A Girl Like You

by Maria Geraci

  “Wow.” Amy studies Nick’s picture like he’s a legal document she needs to memorize in order to win a case. “He’s…hot!”

  Torie gives me a smug smile that says, So take that, Amy!

  “The guy’s a riot,” says Jason. “Too bad he’s not here.”

  “I can’t wait to meet him,” Amy says.

  Hah. Over my dead body.

  “So how are things with you and Ben?” I ask.

  For a second Amy looks blank. Then she gives me a shaky smile. “You know, Emma, that boss of yours is pretty terrific.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “Enough about me! I want to hear more about this Nick. He’s a cop? Back in your hometown of…Catfish?”

  “Catfish Cove,” I clarify. Amy is a native Floridian, but she’s from south Florida and is not so familiar with the many tiny towns of the vast Panhandle.

  “It must be tough having a long-distance relationship,” Amy says.

  “We’re managing.”

  Jason interrupts to ask us what we want to drink. Amy is drinking beer tonight. I’m not in the mood for anything sweet, so I order a beer as well and Jason goes off to fetch our drinks, which isn’t necessary, but again, Jason is a great guy. Although it doesn’t start with a p, nice is really the best word to describe him. Kimberly tags along after him and Torie is…uh-oh. She’s suddenly deep in conversation with a tall, well-dressed guy who reminds me of a young Pierce Brosnan.

  This is bad on two scores. First off, I can tell by the way Torie is acting that she’s into this guy, which is a bad sign for Jason. Plus, Torie’s desertion effectively leaves me alone with Amy.

  “So, back to you and this Nick. Long-distance relationships are all about putting in the effort,” Amy says.

  I have to bite my tongue to keep from making a nasty comment. “Sounds like you have some experience with that,” I say instead.

  Amy puts on her serious face. “Relationships have to be watered and nurtured.”

  “Don’t forget the occasional dose of fertilizer,” I joke.

  Amy places her hand over my arm. “I’m serious, Emma, I don’t want to see you hurt.” She lowers her voice, which makes me lean in closer to hear her because it’s so loud in the bar. “When I first moved down here, I was still involved with this guy back in Boston. But it was hard trying to make it work without the daily interaction.”

  “Thank God for unlimited cell-phone plans,” I say in a chirpy voice.

  “I found out Pete—that’s his name—was seeing this girl behind my back.”

  “And Skype. Let’s not forget about Skype!”

  As if she isn’t hearing me, Amy goes on. “She was a paralegal who worked at his new firm. Pete swore it didn’t mean anything…and even though I was crazy over the moon about him, I still broke it off. I could never trust him after that.”

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Amy’s eyes are tearing up.

  Honestly. I’m just speechless. Does Amy really think she is being helpful?

  Jason comes back with our drinks, which is Amy’s cue to ignore me. She begins flirting outrageously with Jason, demanding to know why podiatrists are so “anti-heel.” As if Jason were blind or hadn’t noticed before, she points out her sexy shoes by lifting one foot in the air and giving a saucy twist of her ankle.

  Jason laughs and tells Amy that he personally is not against women wearing heels, but as a health care professional who specializes in feet, he’s very concerned about her arches. He catches my eye and winks as if to tell me that Amy is full of shit and he can see straight through her. Jason is looking very nice tonight. He’s wearing jeans and a white oxford shirt. He also looks like he’s been working out. I know I told you he’s not superhandsome, but in my mind’s eye I can’t help but see him as having a certain appeal.

  Torie interrupts our conversation to lead me away to introduce me to the guy she’s been talking to. His name is Kurt and he’s a medical sales rep.

  “Emma, keep Kurt company while I slip off to the restroom,” she says, giving me the check-this-guy-out-and-tell-me-what-you-think look.

  Kurt and I make the most of our time alone with some perfunctory small talk. He must sense that in talking to me he’s undergoing some sort of test because I can tell he’s trying hard to make me like him. I feel like Torie’s gatekeeper. How Torie can get a guy she’s just met all worked up like this…well, all I can say is that I’m glad I don’t have this effect on men. It just seems like too much responsibility.

  After Kurt and I have exhausted every possible topic we can think of in under fifteen minutes, Torie comes back and I give her a discreet shrug. I know she’s waiting for some other kind of sign from me but I honestly don’t know what to tell her. I glance around the bar and see Jason staring at us. Or rather, staring at Torie and Kurt. He is smiling at something Amy says but his eyes look sad. Poor Jason.

  Kurt offers to buy Torie a drink. He offers to buy me one too, but I politely decline.

  “So what do you think?” Torie asks the second Kurt leaves to go to the bar.

  “He’s okay, I guess.”

  “Just okay? Emma, he’s gorgeous!”

  “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind, so what do you care what I think?”

  Torie looks stung. “You’re my best friend. Of course I care what you think.”

  “He’s too good-looking.”

  “That’s impossible. You can never be too good-looking.”

  “What do you want, Torie? A trophy boyfriend or a guy who’s in it for the long haul? Because, you know, we’re not getting any younger.”

  “Talk about trophy boyfriends! I’m not the one who’s dating Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handcuffs.”

  “I thought you liked Nick.”

  “I do like him.” Her shoulders sag. “So, what are we arguing about?”

  Torie is right. I have no business giving her a hard time. Just because I think Jason is the perfect guy for her doesn’t mean she should feel the same way.

  “Nothing,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  “So be happy for me!”

  “I am happy for you.” I give her a hug to show her I mean it. If this is what Torie wants, then I’m going to have to put my own feelings aside and support her. Because that’s what friends do. Right?

  Kurt comes back with Torie’s drink and I leave them alone to be happy with each other. Kimberly says good-bye to everyone and makes a hasty exit. One of her clients is hosting a 5K marathon fund-raiser tomorrow morning and Kimberly is working the event bright and early. Kimberly puts in even more hours at work than Torie does, which is saying a lot. At this rate, she’s going to take over the Yeager Agency.

  Torie is now in full-frontal flirtation attack with Kurt and I am left to do…nothing.

  Relationships have to be watered and nurtured.

  Amy’s advice is almost laughable. Except she has a point. If a girl who looks like Amy can get cheated on, then what can a girl who looks like me expect?

  I try to block that thought from my head. Nick is not the type of guy who would cheat on his girlfriend. I know this because he’s so sensitive about the whole cheating issue. Still, what am I doing here at Captain Pete’s? What is the use of having a boyfriend if I’m not spending my free time with him?

  I squeeze Torie’s arm and tell her I’ll call her tomorrow.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “I’m perfect.”

  At least I will be in exactly three and a half hours because that’s how long it will take me to drive to Catfish Cove.

  This is crazy. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning and I have no overnight bag, no toothbrush, and no plan. Unless you call jumping into the car with the clothes on my back to make a two-hundred-plus-mile booty call a plan.

  Nick’s house is dark and quiet. He keeps a spare key under the backdoor mat. I use the key and turn on the kitchen light. An empty Louie’s pizza box sits on the counter. Nick ate an entire pizza by himself? I gues
s that’s possible, but not likely. Nick is too health-conscious. He works out daily and watches his carbs the way I probably should, but don’t.

  I tiptoe down the hall and open the door to Nick’s bedroom. My vision adjusts to the darkness. The only noise in the room is the whirl of the ceiling fan and Nick’s lone steady breathing.

  I feel like a stalker.

  What am I doing?

  I am not checking up on Nick. I am not the suspicious type. I am not—

  Nick sits straight up in bed. “What the…” He flips on his nightstand light. “Emma?” He runs a palm down his face trying to wake himself up. “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”

  I am suddenly overcome with a myriad of emotions. Shame, for thinking that Nick might have been cheating on me (because let’s face it, ever since Amy brought up that little nugget, it’s been sitting in my brain refusing to vacate). Relief, because he isn’t. Anger, for letting Amy get to me. And a horrible wave of shyness because I have absolutely no idea what to do or say right now.

  “I…I just wanted to see you tonight. So I drove up.” Does this sound as pathetic to Nick as it does to me?

  Apparently not, because Nick’s face slowly splits into a smile. “Come here,” he says, his voice still husky with sleep. He turns back the covers and pats what I have now come to consider “my side” of the bed. I slip off my shoes and slide in next to him and he wraps me up in his arms.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” he asks softly.

  “I missed you,” I squeak. “Is this okay? I mean, I don’t want to invade your privacy or anything.”

  “My privacy?” Nick laughs. “Yeah, this is okay.”

  A few hours later I wake up, covered in sweat. The ceiling fan is on but it’s unbearably hot. I slip into one of Nick’s T-shirts and check the thermostat.

  “I think your air is busted,” I tell him.

  “Crappy old house,” Nick says with affection. He gets out of bed and we raid the refrigerator. Between us, we eat a pint of vanilla ice cream and the rest of the Louie’s pizza, which Nick had wrapped up in aluminum foil and stored in the fridge, to save for later (I told you he would have never eaten an entire pizza by himself). Afterward, he takes my hand and leads me onto the dock.

  “What are we doing?” I ask.

  “I know a surefire way to cool off.” Nick yanks down his boxers.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope,” he says, right before slipping into the lake. Nick splashes water onto the dock and it hits my calves. It’s hot and muggy, typical weather for late June in Florida, but the water is cool.

  “Come on, Emma, it feels good in here.”

  I glance around. The house to the right is dark, but there are a few scattered lights along the shoreline and I’m nervous that someone will hear us, or worse—

  “No one’s going to see us,” Nick says, reading my mind. “It’s too dark.”

  “Are there snakes in there?”

  Nick laughs. “Just one. But you don’t have to be afraid of it.”

  I really don’t want to get into the lake when I can’t see what’s swimming around me, but Nick seems so playful and I don’t want to ruin what has turned out to be a terrific night, so I try not to act self-conscious when I strip out of my T-shirt and ease myself into the water.

  I’ll be honest. I’ve never skinny-dipped before. But Nick is right. It does feel good. The water is only waist-high, so Nick takes me out to where it’s deeper, reaching to the tops of his shoulders. But I can’t touch the bottom without my nose going under, so I hold on to him to keep my head above water and he starts to kiss me.

  I already told you that Nick is an excellent kisser, so within a very short while I’m panting. I wrap my legs around his waist and it feels completely natural when he slides inside me. Until I realize that we’re out here in the middle of the lake without a condom.

  I immediately start to pull away.

  “Don’t,” Nick says. His hands are on my bottom, urging me back.

  “But—”

  “Emma, baby…you have no idea how much I want you.”

  This is as close to my fantasy of having a guy tell me he’s dying to sleep with me as I’m ever going to get.

  “It’ll be all right,” says Nick. “I promise.”

  He sounds as if he’s in pain. I’m in pain too, but my mind is working faster than my body and it’s telling me this is probably not a smart thing to do. First off, making love in a lake is unhygienic, not to mention—

  “You’re just so pretty, Emma,” Nick whispers in my ear.

  My first thought is that despite the fact we just had sex a few hours ago, Nick must be pretty darn horny to come up with a whopper like that just to get laid. But as he’s gazing into my eyes I can tell he really means this and this is what pushes me over the edge.

  Nick could not have said anything else that would have convinced me to take a chance like this. His words are like a balm to my still-wounded female pride. How is it that I can’t get Amy’s ugly friend remark out of my head? I don’t think any guy has ever made me feel so wanted, so desirable. I tighten my legs around his waist and Nick makes me forget everything except the two of us.

  chapter fifteen

  For the first time in three years I don’t bring in the Krispy Kremes.

  “What happened?” Lisa wails.

  “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “Forgot?” says Richard. “What are you, pregnant?”

  In reality, Richard did not say that last part. What he really said was: “Forgot? How could you forget?” I’d like to remind Richard that he has conveniently forgotten how I saved his life last week by bringing him chicken soup and cold medicine. The ingrate.

  Jackie eyes me like a wolf seeing her first lamb of the spring. I definitely think she’s back on diet pills. She told me last week she wants to look “smashing” in her bathing suit for her housewarming party, which is also a pool party.

  Great. Me and my extra-two-pound butt can’t wait for that.

  The truth is I forgot to buy the donuts because I have a lot on my mind. Namely what I am now calling “The Otis Lake Incident.”

  This is the text message I got this morning from Nick:

  I know you’re still worried about Friday night. STOP IT.

  Saturday morning before I left Catfish Cove (or rather, snuck out of Catfish Cove so that my moms wouldn’t know I was in town) Nick and I had a long talk. I told him we could absolutely positively never ever have sex again without a condom until I’m safely on the pill, and he agreed. I stayed up last night searching the Internet for articles on fertility, starting with a Google search for, “What are the chances of getting pregnant if you don’t use a condom.” Boy. What a mistake that was. It led to all sorts of articles about STDs, which led to more articles about other stuff I don’t even want to think about.

  I know all this worrying is probably for nothing, but I cannot help myself. I’ve been this way ever since the first time I had sex.

  Let me tell you about that.

  I was twenty-one years old and the oldest virgin left on the U of F campus (no lie). Alex and I had been dating for six months and I was crazy about him. He was a math geek. I was into stuff like poetry and literature, but despite the fact we didn’t speak each other’s “language,” we totally got each other. He could quote old movies and wasn’t into the party scene. He also wore his hair kind of long at a time when shaggy hair wasn’t in and I loved that about him.

  Before our “big” night, I got on the pill for a two-month cycle, even though I was supposedly safe after just one month (because you never know). I also used a diaphragm (terribly messy and uncomfortable), plus I made Alex wear a condom. He was a virgin too and the whole thing from start to finish took less time than it took for me to get my diaphragm in correctly. Eventually I relaxed enough to not put in the diaphragm. But I always made him wear the condom because the double protection made me feel better (plus we discovered that it made Alex last
longer and that was an added bonus).

  I looked up Alex the other day on Facebook and requested to be his friend. He’s married and lives on Sanibel Island, where he retired last year after making it big in the stock market (who makes it big in the stock market nowadays?). Anyway, I’m really happy for him. I really hope he doesn’t have to wear a condom anymore.

  My cell phone pings. I have another text from Nick.

  Babe, everything is going to work out the way it’s supposed to.

  The way it’s supposed to?

  What does that mean?

  Nick is always so confident. Why couldn’t he have said something more reassuring, like:

  Relax. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that you could have gotten pregnant from one time. Trust me on this. I am a cop and we know these things.

  Or:

  Emma, I probably should have told you this when we started dating, but the doctors have told me my sperm count is nonexistent.

  Not that I want that for Nick, but I need strong, confident, nothing-is-going-to-happen Nick. Not wishy-washy-Hare-Krishna-tambourine-thumping Nick.

  It’s like he’s almost hoping something will happen. Is it any wonder that donuts are the last thing on my mind?

  Everyone is still grumbling about the lack of donuts when Ben walks in. I haven’t seen him since Wednesday, before he left for Vegas. He’s gotten a haircut. He’s also wearing a suit again.

  “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. How was the bachelor party?” asks Richard.

  I really hope this is not man code for did you get laid?

  Not surprisingly, Ben is mum on the Vegas specifics, but after some more grilling from Richard we all discover that he won a thousand bucks playing blackjack.

  “No way,” says Richard. “How did you do it?”

  Ben says that it’s more skill than luck and tries to explain his method to Richard, which sounds a little complicated but at the same time logical. After a couple of minutes of repeating the same thing over and over and Richard asking him to repeat it yet again, Ben gives up and starts the meeting. He does not bring up the missing donuts and for this I am grateful.