Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 4: A New Adult Romantic Comedy

by Adele Huxley

  I dropped my purse at the door, kicked off my shoes, and made my way to the fridge.

  “Hey,” Anette said without looking up from the dishes.

  Surprised she’d spoken, I replied in kind. “I thought you were working tonight,” I said as I stuck my head in to hunt for leftovers.

  “Yeah, well. I’m not.”

  I made a face in the privacy of my cool fridge and didn’t reply. After shuffling through a few unidentifiable containers, I grabbed a soda and shut the door.

  “Do you wanna order something?”

  “Already ate,” she snapped again, waving a soapy spatula in the air for proof.

  “Oookay,” I replied. I was about to make a comment about it being the first time in history she made dinner, but bit my tongue. She’s on the edge of civil, but she’s still civil.

  I plopped on the sofa and stretched out my legs with a groan. The tension was so strange. I felt like I was acting relaxed rather than actually being relaxed, like it was a performance in my own home.

  I thought I might try to lighten the mood by sharing what happened at the office just before I came home. “I caught Abi doing something hilarious today.”

  “Mmmhmm,” Anette replied without looking up from her phone.

  I swallowed a nasty comment and smiled harder through the conversation. “She thought she was alone and started dancing up and down the hall. I even have video.”

  “Oh?”

  “Come on. You hate her as much as I do,” I scoffed, getting fed up with her attitude.

  She met my eye with an uninterested dull look. “I hardly know the woman. She’s your coworker, Tal. I have no reason to like or hate her.”

  “Please. You’ve met her a few times and each time walked away doing nothing but bitch about her. I know you want to see this video,” I added, wiggling my phone.

  “Eh. Whatever.”

  I clapped my hand on my thigh and fought to control the volume of my voice. “Really? Is this seriously how you want to live now? Just pretending to be friends? Give me something to work with here. I’m trying to fix this.”

  “Fix something you broke, you mean. Did you ever stop to think what this might do to the rest of us? Did it ever once occur to you this might not end well?” Anette snapped.

  “Of course it did,” I half-lied. To be honest, my need for male companionship had clouded my judgment to the point I’m not sure if I’d even considered the downsides. But I wasn’t about to admit that to her right now.

  She slammed her hands on her hips and turned away, looking more like a disappointed mother than my friend. “I can’t believe Zach would be stupid enough to do this.”

  “Oh, but you can believe I would be? What the hell? I can’t do anything right, can I?” I snapped.

  “It’s not that,” she said. She rubbed her temples and sighed. “It’s that he… nevermind. This whole conversation is a waste of time.”

  I was completely fired up again. “And for once you’re right.”

  Anette rounded on me and I instantly regretted not dropping the fight when I had the chance. “This is how things will play out, just so you know. One of you is going to get too attached. Feelings are gonna get hurt. You might think you have it all figured out, but you’re playing with fire here.”

  “We have rules.” It was supposed to sound reassuring but came out petulant.

  “Uh-huh. So did the millions of other friends who thought they could have it all. But sooner or later those rules won’t mean shit and you know who’s gonna be caught in the middle? Moi.”

  “We’re both seeing other people,” I scoffed. “It’s not like we’re mutually exclusive or something. I’m still on Tinder, he’s still doing… whatever Zach does.”

  “Oh yeah, Mr. Magic Tongue working his charms all over town,” she sneered.

  I blushed at the nickname but pressed on. “I find it very hard to believe that’s the reason you’re upset.”

  “You’re right. That isn’t the only reason I’m pissed off. I’m upset because you kept things from me, you didn’t trust me, you did things behind my back and lied by omission.”

  “Then maybe it’s a good idea if we just don’t talk for a while.”

  “Great idea.”

  “Great.”

  “Works for me!”

  “Perfect.”

  I’m gonna say up front that this date shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Anette pissed me off. I only agreed to meet up with him because I felt like I had something to prove, both to her and to myself. Messing around with Zach wasn’t a mistake, our feelings weren’t going to get involved, and I could date other people at the same time. Screw her and whatever the hell she thought of me.

  Like most guys online, Jay seemed like a normal, funny guy. I could tell from the way our conversations leaned he was mostly playing polite to get into my pants. After a few weeks of dealing with the seedy underbelly of dating, it’s amazing how far that amount of effort went with me. That’s fine. I wasn’t getting a real relationship vibe from him anyway. Plus, he was pretty cute.

  After furiously texting him in the privacy of my room, I threw on a fresh outfit and stormed into the living room. I made a point of walking in front of the TV, making sure Anette knew I was going out on a date without telling her. As I knelt to put on my shoes, Pluto trotted over and stuck his cold nose in my face.

  “Hey little guy. Don’t wait up for me,” I said loud enough for Anette to hear.

  I rage-walked the ten blocks to a bar near his apartment. No nerves, no trepidation at meeting a guy for the first time, nothing but a rolling, seething anger in my gut.

  I spotted him in the bar, ordered a drink, and started with the small talk. He looked like I’d pulled him out of bed, which might’ve been the case this time of night. But he continued the polite charade if only because he thought it might get him something. His blondish hair was closely cropped and though his photos had hidden it, he had a crooked nose that made me think he might be into boxing.

  Consciously or not, I’d already decided if he seemed like a half-way decent human being, I was gonna have my first real one-night-stand. It was a spite-fuck.

  “Don’t you wanna get out of here?”

  His forehead crinkled in confusion. “You mean, like, go, go?”

  “Yeah, let’s go. I’d love to see your place,” I said with a sickeningly sweet voice. I reached out and stroked his arm just in case he was thicker than a block of wood. And speaking of wood, I deliberately glanced at his crotch to see him sporting some of his own.

  I didn’t mess around. When we got to his apartment, I tore my first layer off and lunged for him. In the back of my mind, all I could think was, Anette thinks she knows me so well. I bet she’d never predict me doing this. Who’s a puppet now?

  Forrest had wanted me to tap into my inner Dominatrix, but we all know how well that surprise encounter went. But with Jay, I was channeling my inner porn star. His every touch and kiss was met with a loud moan, like even his breath on my skin could bring me hurtling toward orgasm.

  “Mmmm, that feels so good,” I purred.

  “Ye-yeah? You like that?” he replied hesitantly.

  “Oh yeah, baby.”

  Apparently that’s how I act when I’m determined to screw a stranger. My suddenly boiling hot libido rocked him for a few moments but he quickly recovered.

  “Lemme give you a massage, warm you up.”

  “Yeah, I love massages,” I replied. I leaned forward and crossed my legs in what I hoped was a seductive pose. “Do you have oil?”

  “Yeah, totally. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”

  I took off my top and lounged on his bed, smiling to myself.

  Jay switched off all but one light and sat beside me on the bed. He rubbed his hands together to warm the oil and softly placed them on my back. At first, it felt amazing. It’d been a long time since someone had given me a massage. I bet Zach’s good at them. I cursed myself for thin
king about him, shaking the idea away and focusing on Jay’s hands. As he swirled up and around my shoulders I caught a whiff of something I couldn’t place.

  Between my soft little pleased moans I asked, “That feels so nice, but what kind of oil is it?”

  “It’s… uh… I use it for cooking,” he stammered. His hand slipped down my ribs and brushed the side of my breast.

  “Nice. It’s not coconut… is it olive oil?”

  “Yeah, something like… does this feel good?” he asked as he rubbed my calves.

  The oil just wasn’t sinking into my skin no matter how long he massaged me, but I wasn’t going to let that deter me. I can shower afterward. Hell, maybe it’ll make it more fun.

  “Lemme do you,” I said as I peered at him over my shoulder.

  His eyes lit up as he immediately stopped my massage. Figures. The second his pleasure is mentioned, mine stops, I thought sourly. Still, I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way. I needed to prove Anette wrong, for myself and sexually liberated women everywhere.

  Jay whipped his shirt off and I was pleasantly surprised by what was underneath. Buff, a little fuzz on the chest, and shoulders I could imagine holding onto, if you know what I mean. As he lay flat on his stomach, I thought, I might actually enjoy rubbing this guy down.

  He gestured toward the small bowl of oil on the side table. I greased up my hands, ignoring the fact I smelled faintly like French fries, and got into position.

  He rolled over and grinned at me, his eyes traveling up and down my bare chest. “I could get used to this, you know.”

  Emboldened by the situation, I rubbed the oil across my breasts and smiled seductively. “Why don’t you pull down your pants a little so I can get to your lower back?” I suggested. Jay moved quickly to unbuckle his jeans and tug them further down his hips.

  Before I continue, I have to clarify that his room had strange light. With one lamp on, it wasn’t very bright and the little light that I could see by was obscured by shadows. Great for seduction, I suppose, but not seeing.

  Digging my thumbs down the muscle on each side of his spine, I slipped my way down to his lower back. Lower, lower. His groans intensified and as I pressed my knuckles into his flesh he said, “God, that feels so good.”

  “Yeah, baby? You like that?” I purred as I traveled further down.

  I rubbed the top of his ass with slow, rolling motions like I was kneading bread. My eyes were closed during most of this massage. Not that he wasn’t sexy in his own way, but my imagination was taking control. In my mind, the little moans of pleasure were coming from a guy named Dante. We weren’t in a six-story walk-up, but on a white beach in Greece. The breeze in my hair, sand between my toes…

  My hands dipped lower, sweeping left and right. It was actually quite sensual, touching him without looking. It got the engine purring, so to speak. That is, until the smell hit me. At first it was a faint whiff, but grew in strength so quickly I couldn’t ignore it. He’d farted. Ugh. Dante wouldn’t have done that, I thought. I turned my head to the side, found solace in my own greasy scent, and waited for the air to clear.

  My nose crinkled when I realized it just wasn’t going away. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked, giving him a chance to excuse himself to the bathroom.

  “Yeah baby, that feels amazing.”

  Yeah, not what I meant… baby.

  Determined to push through despite the room reeking of fries and his large intestine, I kept going. Talia the People Pleaser. With my fantasy completely ruined, I stared off into the distance as I worked the muscles in his lower back. But the smell just wouldn’t fade! It was as if someone had opened a full diaper and left it front of a fan.

  I looked down at his back for the first time since I’d begun the massage and started to tell him off for farting so much. “Okay, you really…” The words caught in my throat. At first I thought it was a play of the light… and then I hoped it was. Does he have something in his… no. No. Definitely not.

  My mind refused to acknowledge the obvious explanation, protecting me. I cycled through every excuse in the book. Maybe it was chocolate. Maybe I’d gotten some mud on my hands before I started and… but no. The smell hit me again and I gagged.

  That’s shit. This man has literal shit stuck in his ass crack. This thought zipped through my mind with a horrified, calm acceptance that’s usually reserved for near-death experiences.

  A nugget of poo about the size of my thumb was smeared in his crack like semi-melted chocolate. Streaks flared and swirled from the center of his ass, painted on by yours truly. I immediately whipped my hands away with a little choked sound and gagged again when I saw they were covered with his feces. I jumped away from him and the bed like it’d caught fire.

  Jay noticed my sudden shift in mood and turned to look at me. “What’s up? I rubbed your back for like, ten minutes longer,” he pouted. I couldn’t meet his eye without scowling in disgust. Poo. In his crack. On me. Ew. Ew. Ew.

  He bucked his hips and said, “Hey could you… it felt so good down there.”

  “I… uh… I’m not feeling very well. I need to wash my hands,” I said, trying not to gag. How was I supposed to tell this guy he had shit smeared all over his back?

  “No? My bathroom is just down the hall,” he replied, looking at me like I was about to puke. Which I was.

  If his ass was that nasty, I didn’t want to see what his bathroom looked like. “No!” I shouted. “I mean, I’ll use the kitchen.”

  I was honestly afraid I was going to throw up in his sink, which probably would’ve been an improvement. A stack of dishes speckled with green moldy spots towered above the edge. Glasses filled with cloudy, rank liquid cluttered the counter. I turned on the water with the heel of my hand and tried to concentrate on breathing through my mouth. The water sent a couple roaches scurrying from the sink but I didn’t scream. I was in panic mode.

  Thankfully, he had a full bottle of dish soap which I poured all over my hands and arms. With scalding hot water, I scrubbed until all visible shit was gone and then I concentrated on picking it from my fingernails. Does that thought make you queasy? Yeah? How the hell do you think I felt?

  And to add insult to injury, I noticed an open bottle of vegetable oil on the tiny cluttered counter. Like, the shit you cook chicken breast in. Except this looked like a health violation that’d get a professional kitchen shut down. The half-crumpled bottle was coated with a thick, black grime. And he just used that on my body as massage oil…

  “Everything okay?”

  I needed to get the hell out of that apartment before I contracted the plague. Staring at my hands, I decided it was good enough as long as I went straight home and burned the first layer of skin from my body. That might make me feel clean again.

  I couldn’t meet his eye as I snapped my bra behind my back. “Yeah, I’m good. I mean, no, I’m okay.” I made a face as I pulled my shirt back on. The sensation of the fabric on my oily skin was revolting.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m tired. I have work in the morning and…” I threw on the rest of my clothes, slid my feet into my flip-flops, and bolted for the door. “Nice meeting you.”

  As I started back to the apartment, my feet slipping with every step, oil stains growing across my shirt, I blocked everything out but one thought. I can’t even write about this because Anette will see it.

  And it was that reason that finally brought the whole ridiculousness of my dating life into focus. At least the funny dates could be fuel for the funny fire, but now that my cover was blown there, it just felt… sad.

  And this is my first walk of shame and I didn’t even get laid.

  What is going on with my life? I don’t even recognize the person I’ve become. I’m out trying to spite-screw someone I’ve never met before because I’m fighting with Anette.

  I hate fighting with her. We’ve never fought let alone when we’re living together. Maybe she’s right about Zach. Maybe we will screw
things up, but that doesn’t mean she gets a say in it. It’s not like I have to ask her permission to mess around with him. He isn’t gonna catch feelings. It’s Zach we’re talking about here…

  So, to sum it all up… I’m screwing a good friend because I can’t find any guys who aren’t secret psychopaths. I started a blog to vent about said psychopaths but I was stupid and shared it and now I can’t post anything personal just when it’s starting to get popular. I’m fighting with my roommate and I don’t know how we’re gonna get past it. Oh, and I’m crushing hard on a guy I can’t have and one of my favorite tops was just ruined with freakin’ vegetable oil. Faaaaantastic.

  I dried off as best as I could, making a mental note to buy more body wash. I’d ended up using a huge chunk of the bottle just to get the slickness off my skin. At one point, I even considered running out to the kitchen and grabbing the dish soap. It worked on oil-soaked pelicans, right?

  With a towel wrapped around my body, I plodded my way to my room. The front door swung open just as I walked past. Anette and a guy I didn’t recognize tumbled in, both a bit drunk and too loud. Anette’s face twisted the second she saw me, a mixture of anger and embarrassment contorting her features.

  I couldn’t help my I-told-you-so look. Here she was doing exactly what I was talking about. Our eyes locked for a moment before she turned and guided her oblivious companion down the hall to her room.

  I went to bed feeling vindicated, sad, and lost.

  Anette and I carried on in silence for an entire week. We came and went, passing each other wordlessly like a couple of ghosts. I nearly cracked after the first few days but her sheer stubbornness would piss me off all over again. She had no reason to be that upset. She should apologize to me! I was the one who deserved to be pissed off. But it sucked to fight and I wanted peace again, but damn it why do I have to be the one to fix it! And round and round we went…