by T Gephart
God, he was sweet. Listening intently as I retold the whole sordid affair. He didn’t even raise a brow when I got to the my-boyfriend-was-also-my boss part.
“So he dumped you and then fired you?” he clarified, the lack of sugar-coating reinforcing what an idiot I’d been.
“Yeah, efficient wasn’t he?” The stark realization made me feel even more stupid. How could I have been so naïve?
I expected him to echo my thoughts. To ask how someone who had supposedly been careful most of her life would wind up making such an epic mistake like dating her boss. But it didn’t come. No judgmental stares. Nothing. He just waited patiently as I slowly killed any chance I had of sleeping with the fine specimen of man that lay beneath me. Yet another reason to be depressed. Surely my mouth spewing every thought and feeling I’d ever had should have been devastating enough.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” His hand lightly brushed my cheek. Awesome, now I was pathetic as well. It really could get worse.
“No,” I almost shouted, my head shaking so hard I wasn’t sure my brain wasn’t getting scrambled. “You can’t be sorry. You’re the hot guy, I don’t want the hot guy to pity me.”
If the floor could have swallowed me whole at that very moment, I would have been eternally grateful. Guess what? It didn’t—and I had to live with my mortification some more. Not only had I word vomited my life story to the hot guy, but I’d actually called him the hot guy. Never ask if it could get worse, inevitably it will.
“Rusty, my name is Rusty.”
He looked amused rather than pissed, his ever-present smile widening. The reminder of his name wasn’t necessary; it like the rest of him had been permanently burned into my brain.
“God, you are so perfect. How is it that you are so cool about everything? You’re like a fantasy.”
“I’m the hot guy. It’s my job to be the fantasy, isn’t it?”
No words. Which is actually why I was staring at him opened mouthed wondering if I hadn’t hallucinated the whole experience. It wouldn’t have surprised me; it’s not like any of this made sense. Me being with him, like this.
“Where did you come from?” My hand gently stroked his face, mesmerized.
“Do you mean evolution or were you looking for a genealogical explanation?”
Oh God, he was smart too. Awesome, so he actually was perfect which could only mean bad things. I’d had perfect not so long ago and it all came crashing down around me. Perfect and I did not have a good track record.
“Hey, you zoning out on me? We still haven’t talked about me yet.” He waved a hand in front of my face; further confirming this was no dream.
There were conversations I never would have had with anyone, yet with him, it seemed like nothing was off limits. I didn’t even try to hide the fact that I’d seen him around the neighborhood for over a year and had never worked up the courage to say hello.
The words should have been cringe-worthy, they certainly sounded that way in my head. But as my mouth opened and they spilled from my lips, they weren’t. Perhaps it was the alcohol or maybe it was something else, but strangely I felt like I could tell him anything.
“I’ve seen you around. We tend to go to similar places. Maybe I enjoyed the view a little more than I should.”
“Really? Well, there you go.”
He didn’t even question me further. Just like that. Oh, you’ve been spying on me through the bread aisle at Whole Foods? Cool. That’s not weird at all. Which is why I guess I decided to make it weird.
“You’ve never noticed me, huh? I’m pretty good at lurking. I’m not surprised.”
See? Making it weird. It’s a talent.
“Oh, you didn’t tell me you were lurking, now the story is getting more interesting. I hope I made it worth your while.” He didn’t miss a beat.
Was there anything that would ruffle this guy’s feathers? Even just a little bit, so I wouldn’t feel like a bumbling idiot near him. Judging by the way the night had progressed so far, I guessed there wasn’t.
“Enough of me, let’s talk about you. You’re in a band?” Great; that was a nice segue. Perhaps I wouldn’t totally stumble my way through this conversation.
“I am in a band.” His face beamed with pride like a little boy showing off his shiny new toy. “I play guitar and sing back up vocals. I help with the song writing as well.”
“Like a famous band? Would I know who you are?”
“If you have to ask, then no,” he laughed.
We were supposed to have sex, and I was going to feel good about it. That was my plan and the reason I went home with him in the first place. He wasn’t supposed to be charming. But charming was exactly what he was—and funny, and intelligent, and witty, and gorgeous. He was all the things. The guy’s resume was packed full of so many adjectives I wasn’t sure he was human. Perhaps I shouldn’t have tossed away my earlier assessment of him being a robot so quickly. He was most definitely one of a kind.
“That explains a lot.” I laughed as I positioned myself beside him. “The girls, the self assurance. I should have known you were in a band.” My arms wrapped around his body.
“Nah, the band has very little to do with my ego. I was hugged a lot as a kid. My parents believed that I was a genius, and I figured the least I could do was put on a good show. My mouth can usually talk myself in or out of trouble so I had that going for me too, the audience was there long before I had a guitar in my hand. I wasn’t shy in welcoming the attention.”
“Nice. So that’s my problem. I wasn’t hugged enough.” I elbowed him playfully loving the lighter tone of our conversation.
“Nah, you just need more attention. I highly advocate it. Oh, and to see my band as well. If nothing else to feed my ego a little more. The hot guy wants to graduate to the famous hot guy. You wouldn’t want to deny me, would you?”
“Okay so I need more attention and to see your band. My roadmap for success is assured.” I giggled as I threw my head back into the pillow, its warm, cushioned surface not nearly as comfortable as being with Rusty.
“You also need to stay with me tonight. I really like the sound of your laugh, something tells me it’s been awhile.” His words were so smooth and liquid, I would have agreed to much more than spending the night.
“I’ll stay.” I agreed with very little resistance. “There’s actually no place I’d rather be right now.” My mouth volunteered information it didn’t need to be spilling.
“I’m glad you feel that way.” He hugged me closer, possibly to make up for the ones I’d missed. Either way, I wasn’t complaining. “Now let’s talk about more about you.” His fingers teased at my hips. “We need to compile your list of awesome. Along with your laugh, I feel it’s been lacking.”
“It will be a very short list.”
“Bullshit. It’s just hiding under the surface. You’ve got plenty of awesome.”
***
As my eyes opened to sunlight, I knew at some point I had fallen asleep. That hadn’t been part of the plan. I imagined I’d eventually succumb to dreamland but hopefully after more kissing. Possibly hot sex?
Instead, I woke up still wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
In his bed.
Alone.
No, sweet, sweet loving had been had.
Just talking and a lot of laughing.
As he held me the entire night.
I’d never felt more naked in all my life.
Relief should have been the emotion that swept over me, the fact that I was saved from doing something I might have regretted. Or not. Even in the clear light of day, I can’t be sure I would have.
Last night would have been the perfect opportunity to do that something reckless, totally justifiable. Your ex-boyfriend—who up until two weeks ago was sharing a bed with you—announcing his engagement was a good reason in my book. The fling totally acceptable, and yet to my utter disappointment, it didn’t happen. I wasn’t entirely sure why.
&
nbsp; For the first time in forever someone had wanted to know about me, and maybe that was more important than sex. I hated that even when I didn’t need to be, I was so practical. It wasn’t a virtue I was fond of this morning.
Maybe I should have been relieved that he left. Not having to do the morning after dance where I pretend I didn’t make a fool of myself and treat him like a therapy session. Yet neither of these levels of relief were what I felt. Instead, I felt—loss.
I was lost.
In addition to my feelings of unparalleled sadness—if I stared at the rumpled sheets any longer I was probably going to cry—I was also not home. Which luckily for me wasn’t far. See, there obviously had been a purpose to his proximity of living so close. Sadly, not the purpose I’d hoped.
Ugh! I needed to get out of here and into the safety of my bubble. Possibly to never venture out again. It was too soon to tell.
My shoes weren’t far, right where I’d left them when I’d kicked them off beside the bed, which was handy. Meant I could get out and get gone a lot sooner than later. No reason to prolong the inevitable, considering I had no idea where Rusty had gone and when he’d be back. Perhaps that was my superpower—making guys disappear.
Poof! Gone.
My record stood at two for two.
So, with shoes on my feet and my dress straightened, I walked back to the living room—my purse still tossed on the coffee table right beside the shirt I’d been so insistent he remove. Yep, if only I’d stuck to that.
It was while I was mentally shaking myself and commiserating my loss that I noticed a note sitting neatly on top of my purse. A small inoffensive square, demanding attention.
Alison,
Your boyfriend was an idiot. You’re better than that. Had to leave and didn’t want to wake you. Figured you needed the sleep. Lock the door on your way out.
Rusty
P.S. Don’t rob me. :-)
P.P.S If you do rob me, please leave the red Stratocaster. It’s my fave.
Ok so now I definitely wanted to cry. He was even sweet in the rejection. The note notably absent of an I-had-a-great-time or let’s-see-each-other-again, I had secretly hoped to see. Not even a phone number and a cheesy call me featured. And yet, his brush off had been just as kind as he had been. The memory of his arms around me still fresh in my mind as the empty rattled around my body.
So with my emotions more messy than when I walked into Rusty’s apartment, I left, taking with me the note which I reread no less than fifteen times on my short walk home.
P.A.T.H.E.T.I.C.
It was in my apartment that I finally broke down and cried. I mean really cried. So much so that my body was doing a full convulsive heave like my bones had disintegrated under my skin and I was just a body bag of emotions. I know, so attractive. Ugly crying. It was my only agenda. Hard, fully committed tears streamed down my face as I took stock of where I was now.
The job I’d busted my ass for was toast. To have to turn around and start over somewhere new was soul destroying. Once again, I’d be the new girl, once again having to earn my place, once again having to prove my worth. And I guess that’s what it all came down to really. That since my birth I’d had to prove I was better than the life I’d been born into. I had to fight for every advantage and I just didn’t know if I had it in me to keep going.
Did I want to do this for the rest of my life? I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be a paralegal; it just was something I thought would give me job security. Lawyers are always going to need help and crime wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Hell, just on my mother’s business alone I’d be set. But was it what I wanted? Who even remembered when the last time was I even thought about what I wanted. All I knew was I had no job and very little savings and there was no way I could ask my grandparents for help. It was bad enough they still supported my mother. I couldn’t burden them any more than they already were. What was I going to do? I was completely out of ideas.
So rather than compile a plan, I curled up and let the tears and fatigue take me. The solutions would have to wait a few hours; right now misery unfortunately had the spotlight.
“That was some crazy chick you left with last night.” Joey twirled his stick while we waited on Max to lay down his bass track. “I bet she was all kinds of freaky in between the sheets.”
It wasn’t a surprise that my sudden exit from the bar would be the topic of conversation. We—Joey, Max and I—had been shooting the breeze with some rather friendly ladies when Alison had shown up. The mouth action that happened soon after hadn’t been private. Not that I cared either way.
“Rus, you hooking up with crazy girls again? You really should try regular girls for a change.” Angie, our talented and ballsy front woman who’d also known me the longest, usually had something to say. Today was no exception.
“Sure, Angie, let’s talk about dating regular people. That husband of yours, he’s real picket-fence material.”
It was an easy comeback. Jason Irwin, aka Mr. Angie, was not only the keyboard player for Power Station—the band we’d been touring with—but also the same dude who’d left her crying and broken hearted ten years earlier. As far as baggage went, the two of them pretty much cornered the market. Not that it stopped the two lovebirds from building a bridge-over-troubled-water. A few months later the knot was tied and boom the chick that used to be shaking her ass all over the stage was now doing it with a waddle.
“Oh shut up, like I would ever date, let alone marry, someone who was going to build me a picket fence.” She tossed a guitar pick my way; the grin she was wearing telling me she knew I was right.
“So, you going to tell us what the story is with her?” Max joined in the parade. “That was a pretty sweet pick-up she was working.”
Part of me was impressed they’d waited until now to bring it up. We’d been in the studio for the best part of the day recording and re-recording the same damn song. I can only assume frustration was the motivator for the impromptu inquisition.
“You guys really that bored? If there were a story, I wouldn’t be sharing. You know I’m more mysterious than that.”
Kissing and telling wasn’t my thing. For one, I was more a doer than a talker. Preferring to spend my time actually being with a lady rather than sitting around telling my buddies about the size of her tits.
Secondly, I had no interest in sharing. Nope. What the hell for? I wasn’t writing a thesis on all the pussy I’d enjoyed, so everyone else could either do their own research or get their rocks off with porn. My lips were staying zipped. My need to not share was especially strong on the subject of Alison. The reasons still not clear as to why.
“Fine, asshole. Keep your mystery. Not like anything went down with us. With fucking Phil on the couch I’m going to be rocking blue balls for a while.”
“He’ll be gone soon, stop being a whiny bitch about it.”
Joey was still moaning about their uninvited houseguest, with Max still defending his wayward brother. Angie and I wisely kept out of the conversation, the whole none-of-our-business being the reason for the silent treatment.
Last night had been different in more ways than one. Sure, I’ve had girls who have gotten back to my pad and suddenly decided they wanted to cuddle rather than fuck. Their nerve obviously getting lost between the bar and the bed, but with her it wasn’t the loss of nerve that was the problem; it was like it would have been a genuinely bad decision.
Maybe I’ve been soaking up too many of Angie’s pregnancy hormones—I took one of her prenatal vitamins by accident a few days ago—but as much as I wanted to get naked with Alison, I wanted her to just be okay more. She seemed like she needed a friend and I was more than happy to play that part, sadly my balls weren’t on the same page and I had been rocking a hard-on from hell all night.
Which is why I decided to bail this morning before she woke up. Not my most gentlemanly moment—I’ll agree, but a hell of a lot more polite than a big ass erection greeting her good morning. It
was a compromise and one I’d hoped she’d understand. Or not.
Who knew if we’d even see each other again, numbers hadn’t been exchanged with no talk of catching up, so maybe her and I were just a bump in the road. I wasn’t entirely pleased at the prospect.
“Rus, you good? We’re going to loop it over again.” Angie’s guitar rang out solo as my rhythm section looked on, my mental vacation catching everyone’s attention.
“Uh-oh. Rusty’s daydreaming. Can only mean bad things.” Joey tapped restlessly on the snare. “Crazy girl must have been pret-ty impressive.”
“Hey, we don’t know she’s crazy.” Max grinned as he too weighed in. “Maybe she was foreign and her kissing Rus was her version of a handshake.”
“Dude, he was totally gargling her tongue, that wasn’t a fucking handshake.” Joey bucked out a laugh. I could see this was going to be the source of their entertainment for a while.
“You guys done now? Last time I checked we had a song to lay down, or if you’d prefer we can forget that we have an album to release and get in touch with our inner Oprah. I’m cool either way.”
It wasn’t like me to get pissed-off—especially not over a girl, but last night hadn’t been just about her. It was nice to talk. Most girls weren’t interested past whether my dick or my mouth was going to get them off, and for a really long time I was cool with that. But, someone actually being interested in me felt kinda nice. I really need to check the label on those prenatals, see if they weren’t some jacked-up estrogen supplement. Would explain a lot.
“Hey guys, let’s take five. I need to pee anyway.” Angie called time out on any further debate. Pulling me with her as we moved out of the booth, the we-need-to-talk look I assumed had nothing to do with her bladder.
“Listen, Ange, you know I love you, but I’m not helping you pee. You’ve got a man who signed up for that now. Pretty sure he’d have something to say about it too.” I followed her through the narrow corridor to the small courtyard outside.
“You know this isn’t about me or my bathroom habits.” She sat on an old plastic lawn chair, her eyes staying on me as I planted my ass on the one opposite.