Sweatpants Season

by Danielle Allen

  Her lips spread wider into a grin. “There’s that smile. Are you still thinking about Carlos?”

  “No,” I lied, not wanting to get into it.

  “You’re a horrible liar.” She took a step into my room and leaned against the wall. “But I have a question for you… you had no idea when you met him and talked to him that he was a Lost Boy, right?”

  I shook my head against the satin pillowcase. “I honestly had no idea.”

  “So, if the man you met was essentially the perfect guy for you—”

  “I never said that!”

  “Meghan said it.” She paused. “And your reaction said it.”

  I rolled my eyes but didn’t say anything else.

  “Like I was saying… if you met him and you felt the magic, maybe you should have a conversation with him about it. What did he say when you asked him about it?”

  “Well… I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t say anything to him about it?” She laughed. “That’s not like you. At all. You have something to say about everything.”

  Groaning, I pulled the comforter over my head. “Go homeeeeeeee.”

  She giggled. “Kiki…?”

  “I didn’t really have a chance. I was mad. So… I just kind of… stormed off and left.”

  “So, you didn’t even ask him about it?”

  “What was there to ask?” I questioned, frustrated since I’d had the exact same conversation with Meghan an hour earlier.

  What were they missing?

  “He is on a show that told a guy that if a woman is wearing a low-cut top, she must want her breasts stared at, and to openly stare. What else is there to know about him?”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty shitty. But he didn’t say it, so you should at least ask him why he’s on the show.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I will. I mean, I’m stuck with him for the rest of the class so…” I shrugged, pulling the covers from my head. “I kind of have to.”

  “Kiki…” Her voice was soft and sounded eerily like Mom as she used the family nickname for me. “Just hear him out. You described that guy you went out with last week as nice. You said you had a nice time with a nice guy. You called him nice looking. And while that’s very…nice. You said Carlos was like magic.”

  “Alex—”

  “Magic, Akila! Talk to him. You called him magic.”

  “I said there was magic between us, not that he was magic.”

  She shrugged. “Same thing.”

  “Like I told Meghan, it’s not that I don’t plan to talk to him. I will next week. I have to. He’s my photography partner so I can’t avoid him. Some of my assignments and therefore the overall impression I’ll leave on Luca Romano depends on it. But as far as the magic goes, there’s nothing else to talk about with it. He’s a Lost Boy, and I’m a grown ass woman. There’s nothing magical about that combination.”

  “That’s true. But you didn’t know about it until he told you, right?”

  “Luca asked him about it and he said the name of the podcast. He never really told me specifically. He announced it to the class like it was something to be proud of.” I closed my eyes. “I was just so mad, I couldn’t speak.”

  “You were mad at the fact that he was a Lost Boy or were you mad at him?”

  I was quiet for a moment. “Well… I guess, both.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he…” My voice trailed off. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “He didn’t lie to you, did he?”

  Letting out a rough sigh, I shook my head. “Can we discuss this tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Love you, Kiki.”

  “Love you, too, Alex.”

  She shut the door behind her and I heard her footsteps make their way down the hall.

  As I settled against my pillows, I tried to clear my mind. But Carlos had gotten under my skin and I couldn’t shake it.

  I was mad at him. Even though I wasn’t lied to, I felt like I had been. Even though I wasn’t tricked, I felt like the rug had been pulled from under me. I was mad that he was exactly the type of man I could’ve seen myself falling for. I was mad that he had drawn me in, and somehow, he got his hooks into me. I was mad that he seemed one hundred percent himself. I was mad that he made me feel something for him. I was mad that he made me like him. I was mad at him.

  I tossed and turned for hours until I had to confront the truth that kept rattling around in my head.

  I wasn’t mad at him. I was mad at myself.

  I almost fell for the enemy.

  The phone vibrated loudly against my nightstand and I startled awake. I wasn’t sure when I’d fallen asleep, but I knew immediately, I hadn’t gotten enough of it.

  “Hello?” I answered the phone groggily.

  “Hi!” a voice chirped in response. “May I speak with Ms. Akila Bishara, please?”

  Rolling onto my side, I cleared my throat a little. “Speaking…?”

  “Good morning! This is Luna Daniels with Re-Mix Magazine. How are you?”

  I sat up straight. Luna Daniels?!

  “Hi, hello!” I cleared my throat, attempting to make myself sound more cheerful than I had when I answered the phone. “I’m well! How are you?”

  “I’m fantastic. Thanks for asking.” She paused for just a second. “Akila… beautiful name, by the way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, we called you in for the interview because we read your writing samples and articles and knew you were a gifted writer. But what we were looking for was a series proposal that would wow us.” She paused. “And your proposal did just that!”

  Kicking my feet against the pillowtop mattress, I silently released all the pent-up tension and nerves that invaded my mind and body from the moment she’d said her name.

  Re-Mix Magazine likes my work—correction loves my work!

  “Akila?” Luna’s voice cut through my silent celebration and I realized I hadn’t spoken a word out loud.

  “Oh my god,” I squeaked, scared my level of excitement would turn her off if I let it all out at once. “I-I’m-I don’t know what to say but thank you. Oh wow! I appreciate the opportunity to submit my work and then to find out that you loved it. You loved it! I’m just—I’m speechless. I’m just…wow!”

  Luna laughed lightly. “Good to know! I thought I had lost you there for a minute.”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” I giggled, shaking my head profusely even though she couldn’t see me.

  “I wanted to call and personally invite you to the second interview with me on Friday. Full disclosure, there are only two candidates that we are moving to this round—you and another. I don’t usually meet with candidates until the final round, but the notes I received from your interview warranted me meeting both of you myself.”

  “Oh wow.” I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I was flattered to be moved to the next round, but knowing the other candidate was also just as impressive was daunting. “Thank you.”

  She told me she’d email me the information and we said our goodbyes.

  “Oh my god!” I whispered, nerves and excitement making my stomach flutter. And then it hit me. My dream job called to invite me for an interview. Flailing my arms and legs, kicking my bedsheets from my body, I squealed, “This is it! Oh. My. God!”

  Leaping out of bed, I scrambled out of my room and down the hall. Knocking on Meghan’s door, I only momentarily waited until I heard her respond before pushing my way in.

  “Apparently, I killed my interview with Re-Mix because they called me today!”

  Without missing a beat, Meghan immediately started a celebratory dance with her wig in one hand and her brush in the other. “Ahhhhhh!” she screamed, jogging in place and waving the red hairpiece above her head.

  I grinned at my best friend. “I know!”

  “I thought you said you didn’t do your best at the interview. Tell me everything!”

  “I thought I could’ve done better. I definitely didn�
��t think I was going to get a call back! I thought—I thought I was okay, but I didn’t feel like they liked me. I thought I was too eager, too excited, too much, I guess.”

  “You’re never too much for the right people,” Meghan pointed out with her sage wisdom.

  I clasped my hands together. “Amen!”

  Meghan turned to face the mirror as she slid her wig onto her head. “So, let’s recap for a minute. You came home from the Re-Mix interview and ate the rest of my ice cream as you lamented about the interviewers not liking your ideas. You questioned and doubted your ideas and your abilities. And now…” She pursed her lips. “Mmm hmm.”

  Covering my face, I let out an overwhelmed giggle. “I don’t know what is even going on right now!” I slid my hands down my face and to my chest. “I knew they took the interview because they liked my writing. But the position is for a series writing position that could turn into a permanent staff writer position if the series is popular. I pitched two original ideas and they looked at me like I was insane. No one reacted like I thought they might. I referenced my most recently published work in the Richland Times Dispatch and…nothing.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I really thought they didn’t like it, Meghan. I really thought I’d blown the interview.”

  “See… you never know how you’re going to be blessed.”

  “That’s not even the best part.” I paused, watching her brush her hair. “The magazine’s CEO and Editor in Chief called me herself.”

  Spinning toward me with her hair flying around her, Meghan’s mouth was agape. “Oh my god!”

  Dancing, I spun around in a circle. “Luna Daniels called me herself! Luna Daniels wants to meet me! Ahhhhhhh!”

  “Ahhhhhh!” Meghan shrieked as loudly as I did. “Kiki! That’s your role model! That has to mean you have the job!”

  Reality stopped my celebratory dance in mid hip thrust. “Well…” I made a face. “It’s between me and another person. Luna basically said that she loved both of our ideas, so she was going to meet with both of us on Friday and see who she likes better.”

  “Wipe that look off your face! You are going to go in there and kill it. The other person is good, but you’re better. So, on Friday, you’re going to go in there and have her fall in love with you. You know why? Because you’re Akila muthafucking Bishara!”

  A small laugh escaped me as I exhaled. “You’re right.” I shook off the nerves. “You’re right.”

  “Say it like you mean it!”

  “You’re right!” I repeated myself, louder and more forcefully.

  “Say it again!”

  “You’re right!”

  After one final glance in the mirror, she walked over and put her hands on my shoulders. “You got this.”

  I wrapped my arms around my best friend’s waist, careful not to wrinkle her pristine work attire. “Thank you for the pep talk.”

  She squeezed me back. “You’re welcome. Now, I have to run because someone moved my two o’clock meeting to ten o’clock.”

  My eyebrows flew up as I glanced at the time. “What?”

  “Yeah…” She stretched the word out as she grabbed her handbag. “So, I won’t be stopping for coffee this morning.”

  “Well, that sucks. But hopefully the meeting will turn into a huge project.”

  “Yes. Fingers crossed. Because sitting in my office playing this dumbass trivia game is getting old.”

  I laughed, following her down the hall, toward the front door. “Yes, because if I have to decline one more invitation to play Trivia Time, I may have to just go ahead and move out.”

  Cackling with laughter, she said goodbye.

  Chapter Five

  Re-Mix Magazine was housed on the second floor of the Empire Building at Empire Park. Known as a hub of creativity and artistic expression, the Empire building was a creative person’s sanctuary. The first floor was comprised of art classes, writing rooms, small offices, studios, and performance spaces. The second floor was Re-Mix Magazine.

  Owned and operated by Luna Daniels, Re-Mix Magazine was an East Coast staple in the artistic community. There wasn’t a creative person from Virginia to New York that didn’t know about the seventeen-year-old entrepreneur who started her own magazine and grew it to be a powerhouse in ten short years. Luna Daniels wasn’t just the woman with whom I had an interview, she was who I aspired to be.

  My interview was in less than twenty-four hours and I needed to calm my nerves. It was a gorgeous day, so even though I’d hoped for a quiet park experience, I wasn’t surprised by the amount of people exercising, playing, and enjoying the feeling of fall being around the corner. People roamed the small park enjoying the beautiful day. But I sat motionless on the park bench late Thursday afternoon and took it all in.

  Staring at the building, I prayed, hoped, and wrote for hours. I was in the zone, and it wasn’t until I finished tweaking my series idea for my follow up interview that I realized the sun was starting to set. With the notebook resting in my lap, I inhaled deeply.

  I was ready.

  Rays of light cascaded around the building and heated my skin. I felt like I was basking in the glow of a new season. Autumn was in the air and a new opportunity was on the horizon. For the longest time I just sat there, taking it all in. I wasn’t just ready for the interview, I was ready for my new job.

  I got this. I scanned the park before letting myself relax into a huge smile. This job is mine.

  “Look out!” a man yelled from somewhere behind me.

  Instinctively, I flinched, covering my head. A football hit the back of my bench and I yelped, jerking my body in an attempt to take cover. My notebook flew in one direction, my phone and pen flew in the other. Even though my eyes were closed, I heard the pounding footsteps of someone approaching from behind. I heard a man’s voice, but I couldn’t make out what he’d said because of the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” I growled with my eyes still closed as tightly as my clenched fists.

  “Sorry about that. Are you okay?” he asked, his voice causing my heart to skip a beat.

  My eyes flew open.

  Even though his head was down as he picked up my belongings, I knew who he was before he looked up at me. The deep, gritty voice that stroked each word with the care and concern of an English teacher while still managing to speak to the most intimate parts of my body could only belong to one man.

  “Akila?” Carlos said my name with a surprisingly soft tone. His facial expression showcased his surprise, but his tone said something else. There was something about the gentle way his smooth voice wrapped around my name that made it sound like he was talking to himself but calling out to me.

  “Carlos.” I silently prayed he didn’t notice the slight hitch in my voice as I said his name. Clearing my throat, I tried speaking again. “What are you doing here?”

  Still crouching down in front of me, he handed me my belongings. His white t-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and his muscular arms, and I did everything in my power not to notice. I was attracted to his aura, his mind, his voice, his face, and his body.

  Dammit, I cursed to myself. He was the entire package.

  An indescribable look darkened his brown eyes and nerves fluttered in my belly. I shifted my weight from one side to the other as I waited awkwardly for him to answer me.

  Stop staring back at him, I silently coached myself as I took a deep breath. Shake it off and end this whole conversation before you embarrass yourself.

  Ignoring the desire that churned between my legs, I opened my mouth to tell him that I was just leaving. But when he wet his lips and I caught a glimpse of his tongue, that yearning deep within me caused me to have a temporary lapse in speaking ability.

  For the first time, he flashed those pearly white teeth into a full-blown smile. I fought the urge to smile back.

  Wow, I thought as I bit the inside of my cheek.

  I had to rip my eyes away from him in orde
r to keep myself from getting too caught up in the feelings he brought out of me. It was a dangerous mix of desire, lust and familiarity. It was the kind of feeling that snuck up on me and gripped me tight.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, pretending to wipe the nonexistent dirt and grass from my notebook so I could collect myself.

  “And to answer your question, Date Night records in a studio here.”

  My eyes darted to his and narrowed. Everything stopped. The butterflies he’d given me disappeared. That warm feeling he filled me with ran cold. And I remembered why he was off limits.

  “Wow,” I scoffed. I was mad at myself for forgetting who he really was in the first place. Shaking my head, I muttered, “I can’t believe I forgot.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just remained kneeling before me, watching me in that way of his.

  My stomach flipped under his gaze.

  I don’t like him, I lied to myself as his stare pierced through me.

  I couldn’t withstand his gaze any longer. “I can’t believe you’re a part of that trash,” I muttered, curling my lip in disgust.

  “Trash?”

  “Yes. Trash. Any podcast that thrives on the objectification of women is trash. Any man who goes on air and promotes the objectification of women is trash. And the fact that you’re on it says a lot about you.”

  “The show is a stepping stone and I’ll admit, it’s a little crass, but I wouldn’t call it trash. And I don’t objectify women.” He paused. “Why would you think that?”

  I sat back against the bench and maintained eye contact. Remembering the exact words I used from their podcast in my article for the Times, I cleared my throat. “‘All women who wear lowcut shirts are doing it so that we can check out the fun bags.’ And that’s a direct quote.”

  “Oh… I know what you’re talking about.” He shook his head. “That’s not a direct quote from me. But I do know what you’re talking about and I’m not going to defend it. He was out of line. But not all the shows are like that. Live shows can go wrong quickly, but he understands that he can’t say that anymore.”

  “You and your friends promoted the objectification of women.” I made a face. “Obviously the show has been doling out problematic advice for a while now. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his wack ass called breasts fun bags. He’s obviously trash.”