Her Dueling Daddies

by Lee Savino

  “I, uh, I’m not sure about this...”

  “Dinner, seven pm. I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Wear a dress.” He says goodbye in that deep and decadent voice of his, calls me baby one more time and hangs up.

  “I’m having dinner with a guy tomorrow night,” I say out loud, to test it. “He’ll meet me there. He’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Did this just happen? “It did,” I tell myself. “It just happened.”

  My phone vibrates. You do dinner with him; you get drinks with me. 5pm. Tell him to pick you up at the bar. Sawyer, one upping Bear. Of course. It’s a competition. That’s all this is.

  I don’t get off until 530. I text.

  Six, then. He shoots back. He and Bear both have record levels of bossy.

  I think I like bossy.

  Fine. Do I really have to wear a dress? Bear says so.

  Wear a skirt, Sawyer orders. Don’t let him tell you what to do.

  If I wear a skirt, I’m doing what YOU told me to do. I reply.

  Exactly.

  I laugh out loud. Maybe I’ll just wear jeans.

  Tight jeans. He counters.

  My face falls. All my jeans are tight. I have a huge ass.

  I drop my phone and get off the couch. My stomach is grumbling, but I should skip dinner.

  My phone buzzes while I’m perusing my fridge contents. I grab a bag of baby carrots and amble back to the couch.

  Evie?

  I’m here. Just getting dinner. About to start brushing my hair. I type back, feeling a bit morose all of a sudden.

  K. Wouldn’t want to distract you from the hair brushing.

  Yeah, it takes concentration. I crunch my carrots and fight off depression.

  Wear whatever you want tomorrow. We don’t care, as long as you come.

  According to Bear, I’ll be coming a lot.

  You bet your sweet ass. He adds a smiling demon emoji that makes me giggle.

  I polish off the baby carrots, feeling better.

  After that, Sawyer’s texts are less frequent. Makes sense, he’s working. I give in and eat a fast food chicken sandwich, leftover from last night. It’s crunchy and has my yearly dose of sodium. Oh well. I need calories to keep up with these guys. How many calories do you burn during a ménage à trois?

  Stop it, Evie. I toss the chicken sandwich wrapper, dust off my hands and grab my computer. Time for some good old-fashioned social media stalking.

  I open Facebook. Should I make a fake profile? Would they friend me? I consider fake names. Sabrina Townsend. She sounds nice. Maybe not flirty enough. Cherry Licksalot. That’s better.

  Or maybe I just friend them as little ol’ me. See if they accept. I friend request them both and slam down my laptop.

  I spend the next five hours pacing back and forth, avoiding checking my computer. At least, it feels like five hours. Maybe more like five minutes before I throw my computer open. I have no self-control.

  I scroll back to Facebook, holding my breath.

  They accept! We are officially friends! I don’t know if it warrants a happy dance, but I do a butt wriggle. I crack my knuckles and start scrolling.

  Bear likes cars, the more muscle-y the better, and Sawyer likes the beach. And they take almost no selfies. There’s nothing on their walls beyond photos they’re tagged in. Parties with friends or family barbecues. Pictures of Bear at the gym, with muscles that make my mouth water. Pictures of Sawyer surfing probably snapped by a glamorous bikini babe who was also his girlfriend. Sawyer has posted a few black and white pictures of the surf and sand with Ansel Adams-like qualities.

  I resist the urge to wallpaper my computer with Bear & Sawyer shirtless montages. I can’t get involved with these guys until I know what they’re up to. They don’t think anything is wrong with me... so something must be wrong with them. Right?

  That’s messed up. They could just really like you.

  Or they’re serial killers.

  I need more.

  I Google their names and get pictures of Bear at a car show, posing with a model, and Sawyer at a beach party with what looks like the top three contestants in a wet t-shirt contest. It’s obvious they can get any girl they want, any time. So why do they want me?

  I need to know these guys. I need to know what game they’re playing. I need a professional level stalker, and I know just who to call.

  “Hey, bitch,” Mina sings cheerfully. “What’s happening?”

  “Do you have to call me that?”

  “You know how I like to swear. It’s a term of endearment.”

  “Fine.” I shake my head. “I need you to look into someone. Two someones.”

  “Oh?” Mina drawls, but I can tell she’s super interested.

  I give her Bear and Sawyer’s full names.

  “What?” Her voice gets clearer, and the sound of typing rushes like a waterfall in the background. Even in high school, Mina was a super nerd—the kind who learns to program before she can drive and tries to hack NASA’s firewall for fun. “They were in school with my older brothers. What’s going on with them?”

  My cheeks color just saying it. “They kinda want to... play with me.”

  “What!” Mina shrieks. “Both of them? Damn, I leave town and you have all the fun.” The sound of typing intensifies.

  I look around my empty apartment, bare of life except for the cactus I haven’t managed to kill yet. His name is Spiny.

  It’s nine at night, I had not one but two invitations to go out and flirt with not one but two insanely hot guys, and I am hiding. I am the human equivalent of a hermit crab. Yeah, fun. “Just... see what you can dig up on them.”

  “On it. I’ll get you a report. Credit report, background check, arrest record, evidence of crazy exes on social media—you will know all.”

  I suck in a breath. “Thanks.”

  “No problem, bitch. You’re my bestie. Mina out.” The line goes dead and I rub my forehead. This is exhausting. How did people research their hookups in the olden days, before the internet? Climb a tree and look through binoculars?

  At least I have a plan. I’ll go out tomorrow night, get more details about this competition. Tell the guys I need to think about it. Mina will report back that these guys do this all the time, sucker women in, and leave them crying at the altar. Then I can gracefully bow out and move on.

  I’ll try not to be too disappointed.

  After a shower and grooming session—it does take me awhile to take care of my hair—I’m curled up in bed and dozing. I never went out to the bar. Does that make a coward? Probably. If I were the happy glamor girl these guys think I am, I’d be out partying, not hiding in my apartment, the four white walls that mark the boundaries of my sad little life. But I can’t change for a guy. Not even if I kinda want to.

  My phone buzzes.

  Sorry you didn’t make it out. Sawyer. I send him a sleepy face emoji. Zzzzzz.

  Remember, tomorrow. 6pm. Tight jeans.

  Bear said 7 at the restaurant.

  I already told him the new plans. Bear can have you later. I get you first.

  Omigod. I cover my face with my hands. With everything going on, I haven’t had time to shop for a vibrator. But dang, if I had it, I’d use it tonight.

  I’m about to put my phone away and pass out when my phone vibrates insistently. I expect another text from Sawyer, but this is a voicemail from Bear. I must have missed his call when I was in the shower.

  “Hey, Evie.” His deep voice makes my stomach flip flop. “Sawyer told me about the change of plans. I’ll see you at Ballers. And... I know I hit you with a lot today. Didn’t mean to freak you out.” A pause. He’s weighing his words. Such a nice guy. “We don’t have to move forward if you don’t want to. Obviously. But think about it. We really want you.” Another pause. I listen like my life depends on it.

  “Night, baby.”

  We really want you. Error. Does not compute. The confession didn’t sound like a man who wanted another notch in his bedpost. It sounded li
ke a man speaking from his heart, to a woman he cared about. Gentle.

  He isn’t a player. Nothing signaled that to me. But they did propose a game.

  The question is, when the game is over, could I fit myself back into the confines of my old life?

  I sink back into my pillows, gnawing on my lip. We really want you. New reality. Mind blown. Is my life about to change?

  No, it already has.

  2

  The next morning, I sit at my desk silently freaking out. Tonight is dinner with Bear, and drinks with Sawyer. How did I go from ‘not dating’ to meeting with two men? I can’t even remember agreeing. I’ve packed makeup and a change of clothes, so I won’t be late.

  “Evie, boss said you can help me with this,” Ben rolls by, slapping a client file down on my desk and walks off, cell phone to ear. I bare my teeth at his back and get to work. I skip lunch, but after three missed calls from my aunt reminding me about my florist finding duties, I slip out to hand deliver a file to a client who likes a personal touch. On the way, I stop at a florist and end up comparing shades of pink.

  After a while they all blur together. When I finally find the right rosebuds, the florist starts brandishing baby’s breath. Why the hell can’t my cousin pick out her own flowers?

  On a whim, I text Sawyer.

  I’m making a decision and I need advice.

  The reply comes as I’m reviewing costs with the florist. Yes, to the push up bra, no to the panties.

  My blush rolls up the slope of my breasts. I excuse myself from flower picking and duck down an aisle of funeral displays. What?

  I assumed you wanted to know what to wear tonight?

  No! Real quick: white or purple?

  Purple, Sawyer answers. What’s this for? A sex toy?

  I snicker. Maybe.

  Tease.

  I exit the florist and float down the sidewalk. Be good and I’ll let you play with it later. I’ve never let myself text such outrageous things, but Sawyer brings out the best in me. Or is it the worst?

  That’s my line.

  When I walk into the office, my smile is so wide, Ben does a double take. “Where were you?” he asks.

  “Delivering the Nguyen file to the law firm. Mrs. Nguyen says hi.”

  His eyes narrow, gears grinding as he wonders what the lawyers did to put a smile on my face.

  I check my phone when I’m safe in my cube.

  Sawyer’s texted, See you tonight.

  Yep, this is happening. I can’t suppress my big dopey grin. You know, I never actually agreed to tonight.

  But you’re coming, right?

  Maybe. Depends on the state of my hair.

  How many times do you need to brush it?

  As many as it takes to get it untangled.

  Little elliptical dots dance as he thinks of a reply. I hold my phone under my desk, my knee jiggling. I’m a text-junkie.

  Finally, his text comes through. Can I help?

  I laugh out loud. This is gonna be so fun.

  I walk into Sawyer’s place of work at six pm sharp. A red head, a surfer, and a muscle man walk into a bar. I try to think of a joke, but all I come up with is a threesome.

  Sawyer’s at the bar, polishing glasses, his blond head a flash of sunlight in the dim bar. I like the low lights in this place. I feel more comfortable in the dark. Easier to hide my flaws.

  How sad. How much of my life is ordered around my body insecurity? I didn’t realize how much it controlled me. Maybe that’s why I hide in my apartment when two hot guys take an interest.

  I cross the room. I’m wearing a stretchy black skirt that hugs my hips and a V-neck top that flatters my boobs. No Amish rejects today. I almost feel good. I can cozy up to the bar, cleavage on display, and flirt with Sawyer. I’ll stick to water, so I don’t make a fool of myself. I can’t keep a lid on my mouth when I’m not tipsy, and we’ve already established that I have no filter around these guys. Who knows what would come out if I drink again?

  I get halfway to the bar and halt.

  There’s a thin blonde planted on a bar stool. Her legs are thin and eight miles long, stacked on stilettos. Toothpicks teetering on toothpicks. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, posing. She could be a model. She leans over the bar, laughing at something Sawyer says, white teeth flashing.

  I can’t sit next to her. I’ll look like the ‘before’ in the ‘before and after’ extreme skinny diet pictures. I can’t compete.

  Is it too late to run for the door?

  Sawyer turns. His eyes snag on me. Too late to run. I give a little wave.

  His face lights up when he sees me. “There she is.” I roll forward, Sawyer’s greeting bolstering me.

  The babe at the bar sits back, eyes darting between me and Sawyer, checking for clues to our relationship.

  “All right, let’s see it,” Sawyer says as I get closer.

  “You want to see it?” I raise my brows, putting a hand to my hair.

  He spreads his hand, getting into the joke. “You’re gonna make me wait?”

  I pretend sigh and tug out my fancy comb, letting my hair wash over my shoulders in shining auburn waves. Flaws aside, I have damn good hair.

  “Very nice,” Sawyer nods, taking on the air of a connoisseur. I flip my hair, letting him peruse the shining skein. “Very clean.”

  I grin. The blonde gives me a weird look but basking in the light of Sawyer’s smile I can ignore her. That’s right, we have an inside joke. I slide onto the barstool and try not to compare the size of my ass to Miss Perky Tits beside me.

  “Whatcha drinking?”

  “Um…” I should say water. I was going to order an appetizer so I can drink but there’s no way I can eat in front of Miss Skinny. “Surprise me.”

  With a wink, he grabs bottles and mixes something up that tastes mostly of fruit juice.

  “Mmm, yummy. What is this?”

  “Sex on the beach.” The twinkle in his eye could make a girl pregnant. My ovaries tingle.

  Yowza. “I like.”

  “There’s more where that came from.” He gives me another wink and I nearly fall off the stool.

  Now the blonde is really studying me. Scanning me up and down, cataloguing all my flaws and labelling me as “non-competition.” I’m used to such scans. Auntie Jen does it all the time and taught me and my cousin to do them starting at age thirteen. My cousin doesn’t do them so much anymore because she’s likely to be the thinnest, prettiest and sweetest girl in the room. I do one of my own on the blonde and come up with a depressing ten outta ten. My boobs and hair barely get me to a five.

  Blondie smirks like she knows this.

  “Be right back,” Sawyer swaggers to the back. Both of us swivel on our stools to watch his fine backside.

  Blondie turns to me. “Sawyer is, like, so hot.”

  “Mhmm,” I agree vigorously, even though he is not ‘like’ so hot, he ‘is’ so hot.

  “Are you, like, with him?”

  “Um…” Oh no, I’m gonna blush. The flush starts at my chest and rolls upward, a telling red tide. “We’re just working on something together.”

  The blonde’s eyebrows knit together. She can’t quite figure it out, me and him. You and me both, sister.

  I sip my drink and watch the blonde fight to categorize me as “not a threat.” If she wants him, she can have at him. A hot guy like Sawyer should pay attention to a ten outta ten over me. If he ignored me and flirted with her, I’d be disappointed but fine. All would be right with the world.

  “Evie.” A rumble at my back makes me turn.

  Warmth rolls up my back, Bear’s voice like a blanket settling over my shoulders.

  Blondie’s eyes are round as dinner plates. We both crane our necks to look up at the mountain that is Bear. He bends and kisses my cheek.

  Oh my. There go my panties.

  “Hey,” I hug him and grab my drink like a shield, sipping it to hide my expression.

  “What you drinking?”


  “Sex on the beach.”

  His gaze heats. I sway on the stool.

  “You hungry?”

  “Yes,” I say before I can rethink it. I’m supposed to pretend I’m only a wee bit peckish and stick to a salad.

  My stomach chooses this moment to growl. “I didn’t eat lunch,” I admit.

  A disapproving look. “Baby, you gotta eat.”

  My stomach agrees.

  “Are you okay to drink on an empty stomach?”

  Probably not. “Umm...”

  “I’ll order us some wings. Any allergies?”

  I shake my head. Bear heads off to confer with Sawyer, who has re-emerged from the back. I run a finger around the rim of my glass. I didn’t think Bear could get any sexier, but him insisting on feeding me is my new favorite thing ever.

  The blonde leans in quickly. “Are you with both of them?” Her eyebrows shoot so far up her forehead they almost disappear into her hair.

  “Uh…” my blush marches across my face, unfurling a red flag of shame. “It’s sorta a group project.”

  Bear returns with a beer and settles a hand on my back. We make small talk while Sawyer serves up hot wings and gives me a glass of water. My resolve not to eat in front of the guys dissolves at the sight of buffalo sauce. Bear seems to like feeding me as much as I enjoy it. At least, he watches me with a crinkle around his eyes, nursing his beer, looking pleased. I forget myself and fill my belly. Bear 1, Diet 0. Poor Blondie fidgets, trying to catch Sawyer’s eye, but finally gives up and heads to a table, head bowed. She’s not used to being ignored.

  I’m not used to attention, but I’ll take it. Having two guys interested in me must have sprinkled some sort of alluring magic dust over me, because the minute Bear and Sawyer are distracted by a sports thing on the big TV, another guy sidles up to the bar and offers to buy me a drink.

  “I’m good,” I say, hoping he won’t insist. I don’t have to say anything more, because Bear steps close. His arm slides around my shoulders, an obvious signal. Guy code: back off, this one’s mine. In case the man can’t read guy code, Bear says, “This one’s taken.”

  My insides spasm happily. I try to hide it.

  “If you’re interested, she’s single,” I point to the blonde at the table, looking lost. The guy’s eyes light at her ten outta ten good looks and he heads off.