Complicated Girl (9 page)

He continues, “In case you’re not reading between the lines, what I’m saying is that I haven’t been with anyone since my breakup, two years ago.”

“Do you mean you haven’t been with the same hookup twice in a row since then?”

His dark brown eyes lock on mine. “I’m being honest with you. I don’t know what came over me the first night I met you. That’s not what I’m like, but you painted me as this wild player character, and I liked how that felt. Right up until you saw the truth, the real me. I ran out of there like the coward I am.”

“You’re not a coward.”

He leans in toward me, until our foreheads are touching. I’m aware of the noise around us in the pub, but none of it matters. We’re in our own private bubble.

“Of course I’m a coward,” he says. “But you’ve already seen that in me, so I’ve got nowhere to go but up. You think I’m terrible in bed. Your opinion of me can’t get any worse, so what have I got to lose?”

His words sink in, and a darkness rises within me. “You want to sleep with me because you’ve got nothing to lose? Because it can’t get any worse?” My voice is cold, like a parking meter in the dead of winter. “Thanks a lot.”

Our foreheads are still touching, and he looks down at my lips like he’s thinking about kissing me again.

I put my hands on his shoulders and push him away. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to take Feather’s advice and stay away from your bed.”

“Are you saying that if it wasn’t for her, you’d be in my bed tonight?”

“That’s a paradox, because if it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have met.”

He settles back on his chair, stretching his broad shoulders out just enough to make his shirt taut and give me a little nipple visibility.
That tease.

“I beg to differ,” he says confidently. “We’re meeting right now. A week ago, our regular pool hall closed down, so this is our first night here. How often are you here on a Friday?”

“Even if I am here on Fridays, you wouldn’t have come over to talk to a girl who looks like me. Not unless you needed directions to the men’s room.”

“Wrong again. You’re beautiful, Meenie, and you’re just my type.”

“Your type?”

“Complicated.”

His words settle on me like a heavy-carb-pasta inertia. I’m finding it hard to breathe. He called me beautiful. He’s drunk, but still.
Beautiful
.

“Let’s get a cab somewhere,” he says, his voice low and seductive. “We’ll go dancing, or get coffee, or find a bowling alley. Let’s do something.”

My mouth starts to move, to say
sure, I’d like to get coffee
, but then he says, “We won’t tell Feather.”

His final words crush me. I push my chair back and get to my feet. The room swirls, but my recent tumble and this conversation have sobered me up.

“Forget it,” I spit at him. “I’m not your dirty little hookup secret.”

I turn on my heel and march away from the table.

He doesn’t run after me, which confirms I’m making the right decision.

I stop off at the bar and settle the bill, paying for everything that went to our table. This takes a few minutes, and still Drew doesn’t try to stop me.

With my head held high, I push the big wooden door open and step outside. The air is crisp and colder than expected.

It’s September now, and even though we’re only a few days in, August feels like a pale shadow, like a photo of yourself from yesterday, before you endured today’s humiliations.

I’m still feeling blue when I open Gardenia Flowers on Saturday morning. The
bluest
blue. I’ve got the blues, and like the song says, these blues cut me to the bone.

I put an all-blues playlist on the stereo and stand inside the walk-in flower cooler to clear my thoughts.

Last night’s debacle with Drew keeps playing on repeat in my head. I really wanted to go home with him, and have some of that mediocre-to-terrible sex he was offering. It would have been better than the zero sex I’ve been getting.

What I did do, after I left the pub, was stop by the grocery store and buy half a roasted chicken and three kinds of chips, plus dip. My sister has a sweet tooth and goes on candy binges when she needs a mood boost. Me, I hit the savory aisle.

Even though I’d eaten dinner at the pub, the walk back home burned off enough calories to justify a second dinner at home. I sat on the floor in the kitchen and shared the chicken with Muffin. I got the plain kind, with no seasonings, on account of him.

This doesn’t paint me in the most flattering light, but I’ll be honest. I did sob and blubber to Muffin about him being “the only man who loves me, and that’s only because I have free range chicken.” Then I used his soft, orange fur to soak up my tears.

Because that is how future crazy cat ladies like me roll.

Now I’m standing inside a walk-in flower cooler with my face pressed against the interior glass, in an attempt to press down the puffy bags under my eyes.

I can see by the reaction of people walking into the shop that this is not the sight they were expecting.

With a heavy heart, I step out of the cooler and try to be as professional as I can, helping an excited young woman pick out wedding flowers. I do a decent job with the girl, considering I’ll never (cue the cat-fur-soaking sobs) know the joy of being a beautiful bride myself.

I get through the day with no meltdowns, and I’m feeling good by closing time. I worked the full shift today, so Tina could spend the weekend with Luca.

She phones me right at closing time, just to make sure I’ve got everything under control. Sometimes we get a flurry of orders right before closing, but today’s been quiet, so she doesn’t need to come in.

“Rory said she met your friend, Drew last night at O’Flannagan’s,” she says. “He sounds like a player. I’m worried about you, sis.”

I squeeze the phone in my hand, silently cursing Rory for tattling on me.

“I’m being a good girl. I didn’t sleep with him. I’m taking your advice, and Feather’s, and I’m staying away.”

“Good. That’s a relief.”

“Tina, how do you turn down guys? I thought I’d feel better today, but I feel horrible. Is it possible that Drew wants me for more than a booty call hookup? Like, if I’m really good at sex, do you think he’ll fall in love with me?”

“Are you joking? I can’t see your face over the phone.”

“Of course I’m joking.”
I wasn’t.
“I’d be pretty stupid if I thought a guy would fall in love with me because I’m good at sex, ha ha. Um. Ha.”

“Just hang in there. There’s someone for everyone.”

“That’s what pretty people say to ugly people.”

She laughs. “What are you talking about? We’re sisters, and we’re practically identical. How can you say I’m pretty and you’re ugly?”

“My nose is crooked and one of my eyes is higher than the other.”

“Meenie, love always makes us feel vulnerable and not good enough. I thought Luca was way out of my league. I still do. But he wants to be with me, so who knows. Maybe guys aren’t half as critical as we think they are.”

“But what do they want from us? Besides sex.”

“Most of them just want someone to be vulnerable with. There’s a lot of pressure on guys to be tough and rugged, and they all razz each other. Take Luca, for example. He was raised by his father, with no women around for most of his life. All those nice things that we girls do for each other, we take for granted. Guys aren’t like that, but they crave it. You know, I bought Luca some big socks, so he could wear one over his cast and keep his toes warm now that it’s getting chilly. When I looked up at his face, he looked like he was going to get all emotional, or propose to me, or both.” She chuckles softly. “He’s a big sweetie.”

I snort. “I could buy someone socks.”

“Good. But stay away from this Drew guy. I don’t like him.”

I promise her I will stay away, and I end the call.

It’s five minutes past closing time, so I hit the lights, grab my jacket, and fly out the door to lock up.

I’ll still have to see Drew on Tuesday nights, if he keeps coming from group, but I’ll ignore him. Is his problem something to do with women? He did share with me that he’s recovering from a breakup that’s a few years old, but that only confirms that he’s looking for a rebound girl to pump and dump. It’s not going to be me.

I’ve got some checks to put in the mailbox, so I walk up Baker Street, toward the post office.

As I draw close to Sweet Caroline Antiques, I see a familiar person locking up the store’s door. It’s Duncan, his sandy brown surfer boy hair almost touching his shoulders. I haven’t seen him or talked to him since my failure of an apology on Wednesday.

The idea of talking to him again makes my throat feel tight, so I slow my pace and then stop, pretending to look in the window of the hardware store, at their collection of welcome mats.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as a fancy-looking silver car pulls up to the sidewalk in front of the antiques shop. Someone approaches me from the opposite side and taps my arm.

“I thought that was you,” Rory says. She joins me in looking in the hardware store window. “Are you buying a welcome mat?”

“Shush, no.” I jerk my head in Duncan’s direction, but in a small, subtle motion. “I’m spying on the owner of the antique shop.”

“Why?” Rory looks amused.

“Because it’s fun to spy on people.”

She shrugs, as if to say that’s a good enough reason for her. She stands next to me, leaning back enough to look past me, at Duncan.

“Oh. He’s really cute,” she says.

“He’s short.”

“I don’t care. I’m short.”

“Wait a minute, Rory. Back the train up. Did you just say that a guy was cute? A real, human being, not a movie star or magazine photo?”

“Shh.” Her golden brown eyes get wide with apprehension.

“He can’t hear us, I assure you.”

She keeps looking past me. “Figures. Of course he has a girlfriend.”

I turn my head and look. A girl is stepping out of the silver car. She’s got long, long legs, and she’s gorgeous. She walks over to Duncan and ruffles his hair with one hand.

“Wow. Go, Duncan,” I mutter.

“That’s a cute name. Duncan.”

“You think? Come on, I’ll introduce you to him.”

Rory’s eyes widen and her mouth puckers into a tiny rosebud. Before I can tell her I’m joking, she turns and does her Disappearing Girl act. I blink, and she’s gone.

I look back over at Duncan, who’s accepting a shopping bag from the beautiful long-legged girl. He pulls out something—a white pair of overalls like the kind house painters wear—and holds it up to himself, laughing.

They certainly are enjoying their little in-joke.

The two of them get back into the car, with the girl sliding into the driver’s side.

As they drive away, my spirits feel like a guttering candle flame. If a big-mouthed dunderhead like Duncan can pull a hot chick who looks like that and drives an expensive car, then the universe is most definitely not fair at all.

Maybe there is no grand plan for everyone, no happy ending waiting in the wings for those who have patience.

Maybe the key to life is to act like it’s a shopping spree and grab what you see.

I run my tongue over my teeth. I think I have a loose filling.

Maybe I should call a dentist.

Maybe I should go home, put on my sexiest underwear, and call a dentist.

In fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

My sister would not approve.

Back home, I monkey around with my teeth for about an hour. Is my filling loose? Or is it the whole tooth? It would be ridiculous for me to call Dr. Drew Morgan’s after-hours answering service with an “emergency” as minor as a slightly wiggly tooth.

So, I grab a pair of pliers and pop the filling right off. Technically, I guess it’s a cap, or an onlay, not a filling, because it fits around the tooth.

I lean over the bathroom counter and give myself a crooked grin. I look like a jack-o-lantern. This calls for a selfie! I take a picture and upload it as evidence of my real dental emergency, just in case I’m questioned later by… the dental authorities or whatever.

Ouch. Maybe pulling my dental cap off with a pair of pliers wasn’t a great idea. Now I’m looking at the grody little stump thing that should be inside the cap, and looking at it makes the stump hurt.