Closer: A Blind Date Bad Boy Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  “It was okay,” comes my careless sentence.

  “What? Just okay?” Amy says incredulously. I shrug.

  “Yeah. Like you said, it was just a movie. We barely talked.” Hopefully she won’t ask more, but instead, my friend charges on forwards.

  “But what was he like?” she asks insistently. “He’s hot right? Like super ripped from getting out of the Army?” I almost crack and tell her everything then. But I hold onto my resolve to leave out the details - it’s better like this. Because what am I supposed to tell her? That Brent is suffering from PTSD and we had sex in public? Amy would never believe me anyway.

  “Yeah, he’s a GI,” I say, not meeting her eyes. “A little full of himself. A little arrogant.” My heart breaks at the untruth of this statement. Brent couldn’t have been nicer, more genuine, or more gentlemanly. But it doesn’t matter to Amy.

  “But was he hot?” she says eagerly. “Like Hulk Hogan-size muscles?”

  But I just don’t want to say anything that’s too much anything.

  “Yeah, not bad,” is my non-committal answer. “I don’t know about Hulk Hogan, but yeah, he’s in great shape.”

  I’m just wondering whether I should feed the fire a little more, when Amy suddenly says something that makes my blood run cold.

  “Brent texted me last night, actually. After your date.”

  I go quiet, focusing on pouring my coffee. Suddenly, time comes to a standstill and my heart’s beating so loud I wonder if Amy can hear it. She continues like nothing’s wrong.

  “Brent was so sweet. He asked me how I was feeling and wants to go out when I'm feeling better,” she continues, making me spill my coffee, burning myself. I cuss, jumping back.

  “You okay?” asks Amy, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “Yeah, fine,” I snap, and immediately feel bad. “Are you gonna go?”

  “Of course! A former solider? Are you kidding me? You know I love that kind of stuff,” she says coquettishly. “Besides, I'm so tired of stupid frat boys,” says Amy sulkily. “I need a real man.”

  I finish mopping up my spilt coffee, desperate to get out of the kitchen and back into the sanctuary of my room. Amy’s watching me, concerned.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks. “That coffee was really hot.” I nod and shoot her a fake smile.

  “Of course! Just tired.” This seems to satisfy my buddy, and she smiles back.

  “Thanks again for jumping in and saving the day yesterday, I really appreciate it. You’re a life-saver, Janie.”

  “No prob,” I say brightly with another fake smile. “Janie to the rescue!”

  But back in my room, I fall down onto my bed facedown. This time it’s my turn to sob. I can’t believe this! I’ve been so stupid. Not only did I have sex with a stranger in a movie theater, but I’d also allowed myself to believe Brent was actually interested in me. Instead, he ran straight home afterwards and texted Amy to ask her out on a date! It’s incomprehensible. And it breaks my heart, although it shouldn’t. Guys have always loved Amy’s bubbly blonde persona. No one’s ever been interested in me.

  As tears drench the cotton of my pillow, I realize I must have imagined our special connection after all. Brent was just a guy who’d been at war for too long, and I was the first convenient woman in his path. That’s all. As soon as he'd ejaculated, he’d probably instantly regretted it. Because why would he want me, when he could have Amy, who’s thin, pretty and blonde? I really can’t blame him. Of course, it still doesn’t explain why he cried in my lap like a child, but at this point, I’m tired of wondering about this Brent enigma. I have no more energy left for it. And resolve to focus on what’s actually important: my studies.

  I sit down at my desk with my coffee and force myself to start working on my paper. No more Brent. No more hunky soldier. No more taboo sex or crying jags. He’s not interested in me, and although it pains my soul … I have to live with that fact.

  Chapter 8

  BRENT

  With the palms of my hands pressed flat to the carpet in my room, I lower myself down to start a series of push-ups. Hopefully, the physical exertion will clear my mind. It always worked at the base: whenever I felt angry, or sad, or homesick, I’d do push-ups until the feelings melted away into nothingness, and all I could feel was the burn in my muscles, my breath hot in my throat. And if there was any residue of the feelings after that, the endorphins would kick in and take care of the rest.

  Cole has always disapproved of this method. He doesn't believe in ignoring emotions. He believes in addressing them head on, and allowing them to guide my decisions. But I met Cole too late because I can’t unlearn my behavior now.

  101 … 102 … 103. I continue with the push-ups, but so far no luck: I can’t put last night out of my head. Janie. How much I had enjoyed talking to her. How much I enjoyed fucking her, right out in public like that. I replay the evening over and over again in my mind. But every time I get to the part where I blacked out and found myself sobbing on her knees in the foyer, I grimace in humiliation. Fuck! What a way to end a date, especially since I basically ran off like a coward afterwards. 156 … 157 … 158 ….

  Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. I clench my jaw in irritation as I continue my push-ups. 182 … 183. Again, the knock.

  “Brent? Sweetie?” comes Mom’s voice from behind the door. Sighing with exasperation, I stop the push-ups and get to my feet, opening the door with sweat streaming down my face, breathing hard. Mom’s looking up at me in her bathrobe, holding the portable house phone in her hand. She’s staring at me like I’m some kind of monster. Poor woman probably doesn’t recognize the little boy she raised.

  “What is it, Mom?” I ask as kindly as I can.

  “Someone on the phone for you,” she says, holding it out to me. Confused, I take it from her. What is this, 1998? Anyone who would call me, would do so on my cell phone.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, and go back inside my room.

  “Hello?” I say into the portable phone.

  “Brent!” booms Cole’s voice from the other end.

  “Yo man. Why are you calling me on the house phone? How do you even have this number?”

  “It wasn’t that hard to find. Your cell keeps going to answering machine, dumbass. Why’s it off?”

  Confused, I grope into the pocket of my leather jacket – he’s right, it’s off. Battery must have died sometime late last night.

  “I guess I must have forgotten to charge my phone. Sorry dude.”

  “That wild, was it?” laughs Cole. I don’t answer, not sure how to.

  “No worries. It’s why I’m calling you anyways. After we finished talking last night, I got a little worried.”

  “Why?” I snort dismissively.

  “Look, I may be jumping the gun here, but I wanna suggest a buddy system. It’s something that's been put into practice as a kind of therapy ….”

  I cut him off.

  “Yo, I don’t need therapy,” comes my defensive growl.

  “I’m not saying you do, Brent. But you only just got back, and you’ve been through a lot the last four years. No civilian can even remotely fathom the pain. So yeah, the army set up this buddy system where they pair soldiers with one another so they can, you know, talk. Keep on eye on each other.”

  “Right,” I snort. “Might as well become an Avon lady while you’re at it.”

  But Cole’s not offended.

  “Come on, we talk already. What’s the difference?”

  I suppose there isn’t really one. And maybe Cole’s right. Maybe I do need someone to talk to. About last night, especially.

  “You still there, man?” Cole asks.

  “Yeah,” I grunt quickly. “Sorry. Okay fine, whatever.”

  I can almost hear Cole’s satisfied grin through the phone.

  “So how was the date?” he asks, taking that as the go ahead. “Was she hot?”

  “It was good,” is my noncommittal answer.

  “J
ust good? Was she hot in person?” Cole growls, which makes me laugh.

  “It was someone else, actually. The original was sick, so she had a friend sub for her.”

  Cole doesn’t even blink.

  “So was the new girl hot? Come on, man, gimme some details!”

  “Yeah. Yeah, she was. And um, nice too,” I say, resolving to tell Cole everything. It’s not like the push-ups worked.

  “Go on,” he says like some prying, gossipy old lady.

  “Actually, we had insane chemistry,” I relent. “She was gorgeous, hands down. She’s got these huge natural tits, big ass, soft arms, that sort of thing,” I add, starting with the easiest part to tell him about.

  “I didn’t know you were into bigger girls,” remarks my buddy.

  “Neither did I,” I sat. “But it wasn't just that. She, uh … really got me, if that makes sense?”

  “Go on,” says Cole encouragingly, and by the sound of his voice I already know he gets it.

  “It was so easy to talk to her, man. Time just flew by. The way she looked at me, it was like she - like she knew me.” I pause, embarrassed. “I sound like such a pussy.”

  “No, you don’t,” he says kindly. “I get it. Go on.” And I know I can trust him.

  “Well, we got on really well. There was definitely a connection. And then in the movie theater, I followed your advice and um, went with my instincts.”

  “Oh really?” asks Cole. Again, I can practically hear his eyebrows rocket off his forehead.

  “Yeah and well, things got kind of carried away, and we ended up fucking in the movie theater,” I say, holding my breath. Cole starts laughing hysterically.

  “Are you kidding me?!” he caws. “You da man! You da man!”

  I snort. God, this was a mistake. But Cole’s on a roll.

  “Holy shit, that’s not what I meant when I told you to follow your instincts and have a good time!” he burbles like a fucking girl. “But awesome. Did you get caught?”

  “No, which was weird,” I say. “But that’s not the only weird thing.”

  “Okay?” he asks encouragingly.

  “I kind of had a strange episode afterwards.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Like - after we had sex and she went to the bathroom, I was just watching the movie, I guess, and there was machine gunfire in the movie, and suddenly I started fucking hyperventilating. And then it was like I was back on mission, that time when ….” I break off, feeling suddenly sick at the thought.

  “Then what happened?” my buddy asks gently. I take a deep breath.

  “Well, I fucking had a nervous breakdown,” is my slow admission. “I ran out into the foyer crying, and lay there on the floor like a sack of shit. But Janie came with me, and she was there for me.” To my horror, my voice cracks. I can’t believe I’m saying these words out loud. But Cole is understanding.

  “Brent. Brent, man, it’s okay.”

  To my horror, I start hyperventilating again, but my friend continues.

  “It’s only normal for this to happen. It happens to almost every soldier who re-enters the normal world. They expect you to go back to civilian life like nothing happened but that’s a crock of shit.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to get my bearings.

  “But I don’t recognize myself. There’s something about this girl that just turns me into a mess. All these fucking feelings, man, and erratic behavior like having sex in public, and then breaking down and crying? What the hell?”

  But Cole’s not dissuaded.

  “It sounds like she’s good for you. Maybe you should keep seeing her. It’s definitely cheaper than therapy.”

  I roll my eyes at his quip.

  “Nah. She’s too good for me. I texted the other one. The girl I was meant to go out with.”

  “Okaaaay,” Cole drawls.

  “You said to fuck around a bit, right?”

  “Yeah, but, if this other chick really gets you ….”

  “No,” I say abruptly. “I can’t be like this. I want to get my life back together. I can’t go around sobbing and breaking down in public. I’ll be a fucking joke.”

  Cole sighs on the other side.

  “It sounds to me like you may have PTSD. Maybe therapy?”

  This guy is off the reservation. I want to keep my emotions in check, not bawl them out like some basket case.

  “No,” I growl more harshly than I want to, but it doesn’t bother Cole. He sighs again.

  “Fine. Not for now. But if you don’t like who you are around this girl, and you don’t want to do therapy, then we should definitely talk regularly. Okay?”

  That I can agree with.

  “Okay,” I say, feeling calmer.

  “Just keep me in the loop. And also,” he adds. “I know you’re a purist and you don't want to start college in the middle of the semester, but maybe it’s best you just get going with it. Enroll. Keep moving forward. You know what they say, dude. One foot in front of the other on the long march home.”

  “Yeah,” I grunt before hanging up.

  As usual, speaking to Cole has clarified my thoughts. And he’s right. I need to keep moving, otherwise I’m just gonna get stuck in the mud. So I resolve to enroll in the Spring program at Smithton after the weekend. Smithton is the only college that qualifies under the GI bill. And even though Janie goes there, it’ll have to do. It’s a big enough college. I’m sure I can avoid her if it comes to that. Because if I’m ever going to move past whatever I’m going through, I can’t be around the beautiful brunette. She makes me feel weak. And I can’t afford to be weak. Not now, and not ever.

  Which is why I texted that other girl Amy last night. This should all be fun and games. I’m a mess trying to get back on my feet again, and a bubbly airhead is exactly what I need. So why can’t I forget the beautiful Janie? Why does the curvy girl have such a pull on me … when I know I’m no good to anyone?

  Chapter 9

  JANIE

  I come through the doors of the lecture hall and realize I’m the first one there. Just as well: I get to pick my favorite spot, all the way at the front. It’s my favorite because no one else wants to sit there, so I can be alone. I want to keep my head down for the rest of the school year and just focus on my degree. I can’t afford any more distractions. Especially after this heartbreaking weekend where I had sex and then was basically dumped five minutes later. What a joke.

  As the rest of the class files in and takes their places, I continue working on the paper on my laptop and am totally immersed. It looks like I’m getting my mojo back. Before I know it, the class is full, and Professor McNealy’s standing in front, calling order. I put away my stuff and prepare to focus on the class. Mid-century American poetry. My favorite.

  “Welcome back everyone, I hope you’re all had a nice weekend,” McNealy drawls insincerely, wiping the blackboard. There’s a mixture of a muttered affirmative and negative answers. “I’d like to welcome a new student to the class,” he simpers. “Our new student is a vet, and just got out of combat.”

  My blood runs cold. No way. This can’t be happening.

  “Let’s give a warm welcome to Brent Johnson!” says McNealy with a fake smile. “Don’t worry about it being the middle of the semester. You’ll soon catch up and I’m sure there’d be more than a few willing fellow students to give you a hand.”

  A bunch of girls giggle and instinctively, I turn around in my chair and, heart beating in my throat, let my eyes scan the room. I don’t have to search for long. There he is, all the way at the back of the lecture hall, sitting nonchalantly in his seat. Brent’s massive form dwarfs the small seat and I can see why the girls in the class are still tittering with their hands over their mouths. He’s gorgeous. Huge and dominating, making all the boys in the lecture hall seem young and inexperienced by comparison.

  Brent hasn’t seen me yet and for a split second I think of turning around before he can. But it’s too late. Even from this distance, I can sense
his piercing blue eyes on my frame. And from the way the air suddenly heats between us, I can tell he feels something too.

  “Well, good,” I think with a grim satisfaction. Serves him right for running out on me after I comforted him, only to text Amy for a date shortly after. But he lifts his hand in an awkward wave, a movement so genuine and innocent my stomach churns. I almost wave back, but then change my mind, forcing myself to recall what happened, and how much it hurt me. If that could happen to me after just one date, imagine what else is in store for me with the handsome GI? I don't want to go through that all over again. I turn around and face the front, trying to focus on the class.

  But I can’t. I can feel him staring at me from his seat. My right shoulder blade feels warm, as if he’s kissing it with his gaze. As soon as the class is over, I gather my things and without looking back at Brent, hurry out of the lecture hall. I rush out into the courtyard, where some cherry trees are in bloom. Surely he won’t follow me, and especially not out here. It’s far too romantic, and it’s clear that romance scares Brent and makes him literally run away. I sit down on the bench and watch as my peers rush towards their next classes. No one’s coming out here, thank goodness. I resolve to recover my composure for a few minutes, then go to Cultural Theory and hope he won’t be in that class, too. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting the sun warm my face. Calm returns to my body, my heart rate slows. I’m back in control.