Operation One Night Stand

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I’ve been incredibly lucky and have had so many wonderful days over the course of my career and I’ve been surrounded by some of the most amazing people.
Honestly, a writer’s journey is never easy, but I’ll take a bad day as a writer over a good day doing anything else—especially when my corner is filled with so much support and love.

I never could have had the courage to start writing had it not been for the unwavering support of my other half.
He is my sounding board, my shoulder, my rock.
I love you with all my heart, even if you think all the stories in my head are about you.
As for my two amazing little people—one day I’ll let you read these books.
Until then, we’ll keep looking for your stories.

To my family, I love you all so much.
Thank you for everything.
I would not be where I am without you.
Mom—I’m sorry you had to find out your daughter had such a bad mouth.
Who knew?
Dad—thank you for always asking how the writing’s going and what I’m working on.
Your interest is so appreciated.
Nana—ahh, Super G.
You are the best grandma anyone could ever ask for.
Now if you’d only make me some arancinis…

Michelle Johnson would be anyone’s dream agent.
I knew I fell into a pool of awesome when she took me on as a client.
And the fact that she encourages snarky, NSFW storyline ideas?
She is the Pinot to my Grigio.
And I am ever grateful to her.

I have to thank Megha Parekh for her enthusiasm for OPERATION ONE NIGHT STAND.
She scooped up this story so fast it made my head spin.
I am so happy OONS found a home at Forever Romance.
I’d also like to thank Dana Hamilton for her notes and suggestions during the editorial process.
Next time I’m in the city, I owe both of you some cocktails.

Kitty Kat has always been the first to finish reading anything I’ve written.
I hope one day to be the first to finish a book you write.

I need to thank Leslie Write, my original writing boo.
I feel like you and I have traveled this road together over the past few years.
I couldn’t ask for a better travel mate.

Many thanks to my writing journal, Sarah Carr.
Your notes and comments helped me write a better story.
I love trading story ideas and swapping chapters even if we do disagree on who makes the best coffee.
Thank you so much.
H@JJ!

Thank you to my bitches, Tina and Jodi.
I love that you two have come into my life.
Who knew I’d ever be part of a trio of cocktail mixers, rimmers, and gigglers?
Don’t ever stop reminding me to take notes.
Even if they don’t make sense the next day.

Miss Autumn Wrought.
I’m sorry I wore the arsehole hat for so long; I figured you needed some snark.
Looks like I was right.
Thank you for agreeing to be my beta—still not sure if I am sharing you.
And don’t worry, I’ll break your heart again.

To my friends and fans who’ve stuck with me through this journey, thank you so much.
Your support has not gone unnoticed.
I appreciate every single one of you and only hope that I continue to produce work that you enjoy.
And if you ever see me out and about—amaretto and ginger is my drink.

I
had commandeered the sofa.
The beautiful, butter-yellow sofa Sarah had purchased when she first moved to her amazingly spacious two-bedroom apartment almost three years ago now probably had a permanent imprint of my ass.
The cushions had become a wasteland overflowing with wads of snotty tissues, and creamy brown stains from my new, aptly named addiction—Pint of Tears—smeared the arm.
My trusty sidekick, Mr.
Bibbles, a childhood stuffed thing—I wasn’t sure anymore if he ever really was a bear—lay oddly contorted at my side.

For five years, Steven and I dated.
Lived together.
Worked together.
Dreamed together.
That was before it all went to shit.
That was before I found him in
my
bed with Betsy the Intern.
That was before he figured it was okay to forget about the fact that he was my fiancé.
That was before I found myself homeless, refusing to ask my parents for help.
I showed up with nothing but a suitcase full of crap—and Mr.
Bibbles—at Sarah’s door.
I didn’t even have to ask.
Within twenty-four hours, my room was decorated, my bed was made, and I was moved in.

For the past six weeks, I’d lived with Sarah.
My best friend, my trusty confidant, and, probably, the only person on earth who’d have put up with my shit for as long as she has.
Besides the other third of our trio, Mel.
My nightly crying fits, my refusal to leave the house for anything other than work, and my newly minted status as Ice Cream Dreams’s most valuable customer wore on my friends.

Every day on the way home from work, before I planted my growing ass on the once beautiful sofa and cried, I stopped at a tiny little ice cream shop called Ice Cream Dreams.
They pride themselves on making any ice cream concoction to fit any mood.
The first day I walked in, the girl behind the counter took one look at me and Pint of Tears was born.
Chocolate on chocolate mixed with chocolate, gummy bears, marshmallow, and peanut butter.
It became their best-selling ice cream flavor of the fall.
Probably because of me.

Me and my ever-growing, ice-cream-eating, tear-shedding, sofa-arm-smearing ass.

I would silently curse Sarah as she invited me out every Friday.
Every Saturday.
I would inwardly cringe at the ten pounds I’d gained—while simultaneously thanking my speedy metabolism that it wasn’t more—as I watched from my perch on her butter-yellow sofa while she left for the gym with yoga mat in hand.

All I needed was a spoon, a pint, and a remote control.

My new life.

Sucked.

I’d taken to sitting on the couch and watching every single depressing break-up movie ever filmed.
Multiple times.
From black-and-whites, animated, Ryan Gosling, Jack and Rose to addictions, affairs, Ryan Gosling, Jack and Rose.
Oh, and by the way, Rose, I call bullshit.
Jack would have pulled your ass from the frozen waters of the Atlantic and shared some space on that door or whatever the hell you were floating on.
Then again, maybe you knew something we didn’t.
Maybe he deserved an icy, watery grave.
Maybe you were on to something.
Men.

Fuck ’em.

Sideways.

One particular Friday night, I was in the middle of another round of “Which Movie Is More Depressing?”
(
When a Man Loves a Woman
was winning, by the way) when I heard Sarah’s key in the lock.
At the time, I wasn’t fazed.
We’d gotten into a routine.
She’d come home from her date or the gym or dinner out with friends, ask me how I was, ask me if I needed anything, and, when I said no, she’d say good night and go to bed.
Once in a while she’d sit on the couch with me, eat out of her own pint of Support System (yeah, another flavor), and watch me as I worked on my ugly crying face.
I was pretty sure it was the ugliest crying face ever.
I was giving that actress from
Homeland
a run for her ugly crying face money.
Which is weird, because without the ugly crying face, she’s beautiful.
She never would have let Jack sink to the icy depths.

Then again, better to sink than live with the daily heartbreak of a roaming dick.

Instead, Sarah walked in with backup.
Melody stormed into the room, ripped off my blanket, and threw Mr.
Bibbles across the room.
Sarah calmly walked over, grabbed my ice cream and spoon, and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“What the hell?”
I shrank into the sofa.

“This is an intervention.”

“Mel, you threw my bear!”

“Screw your bear, Caroline.
Enough is enough.
So Steven cheated on you.
That doesn’t mean you have to become an ice cream swilling hermit!
What the hell happened to you?”

“You are a hot mess, doll face,” Sarah quipped as she pulled a new pack of baby wipes from her purse and began wiping the chocolate off my face.
Maybe I was.

“I’ll see your hot mess and raise you a walking disaster.
At least that’s what she’ll be if this shit keeps up.”

“Leave me alone.
And don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
I tried to retreat as far into the corner of the sofa as I could.
Unfortunately, the more I squished in, the more tissues squished out.

Sarah hung up her coat before sitting on the coffee table across from me.
“Sweetie, we know you’re hurting.
But it’s time to move on.
You’re still working with him, you’re reminded every day of what happened.
No wonder you’re stuck.
You need to get up, get out, and find a new job.
Move past this.”

“How am I supposed to move past anything?
I see Steven every single day.
It’s not like I can magically unsee him.”
I fingered the engagement ring I wore around my neck as fresh tears spilled over.
I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.
Unfortunately, Steven still worked at the law firm, so I couldn’t escape him.
Who was I kidding?
His daddy
was
the law firm.

“I know it’s hard.
I can’t imagine having to see the two of them day after day,” Sarah said, reminding me that Betsy and her welcoming vagina worked there, too.

“Every day I walk in and try to keep my head high but I keep running into her stink eye.
She won’t stop fucking staring at me.”
Sarah dodged my wild hand gestures.
“Like I’m the one who ruined
her
life by walking in on them.”
Melody held the box of tissues and I yanked a bunch out and wiped my face.
“Not to mention that everyone knows Steven and I broke up.
Like anyone in the office needed anything else to gossip about.”

“Fuck them.
They’re a bunch of middle-aged leeches who aren’t happy unless someone else in unhappy.
And fuck her.
Punch her in the face,” Melody suggested.
“She’s just mad she can’t fuck the boss’s son anymore.”

“Right.
I know they’re still boning like they’re the last two people on earth.”
I blew my nose.
“Probably still doing it in the bed Steven and I bought when we moved in together.”
I could no longer breathe through my nose.
“I bet they have sex in the office, too.”

Fuck them both.

“I am sure they are not having sex in the office.”
Sarah laughed as Melody pursed her lips and checked out her fingernails.

“You think they’re having sex in the office?”
I asked her.

“Of course she doesn’t.
Right Mel?”
Mel didn’t answer, so Sarah threw a pillow at her.
“Right?”

“I don’t think it matters if they are still boning.”

“Of course it matters!
He begs for my forgiveness every single day.
‘Oh, Caroline, forgive me.’
‘I love you so much.’
‘She means nothing.’”
It made my skin crawl.
“Bahhh.
I want him to shut up.
Just shut up!”

“Well, that’s something,” Melody piped up.

“What?”
I asked.

“Mad.
Mad is better than what you’ve been doing.”

“And what have I been doing, Melody?
I mean besides mourning the loss of a five-year relationship with my fiancé who cheated on me?
Besides walking into a work every day and having people actually stop talking the second I come within earshot?
Turning it over and over in my head, trying to figure out what
I
did wrong when I know Steven made the decision to cheat, not me?”
I stood and threw my tissues.
“How should I be dealing with it, Mel?
Tell me.
I’d love to take advice from a bed hopper who wouldn’t know a relationship if it kicked her in the twat.”
Immediately my hands flew to my mouth.

“Nice.”
Melody smirked and Sarah gasped.

“I’m sorry.
So sorry.
I don’t know what—”

“Stop.
It’s fine.
I kind of like the sass.”
Mel winked.
“Glad to see you fired up over something other than ice cream and Leonardo DiCaprio’s icy death.”

“Rose should have made room,” I mumbled.

“Holy shit.
Enough.
I will cancel cable if you don’t stop.”
Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Look, don’t be sorry.
Be brave.
Be strong.
Be happy.
Be amazing.
Don’t be sorry.”
Melody handed me another tissue.

“Exactly.
You need to get up, get out, and meet some people.”

“People.”
Melody waved Sarah off.
“Pssh.
She means men.
You need to meet some men.
You need to get your lady parts ready”—Mel grabbed her crotch—“and give them some love.”

“My lady parts are fine the way they are.”

“Shriveled up?”

“They are not shriveled up.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

“What does that matter?”

“The fact that you answered my question with that question tells me ‘too long.’
You need to get out and meet someone.”

I dropped my head between my knees.
“What if I can’t?
What if no one else wants me?”

Sarah dropped onto the couch next to me and rubbed my back while Melody headed toward the back of the apartment.
In that moment I knew I had hit rock bottom and there was nowhere for me to go but up.
But up to where?
What or who would be waiting for me at the top of whatever?

The answers were sitting next to me rubbing my back and walking back into the living room, bathroom garbage can in hand.

“Look,” Melody began as she placed the garbage can on the coffee table and sat next to it, “you’re beautiful, talented, and smart.
Who wouldn’t want you?
I mean, shit, you’re only twenty-eight years old and the world is your oyster!
You’ve had, what?
Two, maybe three, boyfriends in your life?
How many one night stands?
How many nights of just fun?
How many nights that were all about you and what you want?
Now isn’t the time to wonder who will want you, now is the time to take what you want.”

“I’ve never had a one night stand.”
I crinkled my nose in mock disgust to mask the embarrassing lack of experience in that department.
In truth, it had always been something I was too nervous to do, something other people did.
I was a “relationship girl.”
Always with a boyfriend.

“Now is the time for you to live your life.
Start over.”

“With a one night stand?”

“Sure.
Why not?”
Sarah asked.

“That’s just not what I do.”
I shook my head.

“You need to do something.
Tell Steven to fuck off.
Put the damn ring away.”
I clutched it and Sarah rolled her eyes.
“I don’t mean get rid of it—”

“I say sell it,” Melody added.

“What I mean is take it off, put it away.
Kick up your heels.
Step out of the shadow Steven kept you in.
Christ, Care.”
Sarah threw her arms up in frustration.
“I need wine.
Anyone else need wine?”