Text 2 Lovers

by J. D. Hollyfield

  Throughout the morning, while getting ready for work, we messaged back and forth. His replies all made me smile and as I tried to match his humor, I kept falling short. Each time I tried to make a funny, the messages would stop and I would panic, pacing my room while smacking my head, telling myself I did it again. I was making a complete fool out of myself.

  But when he had to go asking for names, I freaked. I said my name was Carrie. Why? I have no idea. It could have been that Carrie Underwood was playing softly on the television while I made my breakfast, but I’m not sure why it wasn’t my real name that came out. Maybe because I was enjoying the banter with this complete stranger and it felt a bit liberating to talk to someone who wasn’t already judging me. He had no idea that I was just a mousy little thing, no backbone, no great story, and definitely no modeling gigs lined up. I was simple. Boring. Andie called me the cutest little pushover she’d ever met.

  There is just something to be said about getting to talk freely to a complete stranger without having to out your real self, and I was kind of enjoying my new friend. Ram. Strange name. At first I thought he was lying to me. Maybe that’s why I spit out Carrie instead of Danielle, or Dani as my close friends call me.

  Okay, so I’m a super shy loner with one close friend. Andie. Well, her full name is Andrea. When we were kids, a group of mean girls used to pick on me. I have always been small and mousy. My boobs didn’t come in until way past the acceptable age for horny teenage boys and I just didn’t have that high school luster like most girls had. I also dressed like a boy. Thanks to my mom and her church-going ways. The girls would always tease me, calling me Dani Boy, poking fun. I, of course, did nothing because I was shy. But Andrea stuck up for me, swapping out one girl’s shampoo for glue in gym class and snuck chocolate laxatives in another’s purse during lunch. But what she did that told me she was truly my friend was that she shortened her name to Andie, so she too would have a boy’s name. She told me I had to overcome them. To be better than them. Embrace the name. And “Fuck ‘em’.” Her words. So we did.

  We’ve been at work for only an hour and I’m itching to check my phone. I wonder if he is done with his lunch. If he’s texted me back. I don’t know why he would. I’m just technically a wrong number to him. But that picture. I wish he would’ve included his face. The curiosity of what he looks like eats at me while I help each customer who walks into the bank.

  “Hey, Dani.” I turn to see Frank, another bank teller, standing next to me with that look. An expectant one. One that tells me he’s about to ask a favor.

  “Hey, Frank,” I answer in a curt tone. “How are you today? How’s Milly?”

  “Oh, she’s fine. Thanks again for taking her to the vet for me. Really helped.” I sure hope it did, since I also ended up picking up his vet bill and am still waiting for him to pay me back. “So, I have a big favor. I have a date tonight, and I really need to get off early. You would be a life saver if you could pick up my last two hours tonight.” Two hours? I’ve been here all day and I picked up his late shift last week as well. I was hoping to go home and organize my finances since I need to figure out how I’m going to replenish my bank account. I want to say no, but I don’t know how. I would feel bad if he couldn’t go on his date.

  “Sur—”

  Before I can finish, I yelp because someone kicks me in the side of my ankle. I turn to see Andie giving me the crazy eye.

  “What did you do that for?” I hiss, rubbing my ankle where I know she’s just left a bruise.

  “Backbone, girl!”

  I shake my head at her, and then turn back to Frank. “That would be fin—”

  Again, she kicks me.

  I turn and grumble. “Stop! Please.”

  Back to Frank, I start, “I—”

  “She would not like to pick up your extra hours, Frank,” Andie interrupts. “And I’m sure your Tinder date will wait until you get off work. Trust me. The darker it is out for her, the better.”

  My jaw drops at her rude comment. Frank doesn’t say anything more. He gives Andie a nasty look and walks back to where he came from.

  “Why did you do that?” I huff, still nursing my ankle. “That was extremely rude.”

  “Um, because it was extremely rude of him to take advantage of you like that. He does it every week. And he knows you’ll say yes. He’s a total douche and doesn’t deserve your kindness. Half of America doesn’t deserve it. That’s why you need to stop handing it out like it’s free.”

  But isn’t kindness kinda free?

  “Dani, stop,” she says softly at the confused look I’m giving her. “You know what I mean. You need to stop letting people walk all over you. Say no to people. Say yes when it’s deserved.” She shuts her drawer and comes into my teller space. “Listen. We are on a mission to toughen you up.”

  I look at her quizzically. I’m not sure there’s hope to get me muscles, I weigh a whopping one hundred and twenty-five, sopping wet. “I really don’t want to work out, Andie,” I tell her.

  A big sigh leaves her lips as she brings her hands to my shoulders. “Dani, listen. You are too nice. And one day, it’s going to take a toll. You’ll have had enough and snap. And not in a good way. I’m talking like Brittany Spears, 2006, snap. And I will be the first person to tell you, you will not look good bald. You need to grow a backbone.”

  “How does one grow a backbone? I thought we were born with them?”

  Andie starts shaking me. “Earth to Dani! It’s just an expression. You need to say no to people! Like Frank and all his stupid favors. Like Janice who sweet-talked you into trading sandwiches with her at lunch last week. Like the customer who convinced you to keep your register open after closing because he was late. Just Say No!”

  “But I’m not—”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No!”

  “I get it bu—”

  “JUST SAY NO! I swear, you’re like a walking anti-drug commercial.”

  Darn it. I am like a just-say-no ad. I straighten my shoulders and arch my back. Taking in a deep breath, I say, “Fine. Try me. Ask me something.”

  Her eyes light up. “Hey Dani, can you take my whole week’s worth of shifts? My vagina flared up again and I need to soak it in Vagisil.”

  A smile breaches my lips. But I keep a straight face. “No, Andie. I will not.”

  She nods in approval. “Good job. Okay, but will you come over and cook me dinner? Then do my laundry? Then pay my cable bill?”

  “No, I will not.” I repeat, feeling empowered by this new word. Andie smiles, patting me on the back. “Good work!” She turns to close out her register. “But hey, do you mind counting my drawer so I can ditch out of here early?”

  “Sure—”

  “NO!”

  I jump, along with a few customers, and Bill, the customer service manager, as her answer echoes throughout the bank.

  “The answer is no, Dani! No, no, no!”

  Darn it! She tricked me! A total setup!

  “No matter who asks,” she tells me firmly. “Even me. The answer is no.”

  Andie spent the rest of our workday throwing questions at me, and I was on alert with every question. I said no to every single one, even the one where she asked me who kept texting me.

  “No, you can actually answer this one. Who’s texting you? Your phone keeps lighting up.”

  I fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it in the process, as I yank it up from the counter. I look at my screen to see not one, but three text messages from Ram.

  Ram: I had a hot dog for lunch. Thought about you and that mouth you talked up.

  Ram: Okay I was joking. That was kind of a dick thing to say.

  Ram: No pun in the dick comment either. Shit, sorry. Look, now I’m the one apologizing.

  I laugh at his last message.

  “What’s so funny? Let me see!” Andie grabs for my phone, but I pull back. She gives me her crazy look and puts her hands on her hips. “Show
me or I’ll start telling everyone you’re messing around with Frank.” My lips purse at the gross thought of doing anything with Frank. She sees it and smiles, knowing she won. I show her my phone and she reads my latest text.

  “Damn. Potty mouth. He’s still texting you?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I blush, feeling embarrassed at the excitement this complete stranger creates in me.

  “Well, hell, I mean I would probably keep texting you too, if you admitted you had great tits and suck a mean nob.” I smack her in the shoulder as she busts out laughing. As she’s still holding my phone, another text comes through.

  “Oh my, you have a Chatty Kathy on your hands,” she says as she hands my phone back.

  Ram: Okay, now I feel like a jerk. I really didn’t mean it like that. I’m not like that. Rude, I mean. I’m actually a really nice guy. Now I’m babbling and you may have already blocked this number. I’ll stop now. Nice knowing you, Buttercup.

  I read the message and grin.

  “Ew, are you smiling at your phone?”

  I raise my head. “What?”

  “You. You’re smiling. Like someone just complimented your troll collection. Do you like like this guy or something?”

  “No! I don’t even know him.” He’s just… just…

  “Whatever, liar. You’re giving your phone the googly eyes. Dude, no way. This is called rebound… Or wait… maybe we can…” I can see the wheels turning. “Okay. Respond back to him. He is going to be our guinea pig.”

  Guinea pig? “And how exactly is he going to be our guinea pig?”

  “Simple. You’re going to boss him around. Be blunt. Practice your backbone.” She must see that I’m not following, because she snatches my phone and starts typing off a reply message.

  Me: Prove it.

  “Prove it? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, he said he’s not usually rude. Have him prove it. We want him growling in hunger for you, got it?” I highly doubt anyone is growling over me. The ding comes back through and we both throw our eyes to my phone.

  Ram: I tipped the waitress extra today because she told me her son needed money for his book fair.

  I awww at his message while Andie does a huge pfft, then she starts jamming on my phone.

  Me: Sounds like something any normal Joe would do. Does that mean you wouldn’t normally donate money to a cause? Are you some sort of money hogger?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I gape at her message.

  “It’ll allow us to figure out what he does. Make sure he’s not a loser like Daryl.”

  Another message flows through.

  Ram: I am a successful businessman, yes, and I donate money all the time. I actually gave her a $100 tip. It was important to me that her son gets those books.

  “You just did it again.”

  I look up, my cheeks heating. “Did what?”

  “Googly eyed your phone.”

  Ugh, oops, I totally just did it again.

  Define Nasty

  I’M AN ASSHOLE.

  I stare down at my phone and groan. Did I really just brag about something I didn’t do to a person I don’t know? I’ve sunk to a new low. Lying.

  Scrubbing my palm up and down over my scruffy cheek, I let out a sigh. I’m flat broke until Inigo Photog signs a contract with me. So it was my brother who bought lunch. It was Roman who flirted with the waitress. It was Roman who left an over-the-top tip because he also left his card. He wasn’t paying for some kid’s books. My brother was attempting to get the pretty blonde waitress in the sack.

  I settle in my desk chair and fire off an email to Victor Masters, Inigo’s owner, after attaching some of my design concepts for the logo and branding along with the mockup for the website. Roman, over lunch, suggested I hit up some of Tucker Advertising’s old clients who no longer use them. The ones I had a good relationship with in the past. While I wait for Carrie to respond to my stupid text, I message a few potential clients.

  Eventually, she responds.

  Buttercup: Sorry, I got a customer and then another. We got slammed. Sounds like you’re a generous guy. So what exactly is it you do anyway? You mentioned you were a businessman.

  Grumbling, I let my fingers hover over the screen. Do I lie again? Will she keep talking to me if she knows I’m technically unemployed?

  She’s just a stranger.

  And even though I keep telling myself that, the guilt remains.

  Me: I’m a marketing manager over the account execs at an ad firm. What do you do?

  Fuck.

  I’ve once again told her I was my brother.

  Buttercup: I’m a bartender.

  I wish I knew what she looked like so I could imagine her slinging drinks around at the bar. Would she wear cute little black shorts that showed off her toned legs? Would she lean over the bar counter to pass the drinks and show off her cleavage?

  My cock decides it likes this fantasy of Buttercup the Bartender. I haven’t been laid since the night before I got fired. Chelsea came over and I now realize that was a goodbye fuck. There was no cuddling after. She even made sure to grab a few things she’d left in my room, claiming she needed to get them dry cleaned.

  Me: Which bar? I’d love to come see you one day?

  Her response is quick.

  Buttercup: I don’t know you so I better not tell.

  I roll my eyes.

  Me: We could know each other. In fact….

  I go into my contacts and dial her number. I’m not sure why I didn’t consider calling her until this moment. It rings and rings, but she doesn’t pick up. Maybe her voicemail will confirm that her name is Carrie too. I’m mildly annoyed she isn’t answering because I know her phone is in her hand. Eventually, a soft, sultry voice recording plays in my ear.

  “Hey,” she says, pausing as if to consider what to say next. “It’s me. You know what to do. Umm…” Another pause. “Just leave a message after the beep. Wait. Do cell phones even beep?” A woman laughs in the background causing Carrie to growl. It’s an adorable sound…like a kitten trying to sound like a mountain lion. “Just leave your message. Bye.”

  It’s by far the cutest voicemail greeting I’ve ever heard. My smile is immediate.

  “I’m not sure why you’re avoiding picking up but at least I’ve confirmed you’re a chick,” I say with a chuckle. “I’ve also confirmed you have a nice voice. Would it make me a creepy stalker if I called again just to hear it?” I grunt. “Yeahhhhh, so it would. Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. Like actually say it. So you could know I’m normal too. Although, there’s nothing probably normal about this phone call.” I pause and roll my eyes at myself. I’m a fucking idiot. She’ll probably take one listen and move on. The mystery was better. I should have just kept letting her think I was a badass. “I’m glad you texted me by mistake,” I utter. “It’s been the most fun I’ve had in four months.” Another pause as I clench my eyes closed. “I’m sorry I called. This was out of line. But I’m not sorry I got to hear your voice. Enjoy your day, Buttercup.”

  I hang up and abandon my phone. With a huff of frustration, I peel away my shirt and go on a hunt for some gym shorts. I’ll lift some weights to clear my head. Calling her unexpectedly was a dick move. If I were her, I’d block my number and move the fuck on. Once I’ve dressed in a pair of shorts and thrown on some tennis shoes, I bypass a shirt and stand in front of my long bedroom mirror.

  Roman and I are similar in the looks department, down to our size and height. We even share the same pale brown eyes that our sister, Reagan, is jealous of. It’s our mannerisms that are different. Roman is more scowly. Typically, I’m more smiley. He keeps his hair shorter and styled in a neat, professional way. Mine is longer and unruly, styled more in a just-fucked kind of way. The biggest difference is our chests. My brother is a weirdo about tattoos. Mom’s warning somehow sticks in his head.

  Get a tattoo and I’ll disown you.

  I smirk thinking about the time when I
turned eighteen and I showed my mom my first tattoo. That woman beat me upside the head with the romance novel she was reading. But she didn’t disown me. And I continued to get them until my solid chest was nothing but a canvas of colorful art. I’d been dying to get a sleeve next, but my brother lectured me for a week about how unprofessional that was. I’m still undecided. The longer I remain unemployed, the more tempted I am to say “fuck professionalism” and do what I want.

  Flexing my chest, I wonder if Carrie would be impressed by my tats. I’m almost considering taking a selfie of them to show her, but wisely steer myself out of my bedroom toward the room we use as a gym. Sending her an unrequested naked chest picture is almost as bad as an unwanted dick pic.

  I’ve definitely reached an all-time low. I need to lift and clear my head.

  This stranger is scrambling my brain.

  After a shower, I make my way back to my room in nothing but a towel. I’m dreading reading her response to my phone call. I missed many and I can only imagine what they’ll say. Biting the bullet, I snatch up my phone and lie down on my bed. My towel pulls open and my dick flops out. I need to just go out with Roman and pick up some chick for the night. Because I’m long overdue for some pussy and my mind has seemed to latch on to this stranger.

  I close my eyes and think about her voice.