by Penny Wylder
I stand up on my bed, hands covering my mouth and the smile ripping my face apart. I try not to get my hopes up. He could be talking about anything: food, his favorite hockey team winning a game, a new job. Anything!
I take a deep, steadying breath, let it out, and sit back down. I’m annoyed with myself for getting so excited. That wasn’t supposed to happen. No strings attached was what he said when he offered to help me out with my little problem. Just a friendly guy offering to give a girl an orgasm. Nothing more, nothing less.
I move on to his next tweet. It’s in response to someone tweeting him first.
Heath O-Maker James: Sorry, not tonight. I have plans.
I go back to see who had asked the question and what exactly the question was. Then I find it.
WanderwomanBree: How about U&I 2night, a bottle of red and some handcuffs?
A knot forms in my stomach and my teeth start to grind together the longer I stare at the screen.
After his tweet to her she responds with a sad emoji and ‘she’s one lucky girl.’
Heath O-Maker James: Believe me, I’m the lucky one.
I feel sick.
All day I’d sat at work, reliving the memory of us together over and over. It was like I was floating over my desk, watching everything happen from distance while I was off in some magical sex Narnia where only Heath and I existed. Meanwhile, he was making plans with the next lucky girl on his list of conquests—oops, my bad; he’s the lucky one.
Well, fuck him.
I try to will myself not to feel anything. I should feel nothing. I don’t know him. Not in any real way. But it’s impossible to feel nothing after the connection we had. Or, at least, I thought we had. So I try to be mad about it instead.
But that doesn’t really work either. When I close my eyes and let the silence in, all I feel is sad. I don’t want to be, but I can’t help it. He didn’t even give it a full 24 hours before moving on. I’d hoped to have at least made enough of an impression to satisfy him for a little while. I guess not.
My Instant Messenger chimes. I open it.
Stephanie: What are you doing? You got quiet all of a sudden.
Me: Nothing. Not feeling very well. I think I’m going to go to bed.
Maybe I do need that drink after all. There’s a liquor store around the corner from my apartment that’s open all night. I could run over there and grab something. No way in hell I’m getting out of my PJs. I’ll just go like this. It’s classier than half the people I’ve seen frequenting that place. Especially this time of night.
Stephanie: Alright. Take care of yourself and get some sleep. Maybe you overexerted yourself with all those orgasms you had last night.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about Heath anymore, or my night with him.
I reply, just to satisfy her.
Me: Yeah, maybe.
She says goodbye and signs off. I’m just about to shut off my computer for the night when I hear the alert from Twitter. Probably someone responding to Stephanie’s recent post. I think about ignoring it, but decide what the hell. It’s not like I have anything better to do.
As soon as I look at the message and see Heath’s name, my ears start to ring and my mouth goes dry. My tongue is like s piece of jerky, heavy in my mouth.
Heath O-Maker James: You left in a hurry this morning. Was it so bad that you couldn’t wait to get away from me?
When I reach for the keys, my hands shake so bad that everything I type comes out with multiple letters.
Me: iii hhad too wworkk
I delete it and stretch my fingers. Why the hell am I so nervous right now? Get it together, Callista.
Finally, my hands stabilize, and I’m able to write. I check the spelling before sending. Several long, excruciating seconds tick by before he replies.
Heath: Come have drinks with me.
My heart grows wings, betraying me. I’m not supposed to feel aflutter right now. I’m supposed to be mad. I’m supposed to feel nothing.
Have a drink with him? Tonight? His date must’ve fallen through. I’m not going to be his plan B this time.
Me: Sorry, I can’t.
I was about to throw his own words back at him: ‘Sorry, I can’t. I have other plans tonight,’ like he’d said to the girl on Twitter. But then he’d know I was snooping in his feed and that would make me look desperate. Which I am, only, he doesn’t need to know that.
Heath: Come on, please? I turned down wine and handcuffs for a chance to be with you tonight.
Wait, what? I’m the “lucky girl” in his Twitter conversation? This time when my heart takes flight, I don’t try to hold it down. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
Me: What time?
Heath: I can be in Brettsville in an hour.
Me: I’ll see you then.
After sending him my phone number and address, I turn off my computer. After the initial shock wears off, I squeal and jump on my bed, doing my happy dance. The neighbor downstairs thumps on her ceiling to quiet me down. Obviously she’s not accustomed to a ruckus in this particular part of the apartment. It’s been a while since I hosted a man in my bedroom.
To keep the peace, I climb down off of my bed, but the celebrating doesn’t stop. Even while I dance to the living room to turn on music while I get ready, I’m telling myself not to get too excited. ‘Drinks’ is just another word for booty call. I’m okay with that, but part of me wishes there could be more. He’s the kind of guy I could see myself with and not just for the explosive orgasms. It’s a huge bonus, but it’s not everything.
6
I stare out the window at the fat snowflakes falling down in the cone of yellow porch light like dying moths. Not exactly mini skirt and heels weather. I want to look sexy, but that’s not going to happen if I slip and fall on my ass.
A dress is out, so I go for my tightest jeans—not so tight that he’ll have a hard time getting them off at the end of the date—and a sweater cut so low in the front that he’ll be holding his breath, waiting for a nip-slip.
Boots are unfortunate but at least they’re cute. Once my makeup is on and my hair curled, I clean up the clutter in my apartment and remove anything that might be embarrassing. Like my collection of porcelain dolls I’ve had since I was six, and the doilies my grandma crocheted for me. Sorry grandma, but I don’t want anything in this apartment to remind Heath of old people.
He knocks on my door exactly an hour after he told me he would be here. He’s punctual. That’s definitely a plus. I take a breath, square my shoulders and open the door. A cloud of powder rushes into the room around him, the smell of fresh snow and expensive cologne an aphrodisiac that has me concerned about Heath’s welfare. I want to pounce on him. Eat him alive. He looks so good in a pea coat and scarf, his face cleanly shaven, and hair pulled back in a sculpted, yet effortless way. His smile punches me in the stomach, leaving me breathless.
“Mind if I come in for a minute?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” I say, stumbling on my words. Why didn’t I think of that? I should’ve invited him in. Great, I’m going to be a neurotic idiot all night.
“Are you okay?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips. “You seem a little nervous.”
Shit.
“Nervous? No. Why would I be nervous? It’s not like we haven’t met before.” The warble in my voice gives the lie away.
He doesn’t call me out on it, just laughs and shakes his head.
“Um, do you want something to drink; coffee, juice, water?” The open floor plan of my apartment gives me a straight shot to the kitchen and a reason to turn my back on him so I get my emotions in check.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” His voice is playful, light. Just the sound of it is enough to make my knees feel like they’ll buckle under my weight. “How about a tour,” he says.
A tour? Thank god I cleaned all the rooms before he showed up.
“Sure,” I say. “Well, you’ve seen the kitchen and living room.” I fee
l my cheeks heating up. I’ve never been embarrassed about my little apartment until this very moment. Before then I’ve always been pretty proud of it. I got my lease when I was eighteen without any help from my parents and I’ve made it my own. It’s cozy and feels like home to me. Or at least it did until he stepped into the room. It’s like having someone so beautiful and perfect in my little space has tainted it somehow. Everything is dull and inadequate compared to him.
“This is the bathroom,” I say.
He squeezes into the tiny space and goes straight to the shower, looking behind the curtain. “A tight squeeze for two people.”
I’m unable to stop the smile forming on my face. “I don’t have to worry about that too often,” I say.
“No? Hmm,” is all he says, and that’s the end of that.
I show him my bedroom next. He takes his time in there, staring at each little item on my shelves and on top of my dresser. It’s like he’s a scientist studying my habitat, and I’m dying to know what he thinks.
He looks at a keychain with my name on it that’s hanging from a tack on the frame of my mirror. On the backside is a picture of me taken last year. “What’s this from?” he says, picking it up.
“My boss surprised us with a trip to an amusement park. There was a booth where you could make keychains like that.”
“Is it sentimental?” he asks, running his finger across the picture.
What an odd question. “No. It’s just an overpriced keychain.”
“Can I have it?”
I feel my face contort with confusion. “Are you a serial killer or something, collecting trophies from your victims?”
He looks at me very seriously. “Would that be a deal breaker?”
I shrug it off. “Not really. Still better than the last guy I went out with.
His smile cracks. “So can I have it?”
“Have at it.”
He attaches it to his keychain, then
puts his hands on my bed, and pushes on the mattress. It gives a little squeak in return. “So is this where all the magic happens?” he says with a wag of his brow.
I look him straight in the eye, trying to pull off the whole cool, calm, and collected look. “Apparently, for me, magic only happens in hotel rooms.”
He looks taken aback for a moment. A bit shy when he smiles. He clears his throat and lets out a quiet laugh. “Should we go get drinks now?”
For some reason, when he asked to come in, I didn’t think we’d actually make it to the bar. It’s disappointing in a way. I want him all to myself. But then again, I don’t mind being seen with him either. It’s an ego thing. Like hunters gunning down the buck with the largest horns. I can strut around in front of all the girls like, “bitches, look what I caught.”
“I’ll just grab my coat,” I say.
It’s no surprise that he drives a truck. From all the outdoorsy photos on his Instagram account, he’d have a hard time trekking through the wilderness and on dirt roads in a sedan. It suits him. Rugged, masculine. I like the way he drives with one hand draped over the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the center console. He radiates confidence.
“No subway today?” I say.
I don’t know why he would want to drive the freeway from San Pedro County, maneuvering the icy roads, and sitting in traffic when the subway is a straight shot and would cut off about 15 minutes of travel time. It’s cheaper too. A big truck like this must cost a fortune in gas.
“I never take the subway,” he says. “Can’t stand the smell or being packed in with strangers like sardines.”
“Then why were you on it yesterday?”
He bites his bottom lip. “Yesterday was different. My truck was in the shop.”
His truck is new and top of the line from the looks of the leather, sunroof, and navigation system. So why would it be in the shop?
There was a change in his voice when he said it. A slight rise and fall of his words that didn’t sound as smooth and natural as it had when he’d spoken before. I don’t know him well enough to say he was lying, but if that were Stephanie, I’d call her out on her bullshit.
He takes me to an upscale restaurant with a bar in an adjoining room. I didn’t know this place was even here. It has a breathtaking view of the river and its snowy banks. Inside is just as beautiful with a waterfall sculpture and saltwater fish tank that covers the entire wall behind the bar.
From the looks of things, it has an upscale clientele too. Women wear tight designer dresses and stilettos while I’m in my sweater and boots, prepared for the snowpocalypse. Damn it. I should’ve just toughed it out and took my chances. I am definitely not dressed right for this place. There’s probably a dress code and I’ll be kicked out. I wish Heath would’ve told me where we were going and what kind of place it was before we left. More than likely I would’ve tried to talk him out of it, but if that failed, I would’ve at least worn a shirt with some sparkle.
“Do you want to sit at the bar, or would you rather get a booth?” he asks.
The bartender—he’s probably called a mixologist at a swanky place like this—wears a man bun and tux, mixing brightly colored drinks. He smiles and nods at Heath like they’re old friends. I feel so out of place. I’m more of a beer and burgers kind of girl and I’m afraid it’s painfully evident to all the women in the bar who look at me with judgement in their eyes.
Is this where he brings all his dates and I’m just ‘Ms. Saturday night at the moment’? That sick feeling is back. I really wish I didn’t feel so wishy-washy when it comes to him. It’s giving me whiplash.
“The bar is fine,” I say.
We sit at the end of the bar. The place is packed. The ratio of men to women is off kilter, the women dominating the scene. And they’re all beautiful and sexy. Each one of them with great figures. And they’re all looking at Heath. Even the ones with dates. They don’t even try to hide their interest. I’m fairly certain that any of these girls would happily leave their current dates to spend a night with Heath. One woman in particular seems overly aggressive. She takes the stool beside him, scooting closer than I find appropriate.
“Callista, this is my friend Corbin,” Heath says, introducing me to the bartender. “We went to school together.”
I smile and shake Corbin’s outstretched hand. I feel that jealous tick start to ebb with something else to focus on. So maybe I’m getting paranoid for nothing. When you’re with a guy as hot as Heath, it’s difficult not to.
“Can you believe Heath used to be the ugly one?” Corbin says.
I look at Heath, not convinced. “Oh really?” I say.
“Buck-tooth, braces, acne. He was teased relentlessly. I was always coming to his rescue.”
“It’s true,” Heath says.
I can’t help but laugh. “I can’t even picture that.”
“He definitely couldn’t have dated a girl like you.”
Heath laughs. “Okay, that’s enough of that.”
“All right, I’ll stop embarrassing you,” Corbin says. He looks at me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Jack and Coke, please.”
They both stare at me as if I’ve said something mystifying. “What?” I say.
Corbin shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just grateful to have one less cosmopolitan or appletini to make tonight.” He gives Heath a sly look. “If you’re not careful, I might just steal her away from you.”
Heath leans toward me. I don’t know if the protective gesture is on purpose or just a reflex. “You’ll have to fight me for this one,” he says.
My face grows hot and I force back the childish giggle trying to get out of me.
“It would be worth the broken nose,” Corbin says with a wink.
When I look back at Heath, the girl who’d been sitting next to him has moved even closer, leaning in to hear our conversation. I catch her eye and she smiles. There’s nothing friendly about it.
An argument at the end of the bar breaks our
eye contact. Two men in sleek business suits go back and forth, talking loudly and passionately about some case they’d been working on. Lawyers, I’m assuming, or something in the legal field. Telling by the slur in their words and the way they keep repeating themselves, it’s clear they’ve had a few too many. When they start to get handsy, pushing at each other, Corbin motions to Heath.
“Speaking of fighting, you want to help me take care of this? I’ve got a full house to attend to.”
Heath grumbles and looks at me. “Sorry, he always makes me play bouncer when I stop by.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
While he goes to break up the fight, I sip my drink and watch the show the two drunk guys are putting on. I guess it doesn’t matter what kind of bar it is. When there’s alcohol involved, things are going to get rowdy.
The woman who’d been sitting next to Heath, the same one who’d given me that backhanded smile, moves into Heath’s chair.
“That seat’s taken,” I say to her even though I’m certain she already knows that.
“I’ll only be a second,” she says, her voice thick with some kind of accent.
She’s gorgeous. Long wavy hair, dark Latina skin, and curves I would kill for. Her tongue wraps around the skinny straw in a bright pink drink rimmed with blue sugar.
“So you’re the No-O, huh?” she says.
I let out a long sigh. Not this again.
Her gaze travels the length of my body as if she’s sizing up the competition. She doesn’t look too intimidated and her sudden smile lets me know she doesn’t see me as a threat. I am really not in the mood for this. I just wanted to spend another amazing night with Heath.
“Yep, I guess that’s what the kids are calling me these days,” I say, exasperated. I don’t try to hide my irritation. I want her to know she’s intruding.
“Is he as good in bed as everyone says he is?” she asks.
Jesus, lady. Do I have to literally tell her to fuck off for her to get the hint?
“Better,” I say childishly, using the kind of voice I used to use on the playground when I had something that everyone else wanted, but I wasn’t about to share.
