by Ivy Smoak
Hopefully my stalker was of the sweet variety. Although, I bet he was a beast in the bedroom. He had that look about him. Rawr. I bet he rawred in the bedroom. I pictured him stalking me like a lion on the prowl. Pouncing on me and tangling us up in the sheets. I couldn’t wait to run my fingers through his hair. And feel the scruff on his jaw line. And ask him a million questions about his personal life.
I walked into the locker room. It always felt like I’d accidentally wandered backstage at an Odegaard fashion show. Seriously. Joe had definitely picked out this place specifically to torture me. But I wasn’t phased. After all, none of these women had the most gorgeous stalker on earth. I did.
I opened my locker and started to change. I ignored the way my jeans tried to rip off my underwear with them because they were so tight. I pretended I didn’t have stretch marks on my ass that grew too fast in college because of the all-you-can-eat buffets. Spoiler alert, I could eat a lot. Because food without hemp was delicious. Luckily for me, a lot of the food went straight to my boobs too.
I snuck a sideways glance at the girl next to me. She had stripped down to her $500 lingerie and was literally measuring her waist. She had a tape measure in one hand as she jotted down the measurements with her other. I shouldn't have looked. But I couldn't help myself. Twenty-two inches. Twenty-two! How was that even possible?
Fine, maybe it bothered me a little to be surrounded by all these supermodels. I pulled my red hair into a messy bun. It wasn’t worth comparing myself to these women though. They were stunning, yes. And me? I just had a smattering of freckles across my nose and a face that made me look like I was forever in high school. But my stalker stared at me like I was sexy. Not cute. Hopefully he’d never accidentally stroll into this room. Because I couldn’t deal with my stalker stalking anyone else.
Maybe he preferred cute little redheads to wine, dine, and cut up into little pieces. God, why am I suddenly picturing my stalker as a serial killer? I needed to stop with my overactive imagination. He just likes to wine and dine and have magnificent sex with redheads. No murder necessary. But what man really preferred redheads?
I was pretty sure the answer was none. Because gingers are weird and people think we don’t have souls. For the record, we do. But I did understand why guys preferred blondes with tanned skin. All the ones I knew were always smiling. It truly seemed like they did have more fun. And there was no doubt about the existence of their souls.
"Hey girl," said someone behind me. A normal person would have turned around and said hi. But I wasn't normal. The thought of a stranger talking to me made my heart rate double. Small talk felt like being waterboarded, and it was only amplified by the fact that small talk at this spin class was mostly about how Yvonne had taken three whole weeks to get back into Instagram shape after having her baby. What a lazy slut, huh?
Please don't be talking to me. Please don't be talking to me, I thought as I buried my head in my locker. I tried to look busy by moving my bag around.
"Ash," said the person.
Not necessarily me. There could be plenty of Ashleys here.
And then they tapped on my shoulder.
Screw my life. I didn’t want to talk about Yvonne’s weight loss when technically I’d been gaining weight over the past few months instead of losing it. I didn’t know how that was happening. I was pretty sure it was because I was gaining muscle. And maybe a little because I refused to stop eating ice cream. What kind of monster gives up ice cream? Although, talking to one of the members of my spin class might be helpful. Because I was really wondering if I should be eating protein before or after my workout. I’d been getting these protein smoothies before coming here and now I was just worried that was exactly what I shouldn’t be doing. Hmm…
“Ash!”
Oh God, I can’t stall anymore. I slowly turned to see which of the supermodels deigned to speak to me. But it wasn't one of them. It was my best friend, Chastity.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. I didn’t wait for her to respond before I threw my arms around her. I was just so relieved I didn’t have to talk to a stranger today. My best-day-ever streak was continuing.
Chastity laughed. Then she pulled back and gave me a devious smile. "I wanted to come see what drags you all the way out here to midtown twice a week. I have to admit, I'm disappointed so far. I was expecting there to be a pizza and ice-cream buffet. Or at least some hot guys."
Oh God, does she somehow know about my stalker? I kind of liked having this one thing all to myself. Although if he were a serial killer, it would be good to give Chastity a heads up. I bit the inside of my lip. Telling her could wait. He hadn’t even done anything dangerous yet. Just those sultry looks. Mmm. "Sorry to disappoint."
"So what am I missing? Is it the instructor? Is he #gorg or..."
That was definitely not it. But if I admitted there were no hot guys here, she’d leave. And I was super happy she was here. I slammed my locker closed. "Come on, class is about to start." I grabbed her arm to pull her through the sea of models.
Chastity shook her head. “Spin classes are so 2010. If you really want a good workout, you should come to my nude yogalates class sometime.”
Never.
“But for now, we should go back to my place, get some takeout, and watch whatever show you want. Burgers on me.”
That was such a tempting offer. Especially because today had been amazing and I had so much to celebrate. But I needed this. After my separation from Joe, I’d resolved to focus on finding myself. And I wasn’t going to find myself at my favorite burger joint. “But you haven’t even seen the hot instructor yet.” I raised both my eyebrows. He wasn’t actually hot. But Chastity didn’t need to know that yet. Hopefully once she was in there, she’d just finish the class with me. Although I never really knew what to expect with Chastity. She’d probably flirt her way out of the class somehow.
“I knew it,” she hissed. “Look at you, you can’t stop smiling. I knew you came down here all the time to ogle some hottie. I’ll be your wing girl and try to get his number for you.”
I was smiling because I was finally divorced. And I’d confirmed that my stalker was stalking me. And I’d gotten my freaking dream job! Oh, I badly wanted to tell Chastity that I got the job. After all…she’d hooked me up with the interview. We’d been talking about getting to work together ever since graduating from college. It was going to be so much fun. But if I told her right now, she’d definitely pull me out of here and say we needed drinks to celebrate. And I wanted to get my spin on. I’d tell her right after we were done.
“This is perfect,” Chastity said. “I keep telling you, you’re going to feel so much better after you get laid.”
I laughed. She was going to be wildly unimpressed by my spin class instructor. If only she could somehow get the number of the guy I was stalking. I shook my head. He was stalking me. And I didn’t need a wing woman when it came to my stalker. I needed a restraining order. The guy was clearly obsessed with me. In a really good way.
I knew what I needed to do. And it had nothing to do with getting a restraining order. I needed to be my own wing woman. On Thursday at 8 o’clock I’d walk right up to my stalker and introduce myself. I just needed to figure out the particulars. And do some research to see if I could fit a fire extinguisher in my purse just in case I accidentally recreated the events of the incident. And maybe do some light stalking of my own to make sure he’s not a serial killer.
Chapter 3 - Under Arrest
Tuesday
One thing I’d learned since Joe and I separated was that I actually liked exercising. Well, maybe not the act of exercising. It felt like slow torture. But I liked the results. I liked that it made me look younger and more toned. Yeah, I wasn’t a supermodel like these women. But I felt really good about myself now after years of Joe putting me down. And each time I came to spin class, the workout got easier. I could actually feel the corners of my mouth tick up as I started spinning faster.
I w
anted to believe I was doing this completely for me. But my stalker was in the back of my mind all the time. Did he notice my transformation? Did he like it? I tried to shake away the thought, but it was impossible. It was like I was living in a constant daydream. He stares at me too.
The instructor yelled profanities at us for motivation and I spun faster.
I didn’t care at all that the instructor wasn’t a hot dude. But apparently Chastity did. Because we only made it about two minutes into the class before Chastity screamed bloody murder and jumped off her bike.
"I don't know her," I muttered as all my fellow spinners turned to look at us. But as Chastity rolled and flopped around like a soccer player who had just received a fake life-threatening injury, I began to get concerned. More about her mental health than her ankle, but still concerned. What the hell was she doing? I got off my bike and knelt by her side while the entire class watched. "You okay?" I asked. I hated everyone’s eyes on us. I was never going to live this down. Now I’d have to sell my membership…
Chastity winced and grabbed at her knee. "My ankle," she cried. "I think it's broken." She looked down and grimaced. “Definitely broken.”
"You're holding your knee."
She quickly repositioned her hands. "Can you take me home?"
"Is she okay?" asked the instructor, even though it was pretty clear that Chastity was faking her injury. She knew I hated when people made a scene. Why was she doing this to me? Oh right…I’d lied to her about the instructor being hot. Payback was a bitch.
"She'll be fine," I said. Together, the instructor and I pulled Chastity to her feet and helped her back into the locker room. Then we got an Uber back to her apartment. She stayed true to her story that her ankle was broken throughout the ride, but to me she seemed much more concerned with touching up her makeup and texting. I craned my neck to try to see who she was talking to, but she was quick to block my view.
"You're being weird," I said.
"You'd be weird too if you had a broken ankle. This shit hurts." She puckered her lips and stared into her handheld mirror as she checked out her freshly applied lipstick.
We were just going to her apartment. Why was she putting on lipstick? “Then shouldn’t we be going to the hospital?”
“What kind of insurance do you think I have? No. I just need some ice. Oh, ice!” She started texting again.
Yeah, she was definitely being weird. “Should we stop and get some?” I asked.
“What?” She finally looked up from her phone.
“Some ice.”
“No, I’ve got it covered.”
Okay…
She went back to texting.
When our Uber arrived at her building, she requested I help her up. She put her arm around me and hopped on one leg…which was the same leg she had supposedly broken. If the spin class had been too intense for her, she should have just pretended to get an urgent text or something. This ankle thing was way over the top. And I was kind of annoyed that she’d made me miss the rest of my workout. Maybe I could go for a run later. I almost laughed out loud. A run? I was divorced. I hadn’t lost my mind. I bit the inside of my lip. Or maybe I loved running and I just didn’t know it yet? I’d add it to my list of things to try.
"Here," Chastity said, handing me the key to her apartment as she tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and popped her hip like she was posing for an Instagram picture.
“What are you doing?”
“Huh?” She looked down at her pose. “Nothing. Stop being weird.”
“I’m not being weird. You’re being weird.”
She shrugged and held up her phone like she was about to take a picture of me.
Yeah, she was definitely being weird. Which was saying something. Because I had quite a bit of experience in that department. I unlocked the door and turned to help her in. I closed the door behind us and tried to find the lights.
“Someone’s been naughty,” a deep voice said from somewhere in the dark apartment.
I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Chastity flipped the light switch on.
And standing in the middle of the apartment was a very well-built police officer. He flashed us his badge and then lifted up a pair of handcuffs.
“You’re under arrest, Ashley Cooper.”
No. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t going down like this!
“Turn around slowly,” he said.
Fuck that. I did the first thing I could think of and sprinted toward the fire escape.
“You’re going to regret resisting arrest!” the officer yelled behind me.
Shit! Was I breaking the law by running? It was too late now - I was already climbing down the fire escape. How many years in prison would I get for this? And what had I done to get arrested in the first place? I never broke any laws. Going to jail was on my list of greatest fears!
“Ash!” Chastity yelled from behind me.
Sorry, Chastity. It was every woman for herself. And it didn’t sound like he was there to arrest her. He’d said my name. I was the one running from the law. I was going to have to change my name. Again. Damn it! I’d just changed my last name back to my maiden name earlier today. God, I hated going to the DMV. Not that I could go to the DMV now. I was a wanted woman.
The stairs clanged beneath me as I picked up my pace. I needed to get out of the city. Could I make it to the docks before getting caught?
“Ash, stop!” Chastity yelled again.
I was pretty sure I heard a chorus of people yelling “surprise” too. But I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t have any time to think about it because I hopped onto the landing wrong and fell off the side of the fire escape. And right into an open dumpster.
I screamed at the top of my lungs as my ass collided with a bag of foul-smelling trash, popping it and making it seep all over me. I’d known I was doomed to end up in a dumpster today as soon as I saw Matthew Caldwell. Fate, you filthy mistress.
“Ash!” Chastity yelled from somewhere not in the dumpster. “What are you doing in there? He’s just a stripper!”
Say what? I peered over the side of the dumpster, cringing when my hand made contact with the metal. “What are you talking about? Did he follow me?”
“I hired a stripper for you. To celebrate signing the papers. Happy Divorce Day!”
“That’s not a thing!” I knew she’d been faking her injury. I should have suspected that she was luring me to a party I didn’t want to attend.
She laughed. “I got you so good.”
“You know my rule about strippers!” I wanted to laugh too. Because this wasn’t the first time this kind of thing had happened to me. For my bachelorette party, a stripper had shown up yelling about a fire he needed to put out. I’d thought the building was burning down so I fled down the fire escape. I’d legit run barefoot for three blocks before I realized he was a stripper rather than a real fireman. The fact that I saw no flames or smoke tipped me off. I’d made a no stripper rule after that for a reason. And rules were not meant to be broken.
“You’re single again, Ash. Which means Single Girl Rules are back in effect! So your no stripper rule is trumped by Single Girl Rule #10: All celebrations of important life events must involve strippers.”
“No Single Girl Rules!” The only good thing about being with Joe was that I got out of all Chastity’s crazy Single Girl Rules. They were not normal girl code rules. They were fucking nuts. Just like her.
“Come on, let’s get you back inside. All the guests are waiting…”
“All the guests?! Chastity, I’m covered in garbage!” I tried not to gag.
“But…there’s food and presents…”
I did love food and presents.
“And your whole extended family…”
“What? Chastity, why is my whole family here?” And why would she invite a stripper to a family affair?
“You know Aunt Carol tags along everywhere with your parents.”
Aunt Carol
was technically my great aunt. And she couldn’t be trusted to be left alone, so my parents always brought her to events like this. Well…not like this. I had no idea what the hell this was. Divorce Day parties weren’t a thing.
“I need a shower and some alone time,” I said. “Not a party.”
Chastity sighed. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll let you have a shower. But how about we still have a girls’ night?”
“A very small girls’ night.”
“Exactly.”
I didn’t really believe her. But I wanted out of this dumpster as soon as possible. “Fine. Help me out of here and then get rid of everyone. Including the stripper.”
“You’re #lame. But fine.”
***
I pulled on a pair of Chastity’s sweatpants and a tank top she’d let me borrow. I’d scrubbed myself raw until the water turned cold. And I still felt dirty. And not in a good way like my stalker made me feel.
I peered out of the bathroom to see if Chastity had kept her promise. I spotted all my friends through the sea of balloons. And when I say, "all my friends," I mean Chastity and two other girls my age, one that I liked and one that I really didn’t but had to pretend to because my other friends maybe kind of liked her. Chastity had kept her word. It was just a very small girls’ night.
“Finally,” Chastity said. “Come join us.
“Your mom made that zucchini bread you love. And I made one too.” She pointed to a raw zucchini on a plate with a dinner roll on each side, resembling a penis.
“That does not classify as zucchini bread,” I said. “Chastity, why on earth did you invite a stripper to a party that my parents were attending?”
Chastity laughed. “They didn’t care. And Aunt Carol seemed particularly pleased by the fake police officer. She couldn’t look away.”
“She can barely see.” I plopped down on the couch next to Madison, the other friend I actually liked. I didn’t bother to say hi to Liz because she was probably already asleep. Really…why did my friends keep inviting her to things? She wasn’t even conscious.
