by Shey Stahl
Who am I kidding? My mind totally went there.
As Oliver and I lay on the floor playing with his chew toys—an old pair of my heels he’s insisted are now his—I hear a door open in the hall.
Scrambling along the floor in full-on stealth mode, I crack the front door to see Tathan’s now home.
Did I mention Tathan lives next door?
Yet another reason my social life sucks.
Not only am I afraid to leave at night in fear he’ll see me, but I’m also silently obsessed with his life and who joins him in that apartment.
Which, to date, hasn’t been a single woman. It tells me he doesn’t bring them home to his bachelor pad, probably bangs them in their car. Or worse, bathrooms.
Did I mention he has to have Chlamydia if knocking boots in a bathroom stall is his method of foreplay? No class. I convince myself he has absolutely no class.
As he’s opening his door, I notice his mail in his hand, which probably has some of mine in it.
Here’s another reason why I can’t stand him. He steals my mail so I have to go to his apartment to get it.
In this day and age with locking mailboxes, you’re probably wondering how this is possible. Me too! I don’t know how it happens, or how he hasn’t been arrested. Isn’t stealing mail a federal offense?
Watching him retreat behind the door of his apartment, that’s when it hits me, staring out across the hall. I should be making him as miserable as he’s making me.
Why I hadn’t thought of this earlier is beyond me. Seems so brilliant.
What if I can make him miserable? Maybe then he’ll stop asking me out?
“How though?” I stare at Oliver as if he holds the answer to my question.
He gives me those pretty blue eyes that droop down and make you fall in love with him and licks my cheek. Puppies are ridiculously adorable.
Unfortunately, Oliver doesn’t answer me, but I hold him up in front of me so I can look at him. “Oliver, how come I never thought of this before?”
He wiggles in my arms as though each word I’m telling him lets him know he’s the best puppy in the world.
“It’s a genius plan. I can make him just as miserable and then maybe he’ll leave me alone.”
Where do I begin?
He already annoys the fuck out of me on a daily, hell an hourly, basis. I need to dream up something epic to mess with him so he will stop asking me out.
And then, like a lightning bolt scattering across the sky, it seems so obvious. Craigslist ads. I could post more and make his life miserable.
Now there’s an idea.
Setting Oliver down, I scramble to my computer, and immediately I get online and make a post that his car is for sale. I leave his cell number I stole from our employee files the other day. I knew it’d come in handy someday.
After this one, I’ll wait a few days and post another ad for someone looking to hire a pool boy, then another one wanting to adopt cats because why wouldn’t he want to be surrounded by pussy all the time?
You may think I’m crazy, and that’s debatable at this point, but if you ask me, I’m a motherfucking genius is what I am.
It’s a little after eight that night when Oliver and I are lying on my bed eating a bowl of Cheerios. He likes sharing a bowl of cereal before bed.
When I’m finished, because he licked my spoon, we discuss my plan in more detail while Oliver drinks the milk left in the bowl.
“I know it may seem wrong, but it’s a good plan, don’t you think?”
Oliver lifts his head and cocks it to the side. I wish he could talk to me. I feel like maybe he might be my soul mate and the relationship would be better if he spoke.
Just as I’m contemplating going to bed early—pathetic I know—my cell phone rings. I know who it is even before I look at the screen. There’s only one person who calls me after 8:00 p.m.
“What, Casey?” I hold the phone against my ear and shoulder, using my hands to pet Oliver. Puppy fur is hard to resist.
“Meet us at the Red Revolver,” she shouts, her voice so loud Oliver jumps into my arms.
“I can’t,” I tell her. “I threw my back out.”
She laughs. “How?”
“Lifting Oliver.”
“He’s ten pounds.” She laughs again, knowing damn well I’m lying. “How did you manage that?”
“Oh, please, he’s at least eleven.”
Casey attempts to change the subject. “Zane is here, and I only have a few weeks of freedom left. You have to come down here with us. It’s your maid of honor required duty.”
Maid of honor required duty? Another one?
Bryan, Casey’s fiancé, is amazing, but Casey is still having prewedding jitters, and it’s apparent on nights like this—while he’s out of town and she’s at the bar. It’s not like she’s going to go home with a guy or anything. She just likes the nightlife.
I can’t blame her. We’re twenty-three. It’s not like we’re old enough to be settling down.
And then she hits me with the hammer. Not literally, but she might as well have when she whispers, “The Madsen brothers are here.”
Did I mention Tathan has brothers?
If I didn’t, it was because I wanted to forget that part. Imagine what three Madsen brothers are capable of. Perfection. Beauty. Sex appeal. The list is essentially endless and anytime I’m in the same room with all of them, it’s like I suddenly have cerebral palsy and drool.
And then I think, how did I not hear Tathan leaving his man cave? Probably because I’m in my bedroom and I can’t hear his door from here.
“Girl, you know you want to come out. All you’re doing is sitting at home with Oliver and I’m guessing you’ve had your cereal already.”
Damn, she knows me pretty well. No matter how hard I try not to admit it, knowing all three Madsen brothers are in one place is incredibly tempting. It’s like knowing a celebrity is at the restaurant you’re dining at and trying like hell not to ask the waiter to move you to a table closer just so you can stare at them and their beauty.
Casey knows how to get to me. Though I despise the way Tathan’s presence controls me, his brothers are less obnoxious and just as hot to look at. Where’s the harm in wanting to lick them. . . I mean stare at them?
They’re a beautiful family. If I were their parents, I would have kept having kids just because they were genetically perfect in every way. The Madsen boys consist of the oldest, James, who owns a restaurant in Scottsdale that serves the most amazing pulled pork sandwich I’ve ever had in my life. I go there just to stare at him because he’s nothing like Tathan other than he’s drop-dead gorgeous. He’s also married so all I do is drool—I mean look.
Kelly is another brother, the middle child, and no one exactly knows what Kelly does besides occasionally showing up at work, and looking pretty.
And then there’s Tathan. I have no clue what the fuck he does at work unless his number one priority at his job is to make me miserable. If so, he’s doing great and deserves a raise.
Still, the offer to go out is now there, and I want to accept. I really do.
“Please come!” Casey’s begs.
I sigh, trying to pretend like she’s inconveniencing me, though she knows I’ll give in. “I don’t know. Doesn’t that place have a twenty-dollar cover?” Given my shopping habit, and really expensive apartment, I’m habitually broke. If you’ve ever seen my car, you’d know my priorities lie with my clothing.
“Yeah, but it’s ladies’ night. You get in for free.” Amongst the background noise, I can hear Zane bitching about how he should have gotten in for free too. He gets upset about gender-specific deals. He is one of the girls after all.
“Fine, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Great!” She’s displaying entirely too much enthusiasm. It’s obvious she’s already drunk, and it’s only Thursday night.
Personally, I make it a rule of mine only to drink on Fridays and Saturdays. It makes me feel l
ike less of an alcoholic. Which I’m not. I hardly ever drink these days, but lately, like maybe the last few weeks, Casey is leading me that way with these jitters and preparing for her wedding.
In an attempt to look hot—since the Madsen brothers are there—I put on the sexiest black dress I have and borrow some three-inch heels from my neighbor Jade. She’s a stripper and has just about everything you can imagine to give yourself that “I’m not slutty, but I want to appear slutty” look.
Just don’t ask her what’s behind door number three in her apartment. I’m not kidding. It will scare the ever-loving shit out of you. If anyone in our apartment is ever murdered, I’m pointing the finger at her first.
As I prepare to leave, grabbing my keys and purse, Oliver looks a little sad that I’m not staying in bed with him. He always gives me the guilt trip. And if you’ve never gotten a guilt trip from a puppy, it’s the worst thing ever.
“I’ll be back soon.” I point my finger in his face. He perks up, ears flopping around and sniffs it. “Don’t eat any furniture or my heels!”
He tips his head at me as if my words mean nothing to him. I half expect him to say, “But I’m so cute, Mommy.”
“You are cute, but so are the Madsen brothers.”
There I go again talking to my dog. Yet another reason why going out on a Thursday is exactly what I need in my life. Or lack of a life.
Around nine, I pry open the door to my apartment, wondering if Tathan is in his apartment or if he’s at the bar with his brothers. It’s not like I can tell anything by looking at the door, but the mystery is solved in the parking lot.
Warmth blankets my skin, the sweltering Arizona heat licking my face as I fidget to smooth out my long brown curls. When I get to the parking lot, his silver Lexus RCF isn’t in the parking lot. The only reason I know the model of his car is because I like cars. My dad was obsessed with them so by the time I was ten, I knew most manufacturers and the models they made.
Tathan’s car is nice. Mine is not. Remember how I said I love to shop? Well, you certainly wouldn’t think it looking at my car. I have an old ’72 Chevy Impala my dad bought for me when I turned sixteen that gets horrible gas mileage, barely passes the emissions laws here in Phoenix, and has duct tape holding the worn upholstery together on the seats. Not only does it hold sentimental value for me, but I also can’t fathom spending six hundred dollars a month on a car like Casey does. Think about the clothes I can buy with that money each month.
Knowing Tathan’s car isn’t in the parking lot makes me a tad nervous because there’s a good possibility he’s at the bar with his brothers. Then what?
My heart drums wildly in my chest, the idea of seeing him again today gnawing at me. I’m sure you can guess why I have such a strong reaction to him. Though my words are harsh and accusing, it’s a defense mechanism. Like a puffer fish.
With shaky hands, I start my car, the throaty rumble of the engine roaring to life. Traffic in Phoenix is a bitch, no matter what time of the day it is, so it’s more like thirty minutes instead of twenty, and I’m entering the Red Revolver, convinced my plan to make Tathan miserable by dressing sexy might work based on the glances I receive when I walk from my car to the door.
I’ve always enjoyed the Red Revolver. It’s a nice bar, with good strong drinks, and loud music.
Once inside, I scan the room. It’s not hard to find Casey and Zane. He’s tall, she’s short, and both equally obnoxious when you walk in because they’ll literally stand on a table to get your attention.
“Took you long enough!” Zane yells, moving so I can sit between him and Casey.
I decline and push him back down by placing my hands on his shoulders so I can sit on the end of the bench seat of the small booth they’re in. I don’t like to be trapped between them in case I need to leave quickly.
Conversation is quickly steered the direction of the wedding and the expo on Saturday when “Stolen Dance” by Milky Chance blares through the club. I’m in the middle of telling them about Tathan’s latest attempt to ask me out and me biting him.
Naturally, the both of them are fully engrossed in everything I’m telling them until a group of men walk in, causing all the women in the bar to navigate toward them.
“Who’s that?” I ask Zane as he peeks around Casey, staring at the guys surrounded by women.
It’s not uncommon for athletes, even actors to come to this club and if it’s either, Zane will know. The dude spends a good amount of time with his nose in a TMZ magazine. Honestly, Zane gets more action than most women. He’s very attractive and well dressed. Believe me, if he wasn’t gay, I’d consider dating him.
He watches the men, loses interest in another one by the bar, and then looks closer.
Zane leans into my ear so I can hear him over the music. My eyes follow his hand in the direction of the men. “Well, that one,” he points to the bigger guy with brown hair, “is Aldon Hernandez.”
I eye Aldon from a distance. He stands tall, heavily muscled, wearing a white polo shirt with a dark gray hat hiding his eyes. His smile, bright and gleaming with pearly white teeth peeking out, is familiar, but I can’t place the face with the name right away.
Beside him, I notice black hair and that scruffy beard, and I know who the other guy is.
It’s Tathan. I knew when I saw the missing Lexus he’d be here. It’s when I’m staring at Tathan that it finally dawns on me who Aldon is. He’s the quarterback for the Arizona Cardinals.
“Aldon Hernandez?” I take a drink of Zane’s beer, attempting to be nonchalant. “Like the football player?”
Casey chooses then to butt into the conversation, and it’s apparent she’s had too many glasses of wine. “If that guy even looked my way,”—she gestures to Aldon, nearly knocking over her glass of red wine in the process—“I’d be on my back in seconds.”
“You would not,” I point out, trying to ignore her. Casey likes to talk like she’d mess around on Bryan, but she’s been with him since she was fifteen. There’s no way she’d jeopardize it even with a guy like Aldon Hernandez.
Zane stares at me as if he’s trying to find the cure for cancer in my facial features. It’s creepy. “You know who Aldon is, right?”
“No,” I lie. “I’ve just heard of him before.”
I actually enjoy football, but I wouldn’t say I follow it. When my dad was sick, I spent a lot of time by his side watching it with him. He was an avid fan, didn’t really have a team he enjoyed more than the rest, just the sport in general.
“I’m not sure who the other guy is,” Zane adds. “Can’t see him with all those whores surrounding him.”
He’s right. You can barely make out Aldon let alone the guy next to him, who I’m positive, is Tathan now. I see his ass. I know that ass because anytime he gets up from his desk, I watch it. It’s a nice fucking ass.
“Is that Tathan?” Casey looks closer. “I think it is.”
Zane almost spits his beer out. “Oh my God, how does Tathan know Aldon and I didn’t know about this?”
In a panic, I stand immediately. “I’m going to the bar.” I quickly disappear before they can talk me into getting their drinks.
Breathing out slowly, I try to calm my nerves. I knew coming here I’d see him, and while I’m not disappointed, I have a hard-enough time ignoring him at work. Imagine how hard it’ll be in a club with liquor and music.
At the bar, since I’m not anyone important, the bartender ignores me, like I’m not even there. I yell out my order three freaking times, but nothing, not even a glance my direction. “No one cares what I have to say. Assholes.”
“I’m listening,” a familiar voice says from behind me.
I turn to look over my shoulder at him, giving him a judging once-over that he finds entertaining. “Well then, get me a beer.”
All he does is give the bartender a nod. A motherfucking nod and he has his attention. It pisses me off because why do I have boobs if I can’t get a bartender’s attention?
>
Seems ridiculous.
When the bartender hands me the beer, I don’t tip him. He doesn’t deserve a tip after ignoring me.
Tathan smiles at him. “Thanks, Matt.”
I glare at both of them while taking a drink of my beer. “Yeah, thanks. . . Matt,” I mock, my words laced with sarcasm.
I set my beer down on a table near the wall out of the way of the dancing crowd, and wouldn’t you know it, Tathan follows me over there, like I owe him a favor for getting the bartender’s attention.
“Dance with me?” He tips his head toward the dance floor, our fingers brushing for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough my body warms at the slightest connection to him. His smile is soft, his gaze, intimidating. Like he’s just waiting for me to say no so he’s challenged.
I turn on my heel to face him, not prepared for how close he is. Our chests touch and I have to say, it’s nice. Those around us would have thought we were a couple by our proximity and the way his hands always gravitate toward my hips.
Goddamn you, stupid beautiful man. Searching his eyes, his lips are inches away from mine again. I don’t bite him this time. Tempting, but I don’t because I’m caught off guard by seeing just how nice those lips look under the neon lights of the bar signs.
“What are you even doing here?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you stalking me?”
“No, my friends are here.” He smirks, and I know what he’s going to say next is going to be delivered in a teasing manner. “But you know,” he leans forward so his forearms are resting on the table, inches from my beer and his, “I could be a stalker if you like that sorta thing.” He winks.
There’s that wink again.
I try to look away when he holds his phone in his hand and stares at the screen as it lights up. “Crazy thing happened tonight. . .” At the tenderness of his voice, my eyes drift to his and he smiles, one side higher than the other. He holds up his phone that says ten missed calls, and I nearly burst out laughing. “I keep getting these calls about my car being for sale. Know anything about that?”
Shit. How could I have forgotten about posting his car for sale?
