by Piper Payne
“You came back.” A hot breath startled me. It smelled like bourbon, melting into my ear as strong hands fumbled to grip my shoulders. My breath hitched as Landon pressed his muscular bare chest against the skin of my back causing my stomach to twist. Oh my God he thought I was Ashley. Quickly, I ducked my head and slipped out of his grip, covering my naked breasts with my wet clothes. “Don’t go!” he slurred, stumbling toward me, his eyes blood shot and glazed like cracked paint. I rushed out of the bathroom grabbing the bathrobe, pulling it on as I escaped.
I heard his loud, intoxicated footsteps behind me as I raced toward the hotel room’s door. Leaving the glow of the bathroom, I was blind while my eyes tried to adjust to the surrounding darkness. The only thing I could see was the light of the peephole at the other end of the room. I cursed as I tripped over a rug and slammed my knee into the coffee table. Once my hand reached the door handle, Landon grabbed and turned me by my shoulders painfully slamming me up against the door.
“I said don’t fucking leave me again!” His voice was desperate. My lips quivered at the closeness of our bodies, his breath hot against my mouth as he took ragged breaths trying to control his misjudged emotions.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry …” He dropped me realizing what he’d just done and I collapsed to my knees. The darkness encapsulated us as he knelt in front of me. “I never thought I’d see you again.” He reached for me, searching to find my hands. “You’ve consumed my thoughts,” he whispered as he forced his fingers to entwine with mine, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe. “I need you, please don’t run away from me again.” He brought my wrist up to his lips kissing it. “Cinnamon …” He groaned.
It was too much. All of it was too much! I wanted to pretend this was all for me but I knew differently. His lips on that part of my skin was agony. All I’d ever wanted was for him to see me, yet even in his arms I remained invisible and refused to pretend I was Ashley just to have a false moment with him. I pulled my hands away and began to stand.
“No, please …” he slurred. “I won’t let you go again. Please tell me this is real. That what I feel is real and that I’m not crazy.” He grabbed me and softly pulled me back toward him. His body was sweaty and I could smell the alcohol emanating from his lips like a toxic cloud.
“It’s real for me,” I whispered. “More real than you’ll ever know.” Silent tears streamed down my face and I could feel them drop onto our hands that were still clasped together; he reached up and found my cheek to wipe them away.
“Don’t cry,” he pleaded.
“Let me go.” I tried to stand but his grip was tight.
“Why? Why do you keep running?” There was a fog surrounding him, I could tell he was trying to force himself into clarity but it was no use.
I struggled to pull his hands off of me. “Landon, I am begging you,” I cried. “Please let me go.”
And he did.
I walked into the radio station ten minutes early as usual and sat down at my desk trying to prep for the show, but instead I ended up watching the building’s entrance, like a stalker, hoping to see him walk in.
It’d been over two weeks since I’d seen or talked to Landon. He disappeared. I found it hysterical and shameful that all I’d done for days was replay what happened that night over and over in my head. I’d feared once he realized who I was he would run like hell. But I didn’t think it would happen the way it did. I didn’t even get to the good stuff yet; we hardly cracked the surface of all the things that could have made him run away screaming from me. My heart ached and I was starting to miss the nothingness I normally used to feel.
“Someone looks like shit this morning,” Max said, walking in the studio kissing the top of my head.
“Well, we can’t all be as beautiful as you this early on a Monday,” I said with a snarl.
He smiled, ignoring my brittle attitude. “I love your bitchy compliments. There’s always some truth to your sarcasm.”
I rolled my eyes and went back pretending to focus on my work. One minute before we went on-air, Austin ran into the room looking like he just rolled out of bed and crashed down in his chair. We put on our headsets in unison, ready to start the show.
The morning went great and we were well into the third hour, business as usual. They both groaned when I played a few songs from my Love Is Dead playlist, which was then followed up ironically with early Valentine’s Day commercials. Our radio conversations weren’t much different than our normal friendship outside of work, besides the filtering and bleeping of our language for the FCC. We pushed the limits and have been occasionally fined for a slip of the tongue or inappropriate topic. It was like a roller coaster with good music. Today we got completely off topic making fun of Austin for thinking his house was haunted and then challenged Max to go six months without tweezing his unibrow. The reward was Austin’s much envied 1953 Martin D-18 guitar, owned by Kurt Cobain.
“Sit back, relax, and enjoy. I’m going to cleanse everyone’s ears with music from a local band called Redeemed Glory, since everyone was just forced to listen to the menstrual musings of Larkin, queen of cryptic feelings.” Max put on one of their songs called “Runaway” and clicked us off the air. The title was very fitting.
“So when’s your next date with Mr. Mother Trucker? I haven’t seen him hovering around like a fly lately,” Austin said, twirling around in his swivel chair, kicking his black dirty leather boots up on the desk.
“The question is … how did it go with high beams Bonnie Saturday night?” I gave him my best smart-ass smirk.
“Uh oh,” exclaimed Max, “she’s avoiding the question and countering with an insult … what’s going on, Larkin?”
“Ugh. I hate that you guys know me so well!” I pushed myself back from the table and crossed my arms stubbornly. Could a girl not wallow in self-pity once in a while? “It’s nothing.”
“Larkin,” they both said, raising their voices in a parental tone. I looked at the clock and knew if I didn’t tell them now, they’d just bring it up on the air and make it public. I had no choice in the matter since we had only a few minutes left until we were live again.
“Fine! I’ll make it quick.” Sucking in a huge breath of air, I spilled what I could in rapid speed, giving them the condensed version of everything that happened on my date with Landon. Their faces stayed even keel, and I wondered if I needed to dramatically punctuate my words a little more to prove that my heart and ego felt trampled on. “… And to top the night off, I lost my keys and my Bronco got booted from leaving it at the restaurant overnight!” I included the last part trying to distract from the rest of my crazy rant.
“Okay then.” Max elongated his words, looking at Austin then back at me. “We already knew all of that.”
“You guys are assholes.” I laughed and just shook my head. “June needs to suck a dick with that big mouth of hers.”
“We’ve been waiting for you to snap out of it and tell us yourself. She was worried. This guy has really done a number on you.” Big brother Austin looked really concerned.
“Do you like Landon? Not just a dumb school-girl crush, but seriously like him?” Max asked. His face looked troubled as he chewed on his nails, weighing something over in his mind.
“I always have,” I said, hating that I just admitted it. “Please don’t tease me about this. I’m already embarrassed.”
“And just to double check, Landon and his family had nothing to do with what happened to you and June in Aspen, right?” Max continued to pry.
“No. I already told you, he didn’t even know I existed.” I raised my brow, wondering why the questions.
Max leaned back in his chair, slowly crossing his ankle at his knee, flashing his expensive gray argyle socks. He looked at Austin then back at me, tapping his fingers on his chin, pointer finger to pinky.
“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no!! Max! Austin! I know that look! I know that look! Don’t you do it!” Right as I was about to run out of the room sc
reaming, Max lunged forward pinning me to my chair while Austin started tying me down with our equipment cords.
“Austin! Max! Get off!” I shrieked. “Please no! Please don’t do this! Please! Please! Plea—” And then my mouth was gagged with my own scarf. How did they get away with this shit?
“And we’re back,” Max announced as the on-air light flashed brightly. “Well … minus one. Larkin seems to be tied up at the moment.” He looked over and winked at me. “However, Austin and I have an exciting announcement! We’re bringing back a segment we like to call ‘Love Me Larkin.’ We’re playing Cupid, gentlemen. This is for real. One of you lucky bastards will get the chance to win her heart!” Max muted his microphone and yelled to our tech guy to hurry his ass and get the ‘Love Me Larkin’ page back up on our website. “Now before everyone calls in at once, breaking our phone system, let’s go over how this segment works. We do have a few rules you must follow if you want to snag the grand prize which is a date with the gorgeous and elusive Larkin.”
“Alright, so here’s how it works, fellas,” Austin explained, “get on our website and check out the criteria. You have two ways you can enter. You can fill out the form located on the ‘Love Me Larkin’ page and upload a headshot of yourself, or you can call in and do an on-air interview. But let’s be clear on one thing, I swear if we get a bunch of photos of your crotch cobras again we will post them all online with your name and phone number listed below!”
“A bio and pictures of the lovely Larkin will be posted online,” Max added, pulling out his cell phone to snap a picture of me all tied up. “He then changed his voice to mimic a car salesman. “Please take note of her likes and dislikes before you decide to send in your application. Also, we hold no responsibility if you get caught with your pants down while scrolling through her photos at work.”
“And lastly, when you call in for the phone interview. No poems, sonnets, guitar solos, begging, guilt, or crying. I think that about sums it up? Anything I miss, Larkin?” Austin looked over at me with a smug smile, rocking back in his chair as I gnawed on my scarf. “Alright, well it looks like we’re almost ready. I’m playing some music to get you in the mood and in a few minutes we’ll open the phone lines. Good luck, guys!” The sound of what Austin called his “Penis Playlist” came blaring through the airwaves starting with Buckcherry’s song “Crazy Bitch,” which I didn’t know why he bothered playing it since half the song was bleeped out.
Finally off air, Max walked over and started to pull the scarf out of my mouth. “Before you freak out, just listen for a second.” He paused, waiting for my cooperation, then slowly said, “The way to change the direction of a man’s heart is?”
The minute my mouth was free I screamed. “I can’t believe you guys just fucking did that! I’m going to …” Max hushed me with his menthol-stained finger pressing it against my lips. “The way to change the direction of a man’s heart is?”
“I don’t know! If I knew I wouldn’t be sitting in this damn chair right now having every single scenario in the assault in the workplace handbook being done to me!”
“Larkin, think about it.” He pushed his black-framed Ray-Ban glasses up his nose and leaned over until he was eye level with me.
“Blow jobs, threesomes, a third nipple … Max what are you getting at?” I asked, yelling in his face.
“The answer is jealousy, my love,” he said point blank, clasping his hands on each of my shoulders. A crooked, smug smile crept on his face like he’d just told me a deep dark secret.
“Jealousy?” I blinked in confusion.
“You know he’s listening right now. Show him YOU EXIST, Larkin.” He shook my shoulders as if trying to knock some sense into me.
I sat there for a moment letting my anger calm. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Can you untie me now?” I huffed blowing strands of my brown hair out of my eyes. “You both know there will still be payback for this right?”
“We know,” they said in stereo with matching smiles on their faces.
Minutes later our station was in chaos. We had web guys, phone guys, and interns all ready. It was all unnecessary and ridiculous. We’d done this segment before, right when I first started working here, and it ended up fine. I had a couple emails and about five or so calls just enough to fill up some air time that day; I think most of the men just wanted to hear their own voice on the radio. But as I sat there waiting for us to go on the air, I started to panic. What if Landon wasn’t even listening? What if this blew up in my face?
Max pulled the mic to his mouth and said, “The phone lines are now open for ‘Love Me Larkin.’ I hope if you’re listening you realize this may be your last chance to ever win her heart.” He picked up the caller line. “X92.9 this is Max, whom am I speaking to?”
“Um, hey, Max, my name is Drake.”
“Drake, thanks for calling in. Let’s start off by asking how old you are?”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
Austin cut in. “Dude you sound like you eat children for breakfast. No doubt you’re a baritone?”
“Ha! Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Max continued. “Okay, so, Drake, we know that you probably have an extreme amount of chest hair, but we’re going to give you thirty seconds to tell us why you should run off into the sunset with Larkin. Make sure you include a little about yourself and why you think you’d be compatible. You got all that?
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good luck, Drake. And the timer starts … now!”
“Uh, let’s see … I’m an investment banker, I own my own home in Salt Lake, I have three dogs, I love to hunt, I am five-nine, brown hair, brown eyes, and … well … mostly I just wanted to say I met Larkin once when she was hosting the Mumford and Sons concert for the station and I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But it wasn’t just that. I mean she’s gorgeous and all, but when I went up to the booth she started cracking jokes with me about my broken arm and she signed my cast. I’m just some regular guy and she was just so sweet and down to earth. I was about to ask her out but …”
“I’m sorry. Time’s up, Drake,” Max said. “Thank you for calling. We’re going to send you to our interns and they’ll get all your info.”
“Wait!” I yelled breaking my vow of silence. “Oh don’t give me that look, Max! I feel like a jerk just sitting here not saying anything!” I picked up my headset and spoke into the microphone. “Drake, I totally remember you and your blue cast. It really means a lot to me that you called in and …” Right then Austin unplugged me. “Hey! What the hell?”
“Larkin, rules are rules. You can’t be involved. You’re too much of a softy and will end up going out with every single caller,” Austin said, wrapping up my headset and locking it in his drawer.
“Softy? I never thought I’d be called a softy.” I rolled my eyes, folded my arms, and kicked my feet up on the desk like Austin had done earlier.
“ X92.9 this is Max, whom am I speaking to?”
“My name is Nick.”
“Alright, Nick, same rules apply, you have thirty seconds to win Larkin’s heart. You ready?”
“Hell yeah!”
“Alright, your time starts now.”
“Larkin, my name is Nick. I am twenty-nine and have served in the military for the past eight years. When I’d just gotten home from Iraq, I was invited to the station’s event you hosted in honor of the troops. You had every vet in the room smiling and laughing, forcing them to do karaoke. Some I hadn’t seen smile in years. God, I’ve been to war but was too chicken to come talk to you and have regretted it ever since. They gave all of us the “Pinups for the Troops” calendar; I hung it up but never took it off the month of June. I know it sounds crazy, but I always hoped that I’d run into you again so I could ask you out.”
“Time’s up, Nick, thanks for calling and hang on the line so our interns can get some info from you.” Max muted his microphone and said, “See. Larkin, I told you p
osing for that calendar would be worth it! All those military muscles bulging and flexing over your—”
“Max!” I screamed, embarrassed, punching him in the arm.
The rest of the show was a blur. The worst part was I could only sit and go along for the ride. By the end of our shift we took over fourteen calls and the phone lines were still slammed.
Austin strolled back in ten minutes later with a stack of papers in his hands. “There’s at least a fifty emails, Larkin! We should’ve charged a ten dollar entry fee and we could’ve driven down to Vegas for the weekend!”
“I think I feel sick.” I leaned over and started banging my head on the desk.
“Cheer up, Lark, this is awesome! Who knew so many people would like you?” I looked up at Max with a sneer. “No offense,” he said, tilting his head doing kissy faces at me.
We spent the next forty-five minutes on the floor laughing our asses off. We had sheets of entry forms splayed out over the entire studio. “This guy is sixty-five years old and has three grandchildren!” I said squealing, flailing myself backwards to the floor, covering my face with my hands full of papers. “Please tell me you guys have a back-up plan?”
“Well, let’s see, so far our paper categories include: no, hell no, maybe, and penis pictures,” Max said, tucking that last stack under his arm. “Could you find it in your heart to say yes to any of them? There are plenty of great candidates. We’ve got washboard abs doctor, the chiseled jaw high school football coach, snowboarder with sexy goatee, and finally my favorite … divorced marriage counselor.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I added some dramatics by throwing papers up in the air and a huge eye roll. “Call me crazy and all, but having some creepy guy send in a photo of my name shaved into his chest is not something that makes me want to drop my panties.” I got up and started to gather my stuff. “You guys got me into this mess, you better get me out! Let’s just pretend the winner is some guy named Bill and we can all go get drunk one night.” I looked over at them with puppy dog eyes and a pleading lip.
