Yours to Bare

by Jessica Hawkins

  My heart drops. What happened within an hour that made him change his mind? I re-read all the texts. Is it because I took so long to respond? Is he having second thoughts?

  My eyes well with a fresh round of tears.

  I can’t do this. I can’t be so attached to Finn already that his rejection is like a knife between the ribs. I tap out a response I can’t even read through my blurry vision.

  I saw

  I lay my head on my forearms and give in to my sobs. I don’t understand what changed. His words were so short. Cold. As if me not going over there is more important than how he’s just made me feel.

  When my phone buzzes again, I’m torn between snapping it up to read his response and pushing it over the side of the desk into the garbage. I can’t handle any other response than “just kidding.”

  A knock on the door momentarily decides for me. I stand up to cross the office. Thank God for coffee—it’s never let me down. Well, except the time a barista served me decaf by accident, and I spent the following hours confused and lonely before I realized what’d happened. And yes, liquids can let a person down. Wine has. Wine has fucked me over in the past, but rarely coffee.

  I open the door just enough for Benny to pass the decanter and machine through. “I’ll set it up for you,” she says instead.

  “I can handle it.”

  She purses her lips. “You look like you’re about to jump out your window. I’m coming in, or the coffee goes bye-bye.”

  I roll my eyes and step aside. She sets the coffee maker on my desk and plugs it in.

  “Wow,” I say. “I’m glad you were here. How would I have managed without you?”

  She smirks. “Damn. I forgot a mug.”

  I pull out two from a bottom desk drawer.

  “I should’ve known,” she says.

  “Yep. You should have,” I tease, passing them to her.

  “So, what’d your dad say?” she asks as she pours the coffee. “I’ve never seen you cry.”

  “I’m not crying.”

  “Sorry. You’re right. I’ve never heard you cry. What’d he say to you?”

  I take a comforting sip. “Can you keep a secret? Like, this isn’t office gossip, not even my dad can find out.”

  She nods. “Hit me.”

  “Rich and I broke up,” I say.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Seriously.” She gapes at me. Am I the only one who sees Rich and I aren’t actually that good together? “I mean, I know Rich is great and all, but I don’t think he and I—”

  She waves a hand at me. “No, it’s not that. I just can’t believe he’s why you’re bawling. Your relationship seems so cut and dry.”

  “Oh.” I sit back against the lip of the desk. “So you’re not surprised it’s over?”

  She looks into her mug. “Should I not have said that? Since you’re my boss?”

  “No, it’s . . . it’s okay. It’s good. I was worried for a minute that everyone would think this was a mistake but me.”

  She shrugs. “If you’re not into it, why does it matter what anyone else says?”

  For a split second, I consider telling her about Finn. It’s not really the kind of relationship she and I have, and I’m not even sure how she’d respond, but it would be nice to let my hair down and bitch. To share how completely blindsided I feel by his sudden flip in personality.

  I pick up my phone and read his message.

  I’m sorry. I’ll explain next time I see you.

  Next time I see you? Is he implying maybe he’ll see me, maybe not? This is a complete one-eighty from this morning. I didn’t peg Finn to be the one-night stand type. We didn’t even have sex.

  “So how long’s it been since you were single?” Benny asks.

  I’ve had my fill of men for today. I put the phone down and return my attention to Benny. “Do you want to grab a drink?”

  The bartender sets three martinis on the bar, one in front of each of us. “Extra dirty,” he says. “From the dude in the suit.”

  “Which dude?” Benny asks. “They’re all in suits.”

  I slow-blink at the bartender, pointing at my half-empty drink. “But I haven’t even finished this one.”

  He shrugs as Benny laughs. “If I finished all the drinks men bought me, I’d never be upright.”

  “I think that’s the point . . .?” Cara says.

  Benny elbows her. “You know what I mean.”

  I could get used to this girlfriend thing. I’m on my third cocktail of the night, and each one has been paid for by a different guy. Benny has serious flirtation skills. It could also be the slight Latin accent that flavors her words. Or her long, richly brown hair.

  “Cara’s sleeping with her manager,” Benny explains, “otherwise she’d be more fun tonight.”

  “At the firm?” I ask.

  “No, I work nights at a restaurant in Meatpacking. I’d never sleep with the misogynistic asshole lawyers I work for. Dan’s a misogynistic asshole, but at least he’s not a lawyer.”

  “She’s exaggerating,” Benny says. “Dan’s sweet, she just doesn’t like people to know it.”

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask Benny.

  “Pssh. What boyfriend? I’ve been playing the field since college.”

  “Oh. Rich mentioned one.”

  Benny frowns and puts a hand on my shoulder. “He flirted with me once while he was waiting for you to come back from a meeting. It was harmless, but I said I had a boyfriend just to make things easy.”

  Rich hit on her? He rarely even attempts to flirt with me. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “That must’ve been awkward, getting seduced by boss’s boyfriend. You should’ve told me.”

  She waves me off. “I handled it fine.”

  “Who’s Rich?” Cara asks. “The guy you just broke up with?”

  Benny nods. “Her dad likes him.”

  Cara cringes.

  “That’s supposed to be a good thing,” I point out.

  “Not in your twenties. Now’s the time to get back at dad for all the ways he fucked you up, and the men you date are your best weapons.”

  “Huh.” I pick up my fresh martini. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “So our mission is to find you a guy Mr. Fox would hate,” Benny says.

  I’ve already accomplished that. Finn’s several years older than me and a struggling artist with an ex-wife. He also doesn’t put me in a box. Nothing about that would appeal to my dad. I shift on the barstool.

  “Or maybe she’s already found one?” Cara asks, eyeing me.

  I smile into my drink for a full second before I remember how Finn blew me off. “Actually . . .” I look up. “I need advice.”

  “You already met someone?” Benny gasps. “You were fooling around on Rich! And that’s why you broke up. Did he catch you in the act? Were you buck naked, sprawled out on some burgundy leather couch I’m sure Rich has in his apartment—”

  “No, no, no,” I sputter, trying not to laugh. I’m supposed to be pissed at the men in my life, but Benny’s right—Rich does love burgundy leather. “I didn’t cheat on him.” For the first time, I’m glad Finn had the sense to stop me so I wouldn’t have to lie about it. “This guy’s been pursuing me, but—”

  “Sleep with him,” Benny says. “Those rules about waiting are bull.”

  “I would,” I say. “In fact, we . . . we had this amazing night last night.”

  “You whore,” Cara cries.

  Benny shoves her so hard, she almost topples off the stool. “You don’t know her well enough to call her a whore, and by the way, she’s my boss.”

  I force a smile. I think Cara’s teasing me—she’s laughing. But nobody’s ever called me a whore, joking or otherwise. “It’s fine. I can take it.”

  “So, you banged,” Benny urges me on. “Then what?”

  “I stayed over, but we didn’t bang. We just had a great night, like really really great.”

  Cara nods knowingly. “G
ood call. Keep him on his toes.”

  “Was it, though?” I ask. “We made plans for this weekend, but he just canceled on me out of the blue.”

  Cara and Benny exchange a look. “Are you sure you didn’t sleep with him?”

  I scoff-laugh. “Of course I’m sure. I think I’d know.”

  “Hmm.” Cara plants her elbow on the bar and her chin in her hand. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “No. He’s very anti-cheating, which is one reason we haven’t slept together. Because of Rich. He has an . . . ex-wife.”

  “Damn,” Benny says. “He’s older?”

  I nod. “Early thirties, I think.”

  Cara rubs her palms together. “Now we’re talking. Older men are fucking awesome. Chances are, he isn’t dicking you around. Did he say why he had to cancel?”

  “No.”

  “So it wasn’t a girlfriend,” Benny tells Cara, squinting as if she’s scheming.

  Cara shakes her head. “Most likely not a blow off, either, since he didn’t even get laid yet.”

  I take a long pull from my straw before I point out, “Not afraid of commitment. He’s been married.”

  “This is going to bother me,” Cara says. “Let’s get a second opinion.”

  “Good idea.” Benny sits up on her stool, scans the crowd, and waves at a pair of men. They come right over.

  “Hi,” Benny says. “This is Cara, Halston, and I’m Benny.”

  “Nice to meet you,” says the dark-haired one. “I’m Jude, and this is Matt. Are you ladies—”

  “How old are you guys?” Cara asks.

  Matt rubs the back of his neck. “Uh . . . don’t worry, we’re legal.”

  Cara smirks. “We’re conducting research, and we’re looking for men in their thirties.”

  “You’re in luck,” Jude says, raising his glass. “We’re both thirty.”

  “Excellent. My friend here,” Cara gestures at me, “had a great date with a guy in his thirties, didn’t sleep with him, and made plans for a second date, but he canceled last minute.”

  The guys shrug. “Something probably came up.”

  “And?” Benny asks.

  “And what?” Matt turns to me. “Have you asked him?”

  Everyone else turns to me.

  I stir my drink. “It didn’t really seem like he was open to talking about it.”

  “Then he has a girlfriend,” Matt says.

  “He’s divorced.” Benny shakes her head. “Unless—maybe he was burned by his ex, and he freaked out.”

  “Yes,” Cara shouts. “That’s it. He’s not ready to jump into the next relationship. Right, guys?”

  Matt and Jude exchange a look. “Maybe,” Jude says. “I wouldn’t say I’ve freaked out before, but I have skipped a date with a girl I knew was looking for commitment.”

  Finn had shut the marriage topic down when I’d asked for details. He said he hadn’t loved her like a husband, but was he trying to play it down so I wouldn’t know I was a rebound? I nod a little too hard, my head swimming from the alcohol. “That makes sense. His texts were so schizo.”

  “Texts?” Benny asks. “No way. You need to talk to him face to face, or at least on the phone. Texts are too ambiguous.”

  “They were really sweet at first,” I say, “and then when I didn’t respond, he got weird.”

  “So you rejected him,” Jude says.

  “No I didn’t, I was just busy at work—”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “Well, no. I didn’t really say anything. I was upset.”

  Matt makes a face. “When was his divorce?”

  “Recently, I think.”

  “My older brother was traumatized after his divorce,” he says. “It’s been three years and he still hasn’t been on a date.”

  “So basically,” Cara says, “this guy’s trying to get back out there after a devastating divorce, and you go and blow him off.”

  “I blow him off?” I think back to his six text messages—and my single two-word response. Do I have this all wrong? Was I the jerk? “Oh my God. Do you really think that’s what happened?”

  Jude nods. “Definitely. Girls think we have it so easy, but the truth is, getting shot down by someone you really like fucking sucks.”

  A wave of guilt—or gin, more likely—courses through me. I had burst into tears when I thought Finn had rejected me just a few hours ago, so of course I can understand why he’d be hurt. “What do I do?” I ask. “Call him?”

  “No. You bruised his ego. You need a grand gesture.” Cara points at me. “You should go over to his place.”

  “But he told me not to come.”

  “Of course he did.” Benny nods. “He’s proud. You have to prove you’re really interested and not planning to screw him over.”

  “Just planning to screw him,” Cara chirps.

  “If a hot chick showed up on my doorstep to screw in the middle of the night,” Matt says, “I’d think I’d died and gone to heaven.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  Jude puts his hand on the back of my stool, his fingers mere inches from my ass. “If he doesn’t invite you in, he’s a loser. Better to find out he’s a loser now rather than later.”

  I take another generous sip of my drink, feeling suddenly warm. I want to remove my sweater like I had last night for Finn’s camera. For Finn. And having Jude’s hand near me is reminding me of Finn’s, all the things they did to me . . . and to himself.

  Did I make a mistake assuming he was no longer interested? I have limited experience with men as it is—I know virtually nothing about divorce. I should’ve been more sensitive. I slide off my stool. “I’m going over there.”

  The four of them applaud. “Good girl,” Cara says. “If he turns you down, come right back here. We’ll be waiting.”

  If he turns me down, I’m certain I won’t be going anywhere but right to bed so I can crawl under the covers for the rest of the weekend and drown myself in tears.

  15

  Outside, the cool air is refreshing, but not jarring enough to kill my buzz. I don’t even put on my coat, just wave down a passing cab and give him Finn’s address. On the ride over, I lower the window, unusually warm from the alcohol. I take off my mittens. I ask the driver where he’s from. When I’ve exhausted all the ways to distract myself from what I’m doing, I get out my phone. Looking at Finn’s photos of me makes me feel close to him. They have more likes and follows, but no comments.

  As we get closer, my confidence wavers. Finn specifically told me not to come. If it was because I hurt him, I want to show him he has nothing to worry about. It could be something else, though. Something he doesn’t want to share. The only thing he’s been secretive about is his divorce—could this have to do with his ex?

  The cabbie looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Well?”

  We’re at the curb in front of Finn’s. I pay and get out of the car. The building has a keypad. I debate whether to wait for someone to come in or out. Buzzing his apartment seems almost more intrusive than just knocking on his door.

  I’m not experienced in showing up unannounced. I’ve been on the receiving end of it, though. Just this afternoon, I talked to my dad about not respecting my wishes, yet here I am, doing the same thing to Finn.

  This feels wrong. I open my messages and pull up our conversation from earlier.

  I’m downstairs. I’ll go if you want, I just wanted to see you. And talk.

  I don’t know how long I want to wait for a response. He might be asleep. Or worse, out. My Uber app tells me there’s a car two minutes away. As I’m trying to decide a reasonable time limit for my desperation, a bubble pops up to indicate he’s typing. I hold my breath until his message comes through.

  You’re here? At my place?

  I don’t know what to think. He doesn’t seem happy, and this is starting to feel less “grand gesture” and more “desperate stalker.”

  I’m sorry. I can go. I’ve been drinking & my
friends said all these things & now I’m here.

  I’ve barely hit send when his response comes through.

  Come upstairs

  I don’t know what to think. He doesn’t seem happy, and this is starting to feel less “grand gesture” and more “desperate stalker.” It’s too late now, though, because the door to the building clicks as he unlocks it from his apartment. Inside, I ride the elevator up to the sixth floor. Right as I approach apartment 6A, the door opens, and Finn steps out in only sweatpants. I have to swallow to keep saliva in my mouth. His abs are in full effect tonight, and they’re even better than I remember.

  He runs a hand through his hair, pulls the door almost closed behind him, and whispers, “Hey.”

  “Oh my God. You were sleeping.” This just keeps getting worse. “It’s late.”

  He smiles a little. “It’s barely eleven, but, yeah. I was out like a light.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry to show up like this, I just, I was confused, and your texts were so—”

  “It’s fine. You’ve been drinking?”

  “I don’t normally drink, not like this. I just had a really bad day—”

  “I told you not to come.” He glances behind him. “But if you’re drunk and alone, I’m not going to send you away.”

  I’m an idiot. This is why I don’t drink—my judgment sucks. I’m about to apologize when I realize Finn is whispering. “You’re trying to be quiet,” I say, my remorse fading. “Why?”

  He looks down the hall, his eyes distant. “Listen, I . . . I have to tell you something.”

  My heart stops. I really am an idiot—a blind, trusting, rash idiot. “You’re not alone.”

  “No.”

  My stomach revolts. My martinis are about to get way dirtier. “Shit. I . . . I can’t believe I came here.”

  “Let me explain—”

  I can only see this situation getting worse, and I don’t want to stick around to watch it crash and burn. I step back.

  “Stop.” He lunges for my arm but misses while trying to keep his apartment door from shutting. “It’s not what you think. Come inside, and I’ll explain everything.”