Civil Savage

by Katherine Anderson

  Civil Savage

  Katherine Anderson

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  Chapter 1

  Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Pause.

  “Nope. Nice try.” Swipe.

  I take a sip from my glass and continue swiping my way through half the men in this city. I spend every Friday night the same way — drinking whiskey and scrolling through dating apps. Some people say I have a problem, and I think they’re right; I’m on five dating apps at the same time. If there’s a single man in Iris Springs, I’ve seen his profile not once, not twice, but at least four times. I take another sip and swirl the amber liquid in the glass, tapping my finger on rim as I swipe through another batch of bachelors.

  I set down my phone in frustration and stand up, stretching and groaning. It’s Friday night, for fuck’s sake. I should be out at a bar, throwing back shots and tossing my hair over my shoulder, laughing at the guy next to me’s dumb jokes. I should be making out with said guy outside behind the bar. I should be pushed up against the brick wall, one hand at my throat, one hand inching its way down the front of my jeans…

  Instead, I’m sitting home alone, my hair up in rollers, and wearing three day old pajamas. A real picture of beauty I am; no wonder I’m not getting any hits tonight. I grab my glass of whiskey and pad around my tiny living room in my bare feet. I walk into the kitchen and add an ice cube to my glass, topping it off from the bottle on the counter. As I amble my way back to the couch, I hear the distinct ‘ping!’ of a new notification. I settle into the cushions and reach for my phone, rolling my eyes before I even see what the notice is.

  Knowing my luck, it’s one of the guys I’ve rejected on one of my various profiles, finding a different one and trying their luck there. It’s one of the many pitfalls of being so socially active; if these guys strike out in one place, they have four others they can try. I swipe down to open my screen, and to my surprise, it’s not someone from the reject pile. It’s someone new, and from my cursory glance at the notification, it’s someone… good looking. I open the notification and my jaw hits the floor.

  My first hit all night — no, my first hit all week, and he crosses off everything on my ‘Fuck-It’ list. He’s gorgeous; bright blue eyes and flaming red hair, freckles scattered across a perfectly unbroken nose, and a careless smirk playing across two rosy, kissable lips. His bio is funny — it actually makes me laugh instead of groan. He sounds like he has a good job, unlike the usual Friday night fare on these sites. He’s fit, too; I can see the outline of his muscles through the thin fabric of his red shirt. Hello, Tyler…

  I click on his profile and send him a message. My thumbs hover over the keypad a moment, fumbling for what to say. ‘Hello’ seems lame, and ‘Heyyy’ makes me seem thirsty. Which, to be fair, I am. I’ve had a months long dry spell, and this guy looks like a long, cool drink of water. I settle on a short, sweet, ‘Hi’ with a waving hand emoji and hit send, holding my breath the entire time.

  I shut off my screen, reaching for my drink. I take a sip of my whiskey and tip my head back against the couch, letting it wash over my tongue. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift.

  Before I know it, an hour has gone by. The ice in my glass has melted, and I feel a familiar buzz in my pocket. I pull out my phone and check my notifications, and for a moment my heart begins to flutter. I’m hoping for a message back from the copper-haired cutie. I scroll through the messages on my phone, brushing each one off as I search for the notice from the dating app.

  Nothing. There’s nothing from the app in question. I shut off the screen once more, tucking it back in the pocket of my pajamas. I brush it off and stand up from the couch, rolling my neck and popping my back. I take one last swig of my drink and take the glass into the kitchen, setting it in the sink. As I turn to walk out of the kitchen, I hear the ‘ping!’ as my phone goes off in my pocket.

  I pull it out and my heart skips a beat. It’s the dating app. I flick it open and scroll to see my messages. There’s a new message from the copper cutie; my thumb hovers for a moment before I decide to go for it and read it. I click on the icon, holding my breath all the while.

  Hey Olivia. How are you?

  It’s a simple message, completely safe, and yet my heart is jumping out of my chest. He knows my name… How does he know my name? Oh, right, it’s right here on the top of my profile. My thumbs trip over each other to tap out my reply.

  Hey Tyler! I’m good, thanks. How’s your night treating you?

  I hit send and exhale the breath I’ve been holding in. I tuck the phone back in my pocket and carry on with my nightly routine. I brush my teeth and wash my face, waiting for my phone to go off. When thirty minutes go by without a notification, I decide to call it a night. I plug my phone in its charger and tuck into bed, pulling the covers up around my shoulders. As I’m drifting off, I hear another ‘ping!’

  I fumble for my phone to look at the notification, and my heart is in my throat once more. The cutie is back. I open the notification to see what he says.

  Sorry, I didn’t get a notification earlier. It’s going good, just settling in with a drink. HBU?

  I throw the covers off and sit up, cradling my phone in my hands. Maybe it’s too early to call it a night, after all. I type out a hasty reply and wait, watching as three grey dots light up the bottom of my screen. His reply flashes on the display, followed by those three grey dots once more.

  Bourbon and Coke for me. Nothing like a little liquid dinner. The three grey dots stop, and then What’s a nice girl like you drinking on a night like this?

  A man after my own heart, I muse inwardly. Whiskey for me, too. What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this? I hit send and instantly regret my choice in cheesy lines. Immediately, his reply pops up and my heart skips a beat once more.

  Just seeing what’s out there. What about you? What brings you to iDate?

  I hesitate. What brings me to iDate? What do I say? I start typing, hoping to find the words as my thumbs fly over my screen.

  Just seeing what’s out there. So…tell me about yourself?

  I spend the next three hours messaging this virtual stranger, getting to know him through the screen. We go back and forth complimenting each other on our red hair; he likes the photos from my modeling days, I like his profile photo. He banters, I flirt, it’s easy. It works. Tyler compliments me on my shape — a first. Most men see me and run the other way; he must like curvy girls, and I’m flattered. I find myself flipping back and forth through his four profile photos, wondering if he’s doing the same to mine.

  We talk about jobs — he works security and I work in an office — and what brings us to a dating app on Friday nights. We both admit we’d much rather be out at a bar than stuck at home, full of energy and no way to expend it. And then we talk about how we’d prefer to expend this pent-up energy. The conversation takes a turn, and I wish I was in something other than ratty pajamas.

  Before I know it, my phone ticks over to midnight. Time flies when you’re having fun, and Tyler is just that… Fun. He makes me forget where I’d rather be; instead, I’m caught up in the moment talking to him. I yawn and rub my eyes, tapping out a quick message.

  I should be calling it a night. Can we chat tomorrow? I as
k, waiting for the grey dots at the bottom of the screen. One minute, two minutes, I wait until the screen shuts off and goes dark. He must have fallen asleep.

  Pouting, I put the phone down and snuggle back underneath the down comforter. I stretch out and sigh as my muscles relax. I let my eyes close and as I’m on the edge of sleep, ‘ping!’

  Sure. Catch you tomorrow. Goodnight and sleep well Olivia.

  I type my reply with one eye shut. Goodnight to you, Tyler. TTFN.

  I settle back in for sleep, and within moments I’m drifting off.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, I sleep in. Between being up late texting Tyler and the two glasses of whiskey I had before, I figure I’ve earned a little indulgence. As I’m lying in bed, drifting in and out of dreamy consciousness, my phone sounds, lifting me from reverie. I roll over and check the screen.

  There’s a notice from the dating app. I sit up too fast, my head rushing, and my heart hopping into my throat. I click through the welcome screen and head straight for my messages. The app takes its sweet time loading, and by the time the messages section appears, I’ve convinced myself Tyler has unmatched. I hold my breath as I check, and to my relief, he’s still there. In fact, he sent me something.

  Hey. Good morning. How’d you sleep?

  I exhale and type my response, stopping twice to check for spelling mistakes. Good morning! I slept all right, how about you?

  I put the phone down and stretch, shaking the sleep from my bones. I pull my hair out of the rollers, my auburn curls springing free. As I pull the last curler out, ‘ping!’ I look over at the phone, the screen flashing as another notification scrawls across the screen.

  Good. What are you up to today? Anything fun?

  I sit and stare at my phone, trying to decide what I’m doing on a Saturday. I could lie; I could tell him I’m doing something fun and he should join me, but then I’d have to make that something fun up, and I’m no good at being spontaneous.

  Oh, the usual Saturday stuff. Errands, laundry, drinking. You?

  Send. God, I hope that doesn’t make me sound like a lush. I’ve already admitted to liking whiskey more than I should. I get out of bed and get dressed, pulling on a faded pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt. My standard weekend uniform of comfy casual. I tuck the phone in my pocket and head for the bathroom to brush out my corkscrew curls.

  I take one look in the mirror and crack up laughing. I looked like Medusa, but instead of hundreds of tiny snakes, it’s tight ropes of curls jutting out at all angles. I snap a picture to send to my best friend Samantha later. She’ll get a kick out of this. I brush out my curls until they’re more manageable, sliding a bobby pin in them to keep them out of my eyes. ‘Ping!’ My phone goes off, and my hand dives in my pocket automatically.

  Much of the same, especially the day drinking. It’s too gorgeous not to spend the day outside getting sauced. Want to join me?

  I think it over. We only met last night, surely he’s joking? Who invites someone they met 12 hours ago to come over? A big part of me wants to take him up on his offer, to see if he’s bluffing, but another, more rational part of me says play it safe.

  Can’t, too many errands. Rain check? I reply, hitting send before I can change my mind. Immediately, ‘Ping!’

  Sure, rain check. What errands do you have today?

  I hesitate for a moment. What do I have to do today? I check the calendar on my phone. It’s the last weekend the farmer’s market is open, and I need to pick up some veggies. I also want to pick up some tea from the nice little old ladies downtown, and I need another bottle of whiskey.

  Farmer’s market, tea shop, liquor store. So glamorous, right? I tuck the phone back into my pocket and go back to my hair. I smooth an errant curl back into place and get started applying my makeup, waiting for Tyler to reply.

  Minutes go by, and nothing. I finish my makeup and pull my phone out, making sure I haven’t shut off the volume. I check the app. Nothing. No messages, no three grey dots. I jam the phone back in my pocket and make my way downstairs. I head to the kitchen to clean up, rinsing my glass from last night, and putting it in the dishwasher. I tuck the almost empty bottle of maple whiskey into the liquor cabinet. ‘Ping!’

  Very glamorous. Sorry, didn’t see I had a new notice. Would this be easier if I gave you my number?

  Wow, this is moving fast. Usually I’m the one to offer my number first; this is a weird feeling. Weird but also… Good. Sure, shoot me your number. What are you up to today?

  I walk into the living room and slide on my comfortable shoes, grabbing my bag, and heading for the door. It’s too nice to be cooped up indoors all day; I’m glad I have an excuse to get out for a bit. ‘Ping!’ I grab my phone and read Tyler’s newest message.

  My number is 555-5309. Send me a picture when you text me so I can save your number. Looking forward to it.

  I copy his number and punch it in, setting up a text. I hover over the option to add a picture, trying to decide which is best. Do I go classy or sexy? Zany or casual? I have too many options. I close my eyes and pick, hitting send. When I look down at my phone, a pit forms in my stomach. Oh no… I sent him my Medusa-hair selfie. He’s definitely not going to want to talk to me after this.

  I drop the phone in my bag and walk over to my mailbox, picking up the mail from yesterday. Nothing but bills, ads, and a letter from the state penitentiary. I roll my eyes so hard it gives me a headache; I never should have signed up for that pen pals program. I tuck the mail into my bag and head for the bus stop. As I walk down the street, I hear the faint sound of my phone from inside my bag. I reach in and pull it out, trying to make out the screen under the glare of the sun.

  Hahaha, cute. You take that just for me?

  Shit. He thinks it’s a cute photo. I panic a moment before typing out a hasty response.

  No, that was an accident. Let me find a better picture. I hit send. I pull up my phone’s gallery and scroll through my selfies, trying to find a better photo. My phone buzzes in my hand and I almost drop it; I wasn’t expecting a text back so soon.

  Too late, I already saved it. There’s a picture attached to his message; I open it and blink twice. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and he’s still in bed, looking up at me through one sleepy eye. I can see where his shirt is riding up, revealing a perfect V. He has a tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mole peeking out from the hem of his shirt. I can’t tell if he’s wearing pants or not, and I feel my cheeks grow warm. I decide to tease him back.

  Good. I’m saving this picture, too. Nice V. I hit send and drop the phone back in my bag, picking up the pace so I don’t miss the bus. I half walk, half jog to the bus stop, collapsing onto the bench to catch my breath. I pull out my phone to check the time, scrutinizing the printed schedule next to me. If I timed it right, I should have five minutes before the bus arrives. I open my phone to check my notices, and the phone buzzes in my hand.

  Thanks, I worked hard for it. I see another picture attached to his text and I open it, holding my breath. Oh, good lord, the man is more cut than I imagined. In this one, he’s rolled over onto his side, the shirt riding up even higher. I count one, two, four abs. There’s a faint, ginger happy trail I didn’t notice before, dipping low beneath the edge of his sheets. I’m so absorbed in taking in every inch of this picture that I almost miss my bus.

  I tuck the phone in my bag and get my fare, pay the driver, and take a seat near the back of the empty bus. I pull my phone out and text him back. I decide to call his bluff; if he sends these to all the girls, I’ll know in an instant.

  Do you send all the girls you’ve just met pictures like this, or am I special?

  I put the phone in my lap and fold my hands over it, trying not to stare at the screen while I wait for a response. Two minutes, five minutes, ten. I get off the bus at my stop, and my phone buzzes. I cross the street to reach the park and open the text message.

  Why don’t you join me for a drink tonight and find out for yours
elf?

  Oh, a challenge. I like him already. I whip through typing my response and hit send before I can overthink it or back down. Sure, name the time and place. I’ll be the one in the little black dress.

  A few moments pass, and I can’t believe I said that. I pull out my phone to backpedal and there’s already a message.

  Why don’t you come over to my place? You can wear that black dress, and I’ll pour you something I think you’ll like. 8?

  I blink and blink again, chewing on my lip. “Fuck it,” I say out loud, and maybe a little too loud. The woman walking on the sidewalk next to me turns and grimaces, then speeds up. Fuck it and fuck you, too.

  8 sounds perfect. Shoot me your address later. Me and my black dress will be there.

  Chapter 3

  At seven o’clock, I hop in the shower, pulling my hair up to protect my curls from the spray. It took a lot of work to get them manageable, I’m not about to undo it for just any guy. I take my time, scrubbing until I’m pink and squeaky clean. I step out, wrap myself in a fluffy towel, and look at myself in the mirror.

  I pull the clip from my hair and let my curls tumble down my back. I turn, looking at this crook and that cranny in the reflection. I suck in my cheeks and hold my breath, trying to find a flattering angle. I drop the towel and stare at my naked body, taking in every dot and dimple. I don’t have many assets, but what I do have, I have in abundance. As I’m leaving the bathroom, I hear my phone going off in the other room. I rush to my bedroom and dive for my phone, reaching it as it shuts off. I turn on the screen and see there’s a new message from Tyler.