That Guy

by Kim Jones

  “I tried to get him to give me the key, but he wouldn’t,” I cut in. If my assumptions about Jake being That Guy are accurate, then he’s the kind of asshole who will fire Alfred. Of course he’ll rehire him once he discovers he was wrong and Alfred was just doing his job. But I’d hate for the old man to be out of work while Jake comes to his senses.

  “Get out of my house. Both of you.”

  The men shoot me a cold look. Like they’re mad. At me. The one who just saved their asses.

  I should leave too. But I need that bag of dog shit lying at Jake’s feet. I move to get it and he halts me with a lift of his finger.

  “Not you. You’re not leaving until I know exactly what happened.”

  “Okay first, you have got to stop talking in that tone. I mean it really just--”

  “Talk,” he barks.

  I viscerally jerk at his tone. “Fine! Okay…so my best friend was doing a summer internship here. She met this guy and they dated all summer and when the internship was over, she moved back home but they did that long distance thing. But we both know that never works out.” I pause for him to maybe agree or something. He doesn’t.

  I clear my throat. “She came to visit him and found out he was cheating on her with a chick he’d had here in Chicago the whole time they were dating. So, because I’m a good friend, I came here to avenge her broken heart.”

  I point at the bag on the floor.

  “I stole that dog shit so I could light it on fire on his doorstep. See, he has this really weird dog shit phobia. Anyway, I was chased through the city by the dog and his owner. And when I rounded a corner and saw a car sitting there waiting, I jumped in to hide. I was going to get out but then Ross offered a ride to this mysterious Miss Sims that no one has ever seen, and I accepted, needing to get as far away from the deranged man and his dog as possible.

  “When I got here, I was going to leave. But I’m writing a book about a millionaire CEO who has an apartment like this. I’ve been dying to find my muse and just—look at this place! I mean have you seen these windows?”

  I point at the windows, and Jake Swagger just stares at me with the look—you know the one.

  “Uh, okay, yeah so you’ve seen them. Anyway can you blame a girl for staying here to do research? Didn’t think so. Especially since I was going to be gone before you got home, which was supposed to be tomorrow at noon. But you came home early. So I feel like if all of this is anyone’s fault, it’s yours, Mr. Swagger.”

  He stares at me. A little dumbfounded, I think. I’m not good at reading emotions. But his jaw twitches. And his neck is red. This little vein in his forehead appears above his right eye.

  Okay. Maybe that’s not surprise. Maybe that’s rage.

  “Get out.”

  How strange is it that his voice is so very calm when he is literally shaking with anger?

  Or lust.

  Nope. It’s anger.

  “You know, I’d be happy to stay for dinner,” I offer, even though it’s three in the morning.

  His body stiffens. He gapes at me as if I’m mad. I’m not, really. I’m just an opportunist. Speaking of opportunity, I’ve managed to casually take a few steps closer to him in hopes of catching the color of his eyes. Now that I’m only a few feet away, I can see that his eyes are a gray/blue/green.

  “You’re lucky I’m not calling the police.”

  I quietly listen to his rant while I breathe deep to catch his scent. They make it sound so easy in the books. They lie. From two feet away, I can’t smell a damn thing.

  I take a step closer. He takes a step back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I kinda want to tell you, but sorta don’t. I’m pretty sure you’ll freak out. But I’m only doing it because you’re that guy, you know?”

  “What guy?”

  “THAT guy!” I point at him. All gorgeous. Just like the books say. Intimidating as shit too. He’s even got the hair right. The stance. The height. Width. Breath of shoulders. So perfect. Like he just stepped out of one of those—

  “Get out of my house. And make damn sure I never see your face again.”

  I jerk at his angry growl and quickly nod. “I completely understand. How about a hug?” Surefire way to smell him…you know? For research. Only chance I might ever have.

  Holding open my arms, I take another step forward. He takes another step back.

  “Get the fuck out of my house!” So explosive!

  “Geeze. Okay.” Panty-melting, too. Ugh. Why do I like the difficult ones?

  “And take your dog shit with you!”

  “I am!” I shoot him a really nasty look and grab my bag of dog shit.

  I stomp away. Barefoot. Half naked. Horny…

  My face morphs from a scowl to a frown. Eyes wide, lip trembling, I give him my best poor face. “Mr. Swagger?” Wow. There’s even a quiver in my voice. I’m so good… “Do you mind if I use your dryer? My jeans got wet and—“

  He stalks toward me on a mission. To kill me? I refuse to risk my life just for a sniff, so I jump over the couch and sprint to the door—grabbing my clothes in my haste.

  For a moment, I contemplate faking a fall just to see if he’ll help me up. That fades when he gets within reaching distance of me.

  “Wait! My phone!” I yell before he can slam the door. He snatches my phone off the table and tosses it to me. I fumble with my boots and jacket and lunge for the damn thing. I catch it, because I’m a Ninja, but it still pisses me off.

  “You’re a real asshole!”

  He slams the door—not even bothering to make eye contact as he looks down at his own phone. I throw my shoes at the door, feeling a little bit of satisfaction at the dried mud that scatters as I do.

  I glance at the door as I shuffle into my damp jeans and pull on my wet sneakers. It should only take seconds, but I drag it out longer. Part of me hopes he’ll open the to see if I’m still here. Even if he only does it to yell at me, I wouldn’t mind seeing his face once more before I leave. Maybe I could even snap a picture.

  The door never opens. Disappointed, yet not at all surprised, I step into the elevator and place my nose in the corner. I try not to dwell on what will happen if the brakes on this bastard fail, and instead think about how lucky I am.

  He didn’t call the police.

  He let me walk away.

  What would have happened had I came home and someone was in my apartment? I would have freaked. Unless of course my intruder looked like Jake Swagger. Then I would have forced him to have sex with me in exchange for me not dialing 9-1-1.

  The instant I clamber out of the death trap, I’m met with a still-pissed Alfred. He sneers and I have to bite my cheek so I don’t tell him how unattractive it is.

  “Mr. Swagger wants you off the premises immediately. So instead of waiting for a cab, he’s instructed Ross to drive you to your hotel.”

  Alfred’s anger makes me feel like shit. I could’ve cost him his job. My actions might still result in consequence for him.

  “I’m sorry, Alfred. Truly. I never meant to get anyone in trouble.”

  His hard gaze softens the tiniest bit. It’s not much, but at least it’s something. He nods once and turns on his heel. I follow him into the lobby. On the other side of the glass that stretches the front of the building, everything is white. Snow continues to fall in slanted, thick sheets.

  So this is what a blizzard looks like.

  A lesser woman might cry if she found herself in my situation.

  But I don’t cry.

  Ever.

  Am I disheartened? Feeling a little defeated?

  Yes.

  But it’s going to take more than a lot of snow and a really hot dickhead to make me cry.

  Alfred looks down at me. His disapproval evident. He disappears through a door then returns with a hat and coat. “It’s not the most fashionable, but it’s better than what you have.” I take the offered clothes without looking at them as he picks up the phone next t
o the podium. “What is the name of your hotel?”

  “I don’t have a hotel. My plane leaves in three hours.”

  He nods. “Ross, would you mind driving…the young lady to the airport, please? Yes. Okay. Thank you.”

  “I’m not going to the airport, Alfred.”

  Once again, his look is disapproving. But his anger has dissipated. “You’re not? You don’t have very much time to do anything else.”

  “Don’t care. I came here to Chicago to do something and I aim to do it.”

  “Really? And what is that?”

  I lift the bag in my hand. “Set some shit on fire.”

  Chapter Four

  I’m grateful for the hat and jacket Alfred gave me.

  Really. I am.

  But I look like an idiot.

  The “jacket” isn’t a jacket at all. It’s one of those floor length trench coats that has as many pockets as it does buttons. And the “hat” isn’t a beanie or a ball cap. It’s a top hat. With fuzzy little ear muff things. Add that to my ruined boots, wet pants and Mr. Swagger’s white button down, and I look like a damn hobo.

  I apologized to Ross the moment I got in the car. He responded by asking for the address to where I was going. I gave it to him, then halfway there, I realized I didn’t have a lighter. Or a paper bag. When I asked Ross to stop at a 7-11 first, he shot me an angry glare through the rearview mirror. Still, he pulled into a convenience store without a word. I didn’t expect him to be there when I got out, but he was.

  Maybe that was his way of accepting my apology.

  I peel away the paper bag from the forty and shove it in the pocket of my coat to keep it dry. When I do, something sharp stabs at my finger. It’s the corner of a business card. I pull it out and study it as I chug my beer.

  Jake Swagger.

  The name looks even hotter than it sounds embossed in silver lettering on the black card. The only other thing on the card is a number.

  Like the bag of shit sitting beside me, I want to set the card on fire. Instead, I bury it back in the front pocket of my coat. Not because I want to remember my time with Jake Swagger, but because I can use it for my research. I’ll design my That Guy’s business card to look as sleek and sexy as this one.

  The car rolls to a stop outside Luke Duchanan’s house. Ross stares straight ahead without as much as a glance in my direction. His lips pressed into a thin line.

  “Ross, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble. You seem like a nice dude.” After a moment, he clears his throat and gives a tight nod—still not meeting my eyes.

  I step out and close the door. The car disappears and I’m left standing in the snow, at three in the morning, buzzed and all alone in a big city by myself. The dark street intimidates me. But the nightlight on Luke’s porch shines like a beacon—reminding me that all the shit I’ve been through on this trip will be worth it just to see Emily smile.

  And retell the story to a stranger.

  Fuck him in a parking lot.

  Fall in love.

  Move the hell out of my apartment.

  I’m such a good friend.

  I slip and slide and almost break my neck on the icy steps. Before I make it to the top, the rest of my forty ends up down the front of my jacket. At last on the porch, I toss the bottle over the railing, pull the paper bag out of my pocket, untie the plastic one, transfer the dog shit and grab my lighter.

  The small awning over the door provides no shelter from the sheets of ice and snow that blow in sideways. So I kneel down and use my trench coat to block the wind while I set the bag on fire.

  The shit really catches fire. Blazing scary hot and flaming like nobody’s business. I grab my phone and hit record. Then I ring the bell and bang on the door over and over and over until I hear footsteps inside and the voice of Luke Duchanan demanding that I “hold the fuck on.”

  My plan goes off without a hitch.

  Luke opens the door. Sees the fire. Stomps the bag in his fancy ass house shoes. Then the vile fumes of the warm and toasty dog shit wafts into the air and hits the back of Luke Duchanan’s throat just as he pulls in a deep breath of shock.

  Initiate gagging.

  Witnessing this grown man scream like a girl in between dry heaves and tears is greater than I imagined it would be.

  And I’ve got it all on video.

  And it’s epic.

  Even I, future bestselling author extraordinaire, couldn’t just make this up.

  I’m so entertained by the scene before me, I don’t even notice the two approaching officers until they’re next to me. Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I try to maneuver around them, but it’s a small porch. And they’re pretty big guys.

  “Okay, lady. Come on. We’ve warned your kind about snooping around down here,” the cop grabbing my left arm says.

  Another cop grabs my right arm. “I can smell the alcohol on her. How much you had to drink tonight? You high?” He shines a light in my eyes.

  “Do you know this lady, Ma’am?”

  I blink past the spots in my vision and look at the woman in the doorway. She must be the new bitch. Emily was right. She’s not ugly at all. She’s actually really pretty. All sweet and rich looking in her satin robe with her perky nips trying to bust through the fabric.

  “No. I’ve never seen her before. I don’t think my fiancé knows her either.” Fiance? “I’ll ask him, but I’m pretty sure she’s just another bum.”

  “May we speak to him, ma’am?”

  “He’s…indisposed at the moment.” Somewhere in the house, I hear Luke retching and can’t help but hide my smile. She narrows her eyes at me. Damn. She has some really great lashes.

  I drop my head. If she’s done as much research on Emily as Emily has on her, she might recognize me from Emily’s Facebook pictures. As much as I want to take credit for pulling off the oldest prank in the book and for Luke to know it was me who caused his great freak out, I’m smart enough to know that everyone assuming I’m just some drunk bum is probably for the best. Besides, he’ll know it was me when I upload the video.

  “We’ve been seeing this a lot in the neighborhood. The cold weather always brings the stragglers out of hiding. So we were patrolling the area when we saw the fire. Glad it wasn’t any worse.”

  “Yeah, me too,” the fiancé says, stretching her neck like a damn giraffe to try and get a better look at me. Leaning heavily against the cop on my right, I dip my head even lower.

  “We’ll take her downtown and let her sober up. If you want to press charges, you need to do it before nine tomorrow morning.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be doing that.”

  I should be thankful, but I’m kind of pissed at her indignant tone—like I’m not worth her time. Fuck her. I’m good enough to press charges against…

  “Have a good day, Ma’am.” I catch the officer ogling her tits and roll my eyes. He stares longer than any gentlemen would then leads me down the steps. I glance back at the pile of ash and unburned dog turds and feel a strange sadness.

  We’d bonded...me and that bag of shit. I’d miss it.

  I’m forced to look away when the officer places handcuffs on my wrists. Then, with his hand on my head, lowers me into the back of the car.

  As the adrenaline wears off and the numbness fades, I realize how damn cold I actually am. I shiver and shake. My teeth chatter and my head twitches. This only adds to my alcoholic bum façade and even earns me a sympathetic look from the officers who talk as if I’m not in the car.

  “Was that dog shit or human shit?”

  “Never can tell with these people.”

  “Did you see how that Duchanan prick freaked out? Funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

  “Who the hell falls for that, anyway? It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

  “Hey sweetheart…” I don’t acknowledge the cop. “I’ll buy you a week’s worth of liquor if you can pull off your little stunt at 2189 West Beutreau Street. Hell it’d be
worth two weeks’ worth of liquor to see my ex-wife stomp out a flaming bag of shit.”

  They laugh, but they don’t know how hard dog shit is to come by around these parts.

  Just as I start to get warm, they drag me back out into the cold and inside the police station. I’ve been to jail a couple of times. Nothing serious, but I’ve spent a few nights in county for some unpaid tickets. Been arrested once or twice for disorderly conduct. So I’m surprised when they don’t take any of my personals. Or take my picture. Or my name.

  They simply lead me to a big cell that faces the front offices. Bunk beds line the wall, but only one is occupied. I’m given a pillow, sheet and blanket, gently pushed inside and then the door slams shut behind me—waking the only other person in the cell.

  She’s as big as a damn house. Looks as mean as a rattle snake. When I try to take the bunk across from her—so I can keep one eye on her at all times—she shakes her head. I move to the next bunk. She shakes her head again. It continues like this—me stopping at a bunk, looking to her for permission, her shaking her head, me moving along to keep from having my face bashed in.

  At the last bed in the back of the room, she lets out a grunt and rolls over. I make the top bunk the best I can and climb in fully dressed. It doesn’t take me long to figure out why she forced me to sleep back here. It’s colder than a damn witch’s tit.

  I pull out my phone and I have one percent battery life left. So I watch the video of Luke Duchanan freaking out until my phone dies.

  And it’s the best damn thirty-seven seconds of my life.

  Chapter Five

  I wake up to my cell mate staring at me.

  Her feet are flat on the floor and we’re eye to eye.

  This woman scares the shit out of me.

  “You’re snoring.”

  I hate when people snore. I know how annoying it can be. So I apologize. “I’m sorry. I’ll roll on my side.” I start to roll away from her, but she shakes her head.

  “I got a better idea.”