“Thanks,” he says as I pass it back.
“I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” I rub my hand on my jeans in an effort to wipe away some of the stickiness, to no avail. “That’s really good ice cream.”
Carmen decides to pass on the zucchini, and we move on to the next booth.
“So, if you were trying to describe me, what would you say?” I ask her.
She gives me a confused glance. “To describe you?”
I nod.
“Smart, beautiful, compassionate—”
I cut her off. “Not like that. But thanks, those are all very nice things to say. I guess what I mean is, who do you think I am, deep down?”
She considers. “I think that, deep down, you aren’t as cynical as you let on. You’re deeply loyal. You value yourself based on professional accomplishments.”
“Really?”
“Mostly. Sometimes I think you forget there’s a woman inside you who gets scared and hopeful and moody just like the rest of us. You try to be ‘on’ all the time and never show any weakness.”
I knit my brows together and think about her words. My instinct is to rebut them, but I force myself not to. Carmen knows me better than anyone. Maybe there’s some truth to what she’s saying.
“Why do you ask?” Carmen turns to me, a green pepper in hand.
“Hmm? Oh, just . . . wondering, I suppose.”
Carmen squeezes the pepper in several places, then gives it a quizzical look.
“Oh my God, just buy the damn thing.” I shake my head. “You fondled it already, might as well make an honest pepper out of it.”
She laughs as I pass a couple bucks to the guy running the stand. “Squeezing produce is as close as I get to—” she glances at Jack “—you know . . . these days.”
“Tell me about it.” I sigh. “I didn’t think I cared anymore.”
Carmen gives me a side-eye as we walk to the next booth. She doesn’t even notice the college-age guy checking her out as he walks past us. “But . . . ? I know there’s more to that statement.”
I shrug. “But lately, I guess I’ve realized I do care some.”
“What made you realize that?”
“What are you, my therapist?”
“Obviously. I have been for almost a decade now. And you’re mine.”
I smile. “I guess just all the men who have been in and out of the office lately.”
“As opposed to every other day, when the office is already full of hot men? There has to be one in particular, Sienna. Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
“There’s this guy I’m emailing with, but it’s nothing.”
“You wouldn’t have mentioned it if it was nothing,” Carmen says under her breath.
I ignore her and continue. “Remember me telling you about Ben Durant, the one who sent me flowers?”
“Tall, dark, handsome, and rich?”
“Pretty much.”
“So go out with him.”
I groan. Jack passes me the cone for another emergency lick, and I snag a bite of the waffle cone while I’m at it, then hand it back to him.
“You know how I feel about dating,” I remind Carmen.
“But I also know you aren’t as cynical as you let on, remember?”
“You really think I should go out with him?”
“I really do.” Carmen stops to check out a display of homemade pastas infused with vegetables. “Or the email guy. Or—” she grins and arches her brows “—both.”
“The email guy won’t tell me who he is.”
That stops Carmen cold. “What the hell? Is he a creep?”
I shrug. “Could be. I don’t really know.”
“Well, how does he seem?”
I furrow my brow as I think about that. “At first . . . like a hole that starts with the letter ‘A.’” We’ve come up with creative ways to swear around Jack. “And then . . . intriguing, I guess. Mysterious.”
“Maybe he’s mysterious because he’s married. Or in prison. Or seventy years old. Or . . .” Carmen gives me a serious look. “All of the above.”
I half laugh and half sigh. “Maybe. He doesn’t seem that way, though.”
“Tell him you need to know who he is. He could be a pimply kid emailing you from the bedroom of his parents’ house, Sienna.”
I cringe and then instinctively look at Jack to make sure he’s okay. He is, other than the strawberry ice cream smeared all over his nose and chin.
While Carmen buys some pasta, I bend down and wipe off Jack’s face with a napkin.
“How was the ice cream, buddy?”
“Good.”
“What else do you want to do today?”
“Go to the park?”
I nod. “Let’s do it.”
“And can we get pizza from that one place with the white and orange cheese?”
“Absolutely.”
Carmen frowns at us as she walks over. “Pizza? I was going to make carbonara tonight.”
“Make it tomorrow night,” I suggest. “Jack and I are thinking pizza and a movie tonight. He wants to watch a princess movie.”
“Sienna! No, I don’t!” Jack objects dramatically and smacks his forehead.
“Oh, I thought you loved princesses.”
“No.” He shakes his head and gives his mom a can you believe this look.
“What else could we watch?” I feign bewilderment.
“The Force Awakens!”
“Doesn’t it have a princess? I knew you loved princesses.”
Jack’s eyes widen as he gives me a serious look. “No, she’s a general.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Okay, I still like it.”
On our walk home, I’m still thinking about the question posed by my would-be alpha adviser. We put away our purchases and then walk to the park a couple blocks over from my apartment. Jack wears himself out, and when we’re back home and he and Carmen fall asleep on the couch, I tiptoe up to my bedroom and call Coop.
“Sienna? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s good. How are you?”
He gives me a noncommittal grunt. “Been working lots of overtime. The money’s great, but I’m beat.”
“Are you working now?”
“Nah, I finally got a day off. I don’t feel like doing anything, though. What’s up with you, little sister?”
I sigh heavily and lie down on my bed. “Who do you think I am, Coop?”
“Uh . . . my sister? Is this a trick question?”
“Deep down inside. What moves me? What am I passionate about?”
Another disinterested grunt. “Chick flicks? Apple fritters?”
“Those are things I like, but not who I am. You’ve known me my whole life. Who am I?”
“How the hell should I know?”
I groan with frustration. “You’re not helpful.”
“I never said I was.” I can hear his dismissal of this topic in his tone. “Oh, hey, I need a favor.”
“What?”
“There’s a firefighter’s charity ball thing in a few weeks, and I need you to come with me.”
I laugh. “Why? It’s not like you can’t find a real date.”
“Yeah, I can, I just don’t want to. Every woman I go out with lately wants to know where I see things heading with us before we get to fucking dessert.”
“To your bedroom, right?”
“Well, yeah,” he says sheepishly, “but I can’t admit that. Why can’t women just have some fun on the first date and see where it leads?”
My “hmm” is skeptical. “Why can’t men just be honest about what they really want?”
After a couple seconds of silence, Coop sighs and says, “Anyway, will you come to the thing?”
“Sure. Maybe I’ll find some hot firefighters to hook up with.”
“Shut up.”
I keep going, because I love aggravating Coop. “You’ll introduce me to the hot ones
, right? A girl has needs, you know.”
“Stop, Sienna. You’re my sister. I don’t want to hear about that shit. And I’ll make sure all the guys know you’re off-limits, so don’t even try it.”
“Text me the date so I can add it to my schedule. And if you want us to be matchy-matchy, I’ll be wearing a white dress that’s see-through on the top. It leaves nothing to the imagination.”
My brother groans with disgust. “Don’t you dare.”
“I don’t even own a dress like that, Coop. Don’t worry, I’ll be wearing my habit.”
“That’s more like it.”
“All right, get back to doing nothing.”
“Yep. Love you, sis.”
“Love you too.”
We hang up, and I stare at the ceiling for a couple minutes before reaching over to my bedside table to grab my laptop. I sit up, open the computer, and log on to my work email.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: who I am
Dear RoughRider,
Are you having a good weekend? Mine is good so far.
I’ve been thinking about what you asked me. I think I’ll need to answer this question slowly. So here’s the beginning of my answer.
I love Oreo cookies (dunked in milk until they’re FALLING APART) and cheesy romantic comedies. I’m terrible at all sports. I get grossed out when anyone else uses my toilet.
I’m practical. My lingerie drawer is filled with comfortable, supportive nude-colored bras and butt-covering nude-colored briefs. And while I love shoes and handbags as much as the next woman, I shop at upscale consignment stores for most of my wardrobe.
I’m like a porcupine. The quills are my outer persona—tough and strong and ready for battle. Not only am I comfortable in a conference room with nothing but back-slapping men, I’m in my element there. Kicking ass and taking names in a corporate setting is my jam. But what many people don’t know is that porcupines’ most vulnerable part is their soft underbelly. My soft underbelly is the way I feel about the people I love. There’s someone in particular—a little boy—whom I love with my whole heart and soul. But that love comes with a sense of helplessness and hurt that I sometimes can’t process, because he’s sick. I cry for him at night, when I’m alone. I’d give up everything to help him if I could.
I’m making myself sound better than I am. The truth is, I’m not sure I’d be a good mom if I had my own kids. I’m pretty focused on myself. And when I have PMS . . . well, watch out world.
Your turn. Who are you? And if RoughRider isn’t sexual, what’s it about?
Sienna
* * *
#oreosarealwaystheanswer
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: who I am
Dear Sienna,
The Rough Riders reference is a nod to Roosevelt’s Rough Riders, the 1st US Volunteer Cavalry, which was formed for the Spanish-American War. It was a diverse group that included college athletes, miners, outdoorsmen, and cowboys.
My weekend was good. I had to work, but I love my work, so I didn’t mind. I’m with you on the Oreos, and between you and me, I don’t mind a romantic comedy myself.
Your porcupine reference is funny. I know some people think a strong woman who can get shit done is prickly, but those people are (forgive my language) fucking stupid. I wouldn’t mind hearing more about your soft underbelly, or your lingerie. Doesn’t matter what color it is anyway. The best part of lingerie to a man is the way it feels. When we slide our hands over a woman’s ass and cup it through that silky fabric . . . yeah, it’s good. And that feeling a guy gets when he unhooks a woman’s bra is basically like a chorus of angels singing from above.
I’m sorry about the sick boy you mentioned. Kids shouldn’t have to go through that stuff.
You asked who I am, so here goes . . . I’m decisive. I knew what I wanted to do for a career in high school, and as I said before, I love it. Sometimes I think I’m a little too driven, but other times I think I need to step it up. My outlets are exercise and reading.
Being decisive is both good and bad. I know what I want, but that doesn’t always mean I can have it.
A real man isn’t fazed by PMS. I’d handle yours by listening while massaging your shoulders. And of course—Oreos.
RoughRider
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: UGH
Dear RoughRider,
I feel like a real ass for assuming your name was a sexual reference. Of course, it had to be noble and patriotic to make me feel even worse.
Moving on . . . What do you do for work? And what do you want that you can’t have?
I thought about our alpha conversation this morning because as I was walking into my office, a guy passing me on the street told me my hair would look really good wound around his fingers. He was rubbing his crotch as he said it. Isn’t that an alpha attribute? Walking right up to a mark and telling her how rough and good you want to give it to her? Isn’t that supposed to make me weak-kneed? Because I thought it was gross, and I told him so.
You aren’t married, are you? Or underage? Please tell me I’m not emailing a teenager right now.
Sienna
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: UGH
Sienna,
You can relax, I’m not a teenager. I’m 32. And I’m not married either.
I don’t have long, but I had to write back immediately to set you straight on something. What that guy did to you this morning does not make him an alpha—it makes him an unclassy douchebag. Words like those aren’t meant for a woman you see on the street. Men should only say things like that to a woman they’re with, and only when they’re alone. But I’m not sure I’d even say it then. I prefer actions to words.
Slap the next guy who talks to you that way.
RoughRider
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: retrospect
RoughRider,
I may slap *that* guy if I see him on the street again. Do you ever hear something come out of someone’s mouth, but there’s a delay before your brain registers how offended you actually were by it? I had one of those moments this morning.
This afternoon, I have to fire an employee. I’m dreading it because I know she genuinely needs this job, but she did something I can’t overlook. She has access to money here, and our auditors discovered that she took some money late last year and then replaced it the next month. She probably needed that money for Christmas. Firing people is the worst part of my job, but I think it’s important that I do it rather than my HR manager. Everyone deserves to be fired by someone who doesn’t relish doing it and who will do it as compassionately as possible. I’m giving her a severance, which I don’t have to do. And she stole from the company, so why do I still feel so terrible? My underbelly is showing.
Sienna
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: say yes
Hey Sienna, are you free for breakfast tomorrow?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: say yes
Hi Ben,
Yes.
Sienna
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: say yes
Meet me at Thistle at 7?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: say yes
See you then.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
om
Re: long day
Sienna,
Sorry I’m late getting back to you—it was a long day, and I’m just now getting a chance to sit down and write you.
I’m loving this view of your underbelly, btw. It’s very sexy.
How did it go with your employee? I wouldn’t relish firing someone who needed the job either. But you’re right—you had no choice. She could have come to you and asked for a loan if times were tough, and while you may not have said yes, at least that would have been above board. Hope your day got better when that was over. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
I have a work dilemma myself, though it’s less weighty than yours. Someone I supervise is more deserving of a promotion than the person I have to give it to. I’ll call the person I’m giving it to Bob. Bob is arrogant and immature, but he’s very good at what he does. He’ll execute this role better. The other person, whom I’ll call John, works his ass off but just doesn’t have the natural talent Bob does. I lifted heavy tonight at the gym because I’ve been conflicted about this even though I know what I have to do. I realized Bob will win this battle, but John will win far more battles in his life than Bob will. There’s no substitute for heart.
It would have been nice to have a late dinner with you tonight after our shitty days. You’re beautiful in the skirts and heels you wear to work, with your makeup done, but I bet you’re even more beautiful in sweats and a T-shirt, with your hair down, a glass of wine in hand, and a relaxed expression on your face.
A real man doesn’t let his girl go to sleep stressed or upset. I know of some great ways to work out stress before bed. But if you just needed me to listen and hold you, I’d do that instead. I’d be the luckiest bastard in the world if I got to be the one to do that.
Sleep well, Sienna.
Alpha Mail Page 5
