by T Gephart
Hayden,
There’s a 90’s night at Club Retro in Brooklyn on Friday. It will probably be too loud, filled with obnoxious twenty-year-olds wearing faded band T-shirts of artists they’ve never heard of. But if you want to join me and revisit when music was still good and complain about the current state of affairs, I’d like the company. No plaid wearing necessary.
Mack
It didn’t say half of what I wanted, but kept it casual enough so hopefully she’d say yes. Other than both being divorced and liking 90’s grunge, there wasn’t a lot I had to work with. And begging her for another date—despite wanting to—wasn’t the way to go either.
And the irony that I was inviting her to a club wasn’t lost on me. It wasn’t even an accident, a million other venues preferable. But I was hoping, if nothing else, it would prompt her to call me out. At the very least, open a dialog. And if I had to pick—gun to my head, make a decision—a club I’d want to spend time in, one with a decent playlist would be my first choice.
I stared at what I’d written, hitting send before I had a chance to change it. The circle beside her name was red, signaling she was offline. She might’ve been in the car driving home and would probably go right to bed. But hopefully in the next few days she’d flick open the app and see my message, and if not, well then I guess I’d be trolling Targets and looking like a creep.
Either way, I had to see her again.
And I was going to do everything in my power to make that happen.
Hayden
EVERY PART OF my body buzzed.
My hair was still damp, too tired to blow it dry after my shower, so I’d laid a towel over my pillow before climbing into bed. But it would be hours before I got any sleep. And I didn’t need the digital display of my phone clicking over minute by minute to know it was a fruitless exercise.
Mack was . . . amazing.
I think I’d used the word a million times since meeting him but hadn’t found a better substitution. I pictured his gorgeous smiling face beside the definition of it in the dictionary.
And yet . . . so unexpected.
When he looked at me it was like he saw something else, a different version of myself I didn’t know or hadn’t met. And he really liked that woman whoever she was.
Even when Cooper and I first met and we were screwing like rabbits, it hadn’t been as good. And anyone who came before—well, who even remembered. All I knew was he’d given me more orgasms in one night than I’d had in an entire decade. And wow, they had been better too.
He didn’t fumble around, trying to stick it in before I was ready. No, he took his time, touching me, kissing me, teasing me so when he eventually got to my clit all he’d have to do was blow and I’d unravel.
His ex-wife had to be an idiot.
Hell, if sex with Cooper had been halfway near that level, we’d probably still be married. And not just because he’d given me mind-blowing orgasms either, it was because he made me feel beautiful.
It was utterly absurd how many times he’d said it, that at first, I thought he was playing some kind of angle. A line, a ploy, a strategy—a way to get me naked and horizontal. Which I’m not even ashamed to admit, he probably didn’t need to bother.
I’d wanted a one-night stand.
Wanted random sex with a stranger without the tangle of feelings.
I wasn’t even fussy, willing to sleep with someone who wasn’t all that good-looking, that probably wouldn’t even remember my name after.
But . . .WOW, he was none of those things.
He was gorgeous, with a body that was insane and took a kid who didn’t have a family into his home. And then, if all of that wasn’t enough? He worshiped my body like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
I didn’t even care if it was a lie.
Completely okay to play along with the act, and willing to pretend to be the dumb idiot who fell for it. My lapse in intelligence would have totally been worth it, and my ego, well it was still reeling.
Mack would be the man I would forever use as a measuring stick, and it sucked that I highly doubted anyone else would even come close.
Damn it.
Why couldn’t I have met him later? Like after two or three meaningless hook-ups which were physically satisfying but didn’t keep me up at night. Why did he—of all the men on that dating site—have to be my one-night stand? Such a waste, and just another example of how much I sucked at dating. I was overthinking which is exactly the opposite of what I’d assumed decent sex would do. Fucked into mindlessness was clearly a myth, and oh, I think I pulled a muscle where my abs used to be.
So since sleep was impossible and my body was still sore, I got out of bed and switched on my computer. I had medical reports waiting for me to transcribe and figured the time would be better spent earning money than daydreaming about a man I wasn’t sure hadn’t been a fantasy.
With my headphones covering my ears, I lost myself to words, procedures and treatments I didn’t understand. My fingers automatically typing as I listened, my heart still beating too fast considering the subject matter.
It was only after I’d finished and emailed the reports that I’d noticed there was an alert sitting in my inbox, encouraging me to check my app for a message from Mack.
And I thought my heart was beating fast before.
My fingers twitched, hesitating for only a second before I grabbed my phone and logged into my account. And there, flashing like my overactive hormones, was Mack’s name, the unread note sent only ten minutes after I’d slipped out.
Was he glad I’d left, relieved I’d spared us the awkwardness when we woke up together? Or angry I’d snuck out without saying goodbye? Maybe he was busy cataloguing his belongings, checking to see I hadn’t taken something on my way out.
Gah, I needed to put myself out of my misery and just look. Because I was fooling no one pretending I wasn’t desperate to see what he’d said.
What?
An invitation?
He didn’t mention our date, the sex, or me leaving—nothing to even connect us to the night we’d had. It was like it hadn’t existed, asking me to go to a music night in a club in Brooklyn.
What the hell?
Did he want to sleep with me again? Or was he trying to be my friend? It was confusing, mostly because I had no idea what it even meant.
It was weird, mostly because I couldn’t work out if I was glad or disappointed that he hadn’t asked why I’d gone. And also, because as much as I knew it wasn’t a good idea to see Mack again, I was actually considering it.
Not smart, Hayden.
It would make more sense to find some other guy, go out and maybe try and get lucky again. I’d more than deserved a few fun nights without any attachments, past caring if anyone thought that made me a whore.
I couldn’t decide, torn between the curiosity of untangling the mystery—and wanting to see him again—and saving myself the possible humiliation. What if I’d read the situation all wrong? What if he hadn’t worshiped me, hadn’t thought I was beautiful, and it had been so long that I didn’t know the difference. Then that memory and the fantasy would be gone forever.
It was such a risk.
And one I wasn’t sure I was willing to take.
“I’m sorry but that bag of potato chips was a dollar, not two ninety-nine.” She tapped her foot impatiently, watching every item I scanned with laser-like focus.
“Ma’am, someone must have left them on the table with the discounted candy. As you can see there are no other potato chips on there.” I tried to smile. Smile and pretend I didn’t want to shove that bag of potato chips down her throat.
Oh, I knew it wasn’t very customer service of me, wishing they’d just see the reason instead of arguing over a buck and some change. But just like the chances of me picking the winning combination for Powerball, it wasn’t happening.
“Ma’am,” she glared at me, hands planted on her hips to go with the foot tap. “I don’t think
I like your tone. And if the ticket says they’re a dollar, then that’s what I’m paying.”
One.
Two.
Three.
“I’m sorry if my tone offended you.” I laced it with as much sweetness as I could stand. “But the ticket is advertising candy, so you’ll have to pay the scanned price.”
If there was a way for a person’s head to explode, we’d be mopping brain matter off the floor.
She glanced down at my name badge, her lips disappearing into a thin line. “Hayden, I’d like to speak with your manager.”
“Of course, ma’am.” I couldn’t help myself, tossing that little dig over my shoulder as I picked up the microphone for the intercom. “I’ll just get her. Penny, please report to register five.”
She glared at me. Not Penny, my manager who had yet to arrive, but one-dollar-chip lady who was mentally leaving a bad review.
Bad attitude with a tone I didn’t like. Wouldn’t give me my shit at a discount just because I was an argumentative bitch. One star. I was shaking in my tan khakis just at the thought.
It had already been a long day; my lack of sleep had already made me cranky as did the tightness in my muscles. I wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and marathon sex was probably best followed with Advil and a few physical therapy visits. I was also contemplating putting a bag of peas on my crotch, my poor neglected vagina reminding me I should get more limber before attempting to sleep with someone like Mack again.
I bet he wasn’t even sore.
Rolled out of bed like he’d taken a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood, wondering why his sheets had been so sweaty.
Ignoring the scene that was happening to the side of my register, I continued checking people out for the last thirty minutes of my shift. It was only when I got to my locker that Penny caught up to me.
I really hoped she didn’t want to talk to me in her office. She was new to the store so I didn’t know her well, and while she was friendly and we got along great, it was always hard being reprimanded by someone who was ten years younger.
“Hey, Hayden, you have a minute?” Her blonde—salon dyed and glossy, unlike mine—hair bounced. “My office, please.”
Here we go.
There was no point prolonging it. If Penny, or anyone else, needed to yell at me to make their life easier, then I was going to just let it happen. I was too tired to fight it.
I grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, as I followed her into the small back room. Penny waited at the door, closing it behind us as she directed me to take a seat.
She took a seat opposite me, nodding her head like she wanted an explanation.
“Look, there’s no way those chips were a dollar. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d put them there herself. But if you want to write me up or give me some kind of warning, then it’s fine.”
It was the best I could do, hoping we could move it along so I could go home and soak my fatigued body in some Epsom salts and essential oils. I didn’t even care how pathetic that made me sound.
Penny opened her mouth and laughed, smacking her hand on the desk, making me jump. “Are you kidding me? That bitch was batshit crazy. Hell, if it wouldn’t get me a phone call from corporate I’d have told her how psycho she was being.”
“I’m sorry?” I leaned forward, wondering where the polished professional who managed the store was, and when she was getting to my “disappointing” behavior.
“Hayden, I’d never say it on the floor, but some of these people yell at us just to make themselves feel better. They have their small lives and sad existences, just looking for anyone to tear down. Easier to yell at someone about three-dollar potato chips than tell their mother to stay out of her marriage. Or tell their wives if they have to spend another long weekend with that couple they met on the cruise they’re going to set fire to the garden shed. They’re terrible, the evilness eating them alive while they smile for trying to make you feel bad. So no, that tight-ass bitch did not get a discount, and if she calls corporate to complain then that shit will rain down on me. Sometimes you got to say fuck it.”
“Not really used to saying fuck it in the workplace if I’m being honest,” I laughed, slightly worried one of those Alexa Dots was recording the conversation to later be played back to HR.
“Oh, it’s totally not acceptable. Out there.” She pointed to the door. “In here, let it fly. You’ve been with the company for ages; I’m surprised you’re not the one sitting in this chair.”
She had a point, and it was honestly something I’d considered. But retail was always supposed to be something temporary, a job not a career. Of course I could never decide what I wanted to do and with only half my college credits completed and no degree, I didn’t have a lot of choices.
“Yeah, not sure I want the responsibility.” I grimaced, the memory of why I’d been summoned to her office still fresh in my mind. “I think I’ll leave the headaches to you and I’ll just come in, do the job and leave without the drama.”
Penny nodded, either agreeing with me or willing to let it go. “Sure, I can see that. But if you change your mind, let me know. It would be good to have some decent people who actually have a brain in management.”
“Well, if having a brain is the only criteria, I might have to reconsider. And thanks for the vote of confidence,” I chuckled, taking the compliment and not overanalyzing it.
It was new. Accepting praise and not looking for some ulterior motive. Previously if someone said anything complimentary, I’d immediately assume they were being sarcastic or disingenuous. Out of all my habits, it was probably the hardest to break. Not to say I was comfortable with it. Lord, I wanted nothing more than to tell her exactly why I wasn’t very smart, but I didn’t, shutting my mouth and letting her live in her fantasy that I was.
Just like I’d done with Mack.
Mack.
“Well, if that smile is anything to go by, I’d say you’ve got some plans you want to get to,” Penny chuckled. “Go. Go have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“No plans actually.” I pushed away all thoughts of the hot fireman and his cryptic message. “Not unless you count curling up in front of the T.V. and binge watching some new diet docuseries on Netflix. I think I’ve watched about six. Paleo, vegan, more fat, less fat, more meat, plant-based—I think I’ve effectively ruled out food entirely.” Just like accepting the praise, being honest was something new. Before the divorce I’d have smiled, not bothering to correct her. But if I was trying new things, then it seemed like a good place to start.
Penny gasped, screwing her face up in horror, “Oh, you need to stop that right now. Nothing good ever came of those T.V. shows. You need to hang out with me and my friends, we’ll set you right.”
She had to be kidding.
While I’d never outright asked her age—because who even does that—she couldn’t be more than thirty. Maybe thirty-one with an amazing skincare regimen. Why Penny and her friends would want to hang out with me was a mystery.
So, unless they had a quota—a vacant spot in their crew for a charity case—I wasn’t exactly sure where she was going with it. “You want me to hang out?” I asked, wondering if I’d heard her correctly.
“Sure, why not?” She responded like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Words of how crazy it was were ready in my throat. Everything about how much older I was, to her being my boss—all valid excuses. But I didn’t.
“Thanks, I’d like that.” I nodded, standing up from my seat. “Well, I should go. Thanks for the chat.”
“Don’t mention it. Have a good night, Hayden.” She waved as I left her office.
I was still tired, still perplexed about what to do about Mack, but somehow felt lighter. Amazing how something so small could make me feel so good. And I fully intended to go, promising to push myself out of my comfort zone and make new friends. Let’s face it, my old ones had made it very clear they’d sided with Cooper. So a clean slate was def
initely the way to go.
The wind blew as I stepped outside the store, the chill in the air getting colder even though winter would soon be over. I was lucky it wasn’t still snowing, thankful there was no white covering the streets. I’d needed new snow tires and had put them off longer than was probably safe. But as I got to my car and hopped in, the cold, my lack of funds for new tires, and everything else kind of faded away.
Nope, my mind was somewhere else. Or more to the point, on someone else and the message I’d reread while sitting in my car waiting for the heater to kick in.
I hadn’t responded. Wanting nothing more than to see him again but worried about everything that went with it. And as I eased out of the parking lot, his words churned in my head over and over again, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to let him go.
Maybe it could be a two-night stand? That could be a thing, right?
Whether I turned up to that club on Saturday night or not, I was going to have to speak to him at least one more time.
Mack
NO RESPONSE.
I’d toyed with the idea of writing something else, being a little less casual in case I hadn’t made myself clear. But something in my gut was telling me to leave it, and it had nothing to do with looking desperate.
So I let it go, the ball in her court as I went about my day, my thoughts never straying too far.
She’d read the message. The notation underneath the bubble said she’d seen it, and that little dot near her name had gone green at least once while I was online.