just about flirting.”
“Dude, remember that scene when he bangs her on the piano…except if Julia Roberts had Griz’s beard.” Canuck laughs at whatever image just overtook his brain, but I’m not paying attention to that. I’m frowning at what Player said.
“Etta!” Kaylee does a little cheer when she sees my sister walking toward the table. “Hey Hattie, glad you came out.”
Gucci, my sister, and the beautiful high-bidder, whose ears must be burning as bright as her red hair, join us. We all figure out getting enough chairs around the table for everyone. We even scoop a couple up for Blaze and his date. With one glance across the bar, it’s easy to see those two are in a world of their own though. It doesn’t look like that’s going to change either.
“A thousand dollars.” Canuck whistles. I have to force myself not to cringe. All eyes at the table dart to Hattie’s face. Including mine. She looks like she’s hoping the floor will swallow her.
“A generous bid for a good cause, even if she did get the door prize dud.” My own sister roasts me, and I’m thankful. The table stops eyeing up Hattie, and we go back to our conversations.
Blaze and the chick he won’t stop making out with join us at the table. She, of course, doesn’t use the chair we wrangled for her. Instead, she perches on Blaze’s lap.
“It’s crazy how much money that auction makes for the paper.” He jumps into the conversation. “It probably wouldn’t get as much good publicity if it was guys bidding on girls though, right? That would make it weird, right? Is it weird for you girls?”
Blaze’s date giggles and wiggles around in his lap. “No, it’s fun,” she answers.
“You’re fun.” He lifts his hips a little, and she wiggles around more. It would be uncomfortable if it wasn’t something we’ve all seen a thousand times. I’m just happy they’re both still wearing clothes.
“Do you have anything special planned for your date?” Canuck points from Hattie to me.
“Me? Umm, yeah. Well, not special necessarily,” Hattie stutters. Her cheeks are blazing bright, and she squirms in her seat avoiding my eyes. “I have a sofa bed…it’s, uh, super heavy. And, I can’t move it by myself. Into my apartment.” She seems really nervous, glancing around the faces at the table.
“That’s your date?” Player looks skeptical. “You could have hired a moving company for a lot less than a grand,” he points out.
“Be quiet.” Kaylee nudges him. Hattie looks miserably uncomfortable. I want to do something to ease her nerves, but I’m not sure why she’s so worked up.
“I totally destroyed a sofa bed once from fucking,” Blaze cuts in. “I mean, it was old and rickety as fuck, but yeah. I was deep drilling, going for fucking broke on this girl, and the legs holding up the sofa bed snapped. We both fell. The weirdest part was, when it snapped is when I came. It was the strangest sensation. Like, falling and cumming at the same time. Anyway, I’m sure yours will be a lot sturdier.”
“That is not why I bought a sofa bed.” Hattie’s face is on fire. “I have a lot of house guests, so…”
“Oh, does your family visit a lot?” I try to throw the poor girl a lifeline. She looks like this conversation is drowning her.
“No,” she answers quickly. Hattie blinks at the silence. “I, uh, have a lot of sleep overs though.” She says it like she’s asking a question instead of answering one.
“How about I call my pussy Sofa Bed, and you come back to my place to destroy it?” Blaze’s date interrupts the awkwardness, clearly bored with the conversation.
“Bye.” Blaze gets up with his high-bidder, and they take off.
“I should really go, too.” Hattie also gets up.
“Are you sure?” Etta tries to stop her, but Hattie puts on her coat quickly.
“Yeah, it’s been a long few days getting the auction ready. I’m beat.” She won’t look at me. It feels like she’s going out of her way not to.
“Alright, I’ll see you soon. Let me know when we’re moving that sofa,” I call out after her, but she doesn’t answer. Hattie waves at us over her shoulder and practically runs out of the bar.
Everything about a thousand-dollar, sofa-moving date is weird. It makes me wonder what’s really going on with Hattie. What experience is she really looking for?
5
Birth Control of Sofa Beds
Hattie
I blow steam from my mug of tea and walk it across my apartment to my desk. It’s a short walk. I’m not exactly racking up my ten thousand steps in a place this size. It’s not much, but it’s home. I love that I have a place to myself.
The aqua-blue paint on the walls? I spent an entire weekend painting it on. The books on my shelves are ones I’ve bought and read…mostly. My little one-bedroom apartment won’t inspire dream boards on Pinterest, but it’s mine. From my weathered yard sale desk under the window to my black Ikea couch—and all the stuff between—I love that it’s my own space. A space that reflects me, who I am, not what family I was born into.
After I put my tea down, I grab my phone. A knot twists tight in my stomach. I’ve avoided turning it back on all night. When my sister, mother and father began a group chat to collectively interrogate me, I reminded them I was running an event and said I had to go.
I keep trying to think of ways I can avoid reading these messages. How can I avoid crafting a lame text about my fake boyfriend flaking out? Is there any way I can avoid this entire wedding? Short of the witness protection program or faking my own death, I don’t see how I get out of this with my dignity intact.
The phone buzzes back to life in my palm, and I sit down at my desk and get my laptop set up. I pull up Google and start narrowing down some inexpensive options for a sofa bed that I’ll never need. A full-body cringe shudders through me. What the hell was that speech at the bar about?
Clemmie, I mean Clementine – my sister won’t let anyone call her Clemmie anymore – she’s left a bunch of messages.
When we were kids, I loved calling her Clemmie. It made me feel closer to her in my little-kid brain. Hattie and Clemmie just sounded like the sort of mischievous, adventurous sisters who probably solved crimes together and were best friends. That was the ultimate fantasy I played in my head growing up two years behind her and light years out of her orbit.
Clementine and I were close when I was small, but by the time I turned twelve something changed. Instead of warm smiles, she began to stiffen at my voice. I became the last person she wanted to hang out with. Over time, the wedge between us grew. Even today, I’ve never understood why. From her teen years onward, Clementine got a lot closer with my parents and more distant with me. Crime-solving adventures with Clemmie sort of faded out of existence. My sister stopped being someone I giggled and shared secret
s with. Instead, she started giving me lectures about fitting in better, and that annoying look started showing up in her eyes.
I didn’t need more opinions about how I should live my life. My parents covered those topics often. In great depth. Over the years, it’s been lonely being pushed out of their group of three. Now, with my sister’s wedding to Julian making it official soon, it’ll be a group of four. Sighing, I pick my phone back up and find the courage to open my Messenger app.
“Jeez,” I whisper. I feel like I’m scrolling forever through the group chat messages, trying to find the point where I told them I couldn’t talk. It looks like they decided to go on and have an entire conversation without me.
Me: Can’t text!!! On stage… I’m MC.
Bridezilla: What’s his name?
Me: I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Love ya, bye!
Bridezilla: his full name. I need it for the seating chart
Mom: Hattie! Your sister told us the great news! We can’t wait to meet your boyfriend!
Dad: Bf? What Bf? You never say a word about this guy. not one
Bridezilla: which you totally screwed up for me now, btw. I’ve got to figure out how to shove this guy in at a table!!!
Mom: Is he a doctor? How did you meet him? Where is he from?
Ugh, of course that’s top of her list of questions. I roll my eyes and keep scrolling. I should’ve made some popcorn because the dramatic trio just keeps on going.
Mom: Clementine, hush. Just sit him next to Hattie!
Bridezilla: I put Cassidy there, remember?
Mom: move Cassidy
Bridezilla: I’ll have to move her plus-one too!!!
