by Julie Kriss
“It was pretty good, I guess,” Evie allowed, swallowing her toast. “We really did toilet paper his place, didn’t we?”
“Your idea,” I pointed out.
She bit her lip. “And we let the air out of his tires, and I really did call him at three a.m. and make porn moans into his answering machine. Right?”
“Also your idea.” A pretty funny one, in my opinion.
“And now I have to work with him.”
“Not if you call in sick. Or quit.”
“I can’t do that. You don’t understand anything, do you?” She was probably right about that. I’d understood the girl who did shots and made porn moans into the phone, but I wasn’t sure I understood this version of Evie, wild-eyed and panicked like someone might brand an A on her forehead. “Right,” she said to herself. “I’ve got this under control. I really do.” She checked the clock on her phone. “Speaking of which, I’m almost late.”
“You can’t go to work yet,” I said. “I can see your boobs.”
“What?” She stared down at herself in alarm, as if she’d actually been topless this whole time and never noticed.
“I mean that you have no bra on,” I said. I pointed. “They’re, like, right there.” And fuck, I wished I could look at them. But I kept that to myself. This is Evie. She’s nice. Be nice.
“Shit,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, though it was a bit late for that. “I have to be at work in twenty minutes. What do I do?”
“Hold on.” I went to my closet and, way in the back, found a jean jacket that used to be Andrew’s. Andrew wasn’t as small as Evie, but he was a little smaller than me. “Here,” I said, bringing it out to her.
“Thank God for casual Friday,” she said, putting it on. Now her boobs were covered, and she looked sexy and badass. Red hair, jeans, boots, Harley shirt, jean jacket. Jesus Christ. “Is it awful?” she asked me.
“No,” I said, staring. I cleared my throat. “Not awful.” Pull yourself together, Mason. “Do you need a ride?” She didn’t have her car here, because we’d taken Uber everywhere last night.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I gotta go.”
“Make sure you tell Bank Boy how good I was,” I said as she rushed to the door. She glared back at me, and I put my palms a foot apart, like a measurement. “This big, okay? I can send you a dirty text if you want.”
“Are you always like this?” she asked.
“It’s a condition,” I said. “My big dick drains all the blood from my brain.”
But she’d slammed the door behind her, and she was already gone.
Ten
Evie
Everyone stared when I walked in to work.
Everyone.
I felt my cheeks burning as I booted up my computer and logged in while someone unlocked the front doors. “What is it?” I murmured to Dar, who was sitting in the cubicle next to me. She had on a pressed button-down shirt and khaki pants. “Do I look that bad?”
“Bad?” she said, staring me up and down. “Evie, you look hot. I mean, hot.”
“Stop it,” I hissed. “I do not.”
“You do,” Dar said. “This is casual Friday at a whole new level. James in Customer Relations just about choked on his muffin when you walked by. And the guy fixing the photocopier has a hard-on.”
I looked down at myself. “It’s just a t-shirt and a jean jacket.”
“Sweetie, this is a bank. I’m dressed daringly, and these are Dockers.”
It didn’t take me long to realize she was right. I could see it in people’s faces. Male customers gave me a goggle-eyed glazed look; female customers just looked at me wide eyed, like What the hell? I had been afraid that everyone would know this was a walk of shame outfit: no makeup, no bra, man’s t-shirt and jean jacket, last night’s jeans and boots, hair fixed by some guy’s comb. Instead, I seemed to give off a rock star I-don’t-care attitude, like I was Pat Benatar in a 1980s video.
Or like I was Old Evie.
The Evie from high school, and that crazy first year of college, had worn a walk of shame outfit more than once. She’d slipped home at four a.m., her panties long gone from under her skirt. She’d lied about going to friends’ houses and snuck off to parties instead. She’d come home with her hair smelling of hairspray and cigarette smoke, her breath smelling of vodka and bad decisions. She’d snuck a trip to the doctor’s for birth control, and another trip to the drug store for condoms—which her mother had found, one disastrous morning, under the bed while she was cleaning.
Old Evie had been fun, but she’d gone too far, too. Done genuinely stupid things. One of the things that New Evie understood, now that those days were gone, was that trying some drug you didn’t understand, or giving a guy a blow job in a closet on a dare, were not things you did when you had confidence and self-esteem. They weren’t the way you gained, them, either. They were things you did when a tiny voice inside you, buried deep but never entirely silent, quietly told you to hate yourself. And when you banished that voice, you didn’t do those things anymore.
Last night hadn’t been like that. I hadn’t heard that old voice, that I’d left behind for so long. I’d stayed in the realm of fun, without crossing the line into stupid. And Nick had something to do with that. Nick seemed to know instinctively where that line was.
But it was still far, far too close to Old Evie for comfort.
This is not me, I thought frantically as I served customers, trying to act casual and totally unsexy. I am not this woman. I am not. I sat unnaturally still, so my nipples would stop rubbing against Nick’s t-shirt beneath the jean jacket. I work at a bank. This is normal. Everything is under control.
At eleven my phone vibrated in my purse, and between customers I surreptitiously checked it, keeping the phone under my desk so no one could see. It was a text from Nick. Without thinking, I tapped it.
Dear God.
Too late, I remembered his words: I’ll send you a dirty text if you want. I didn’t know he meant it.
He’d sent me a selfie. He was lying on his sofa, with Scout tucked under his arm. He was shirtless, holding the phone’s camera above him, looking up into the lens. I’d seen that amazing chest and stomach a few hours ago, and I stared now, just as stupefied as I’d been then. The look in his eyes was mischievous and filthy. His free hand was hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging it down. Just a little. Just… a… little…
Last night was fucking awesome, he’d written. Thinking of you, babe.
I stared at that photo, my nipples hard under the jacket again. And there was a minute, a long aching minute, when I wished all of it was real.
That I’d gone out with Nick last night and we’d had fun, and then wild, dirty sex.
That I was wearing this walk of shame outfit because I’d spent the night having orgasm after filthy orgasm.
That he was texting me now because he was thinking of me, and not because he was faking. And when I finished work, I’d go back to his place yet again, and pull off my shirt, and pull down his sweatpants like he was doing now, and then we’d—
“Jesus, Evie, for fuck’s sake.”
I jumped and slammed the phone down onto my thigh. “What?”
Josh was standing next to my cubicle, looking over my shoulder. He was wearing Dockers and a navy blue flannel shirt for Casual Friday. He had bruises under his eyes, like a raccoon, from where Nick had punched him. His eyebrows were lowered, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at me, livid. “Dirty texts at work?” he said. “From him?”
That made me scowl, even though the dirty text was supposed to be for his benefit. “You didn’t have to look over my shoulder, you know. Which makes it none of your business.”
He didn’t budge. “We need to talk. In private.”
Reluctantly, I stood and walked with my cheating ex-boyfriend down the hallway to the lunch room. I’d always thought Josh was good-looking, and except for the bruises, he was as good-looking as ever. But now
I could barely look at him. I kept a good eight inches away from him, out of the zone of any possible touching, as if we were two magnets pointed the wrong way. People stared at us as we walked down the hall, and I felt my stomach churn.
There was no one in the lunch room, thank God. Once we were through the door, I broke away from him, putting space between us as I opened one of the cupboards and took out a tea bag from my work stash. “So?” I said, trying not to let my voice shake. “What do you want?”
“Last night,” Josh said, his voice accusing. “What the hell were you doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, putting water in my mug.
“Toilet papering my place? Calling me to make disgusting noises?” He sounded angry, but I kept my back turned so I wouldn’t have to look at him. Still, he railed on. “I was late for work because of those stupid tires. You went to some party with Nick Mason, and now he’s naked on your phone. Evie, I warned you about him.”
It had worked then, our little jealousy scheme. “Yeah, you did warn me,” I said to Josh, shoving my mug in the microwave so hard the water sloshed. “I heard you.”
“I mean, what is going on?” he said, still behind me because I wouldn’t look at him. This lovely, uptight rant was making my hangover headache pound in my temples. “This isn’t you. Gina thinks you’re doing this just to get back at me, and I think she’s right.”
That made me turn around. “I do not,” I said, my voice low and more dangerous than I’d ever heard it, “give a shit what Gina thinks. Is that clear?”
Josh looked startled, but he shook his head. “I’m sorry about what happened,” he said. “I already said that. But Evie, there’s no reason to go around putting on an act—”
“Maybe it isn’t an act.” The microwave beeped, and I turned around and yanked my mug from it, throwing my tea bag into the hot water. I had no lunch with me, so this would basically be my sustenance for the day, as gross as it was. “Maybe this is the way I am. You just never saw it.”
“Evie, come on. We dated for four months. I know you pretty well.”
I thought about the girl who’d been so eager to go out with him, so happy she’d been picked. It had been a sign, I was sure, that I was putting my past behind me. That I was finally worth something. I thought about that now—only four months ago—and it made me feel faintly sick. Why had I thought that? That a clean-cut guy, a nice boyfriend, would change who I was for the better? How completely deluded had I been?
“No,” I said to Josh. “I don’t think you know me at all.”
He was watching me, his expression hard to read past the bruises on his face. But it looked a little like disdain. And I wanted to use my newfound fighting skills and punch that expression right off him.
“Evie, come on,” he said. “Get real.” Like he knew everything. Every fucking thing.
“This is real,” I said. “You saw that text. I am…” I forced the words out. “I am sleeping with Nick Mason. What do you think of that?”
Technically, it was true. We’d slept. Quite comfortably. Me, and Nick, and Nick’s gorgeous butt in his boxer briefs. And the other parts I’d felt when I’d jumped on him this morning. Because when I was in bed with a hot bad boy, that’s what I did. I slept, because I was too chicken to do what I wanted.
“Since when?” Josh snapped, his cheekbones going red with anger.
Oh, now I had him. “Since that first night,” I lied, inspired. “When I left with him. And every night since. We can’t keep our hands off each other. We’re in bed all the time. I have so many orgasms I can barely stand it.”
“So that’s it?” Josh said. “You just jumped into bed with some dirtbag? You think you’re that kind of girl?”
The hypocrisy of it—the absolute, utter hypocrisy of Josh disapproving of my fictional sex life after cheating on me—made me gape at him for a second. I always knew there was a double standard, but I’d never seen it this close. “What kind of girl do you mean?” I said. “Sexy? A girl who likes hot guys? A girl who picks her own sex partners? A girl with spark?”
“I hope you don’t think he’s marriage material,” Josh said. “Ask any of the girls he’s dumped. He’s the farthest thing from it. You’re fooling yourself, Evie.”
“I am not looking for marriage material!” I shouted. Dimly, I thought that everyone in the office could probably hear us. But I couldn’t bring myself to care.
“Are you kidding?” Josh shot back. “It’s written all over you. I had to meet your mother the first week. We were practically picking out venues and rings. I had to go looking just so I could feel alive again. And the next day you meet Mason, and now you come to work dressed like a slut.”
That was when I threw the tea cup at him, and watched the hot water splash all over the wall.
Eleven
Evie
They sent me home. Take some personal time, my manager said. Take next week off. Rethink things, Evie, before you come back.
It was said like they cared, but I knew what it was—a warning. I was almost-fired. Get your shit together, or don’t come back. That was the message.
They didn’t send Josh home.
Tears burned behind my eyes. I swallowed them. I went home to my apartment, stripped my clothes off, and took a long, hot shower. Then I put on a cami and a pair of boxer shorts and crawled into bed. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling and thinking.
You fucked it up, Evie. Again.
This was exactly like the first time I’d screwed up my life. The first two times, actually. The first was when I’d crashed and burned in high school, failing so many classes that I had to go to summer school my final two years to barely scrape by. The second time was when my mother had scrimped and saved to send me to college, and I’d promptly flunked out after two semesters. Yeah, that was my stellar past.
I had no college degree, no nothing. After the second flame-out, I’d worked a menial job in a bakery for three years, getting up at four a.m. to bake before the place opened at six. It didn’t matter that I actually liked baking—it wasn’t a career job. It was minimum wage and demeaning. Other people my age were doing things, traveling, getting degrees, finding partners, putting their lives together, and I’d just baked while striking out with boyfriend after boyfriend. Worse, I’d thrown my mother’s hard-earned money down the drain, and I’d probably disappointed my dad from the grave, too. If there was a poster girl for going nowhere fast, I was her.
The bank job had changed that. It had been my big break, when they took a chance on me. Nice people, regular hours, high heels, more money. Possible promotion, even. And then, once I started working there, I’d met Josh, and he’d changed it, too. A good job and a good boyfriend—the new, improved me thought I’d finally been on track.
Now I’d lost both. The boyfriend, for sure, and I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that if I still had my job, it wouldn’t be for long.
My expenses weren’t high, but my savings were meager, and if I was unemployed, they wouldn’t last long. I wouldn’t even be able to afford my shared apartment after a few months. Maybe I could clean up my act, go back to the bank, beg them for forgiveness. But then I’d be back to working with Josh every day.
Maybe I could swallow my pride, my self-worth, and do it. Maybe I should, even though I’d have to see Josh all the time. Maybe even with Gina. Would I see him with Gina?
They weren’t very discreet, Dar had said.
I frowned at the ceiling. That still didn’t sit quite right. I’d worked at the bank for months, and I’d never seen Gina there. How were Josh and Gina not very discreet?
Then, Josh. Don’t say anything at work. And his little freak out. Who told? What did they say?
I’d thought it strange that he was worried about our coworkers knowing about Gina, especially if he wasn’t discreet in the first place.
Unless… it wasn’t Gina he was worried about.
A dark, creeping suspicion made its way up my spine.<
br />
Still lying on my back, I picked up my phone and called Dar’s cell phone.
“Hey,” she said, her voice hushed. “Hold on.” I heard shuffling, then the familiar squeak of the women’s room door at the bank. Every woman who needed a private conversation, away from management, used that women’s room. “Okay,” Dar said, her tone more normal now. “Jeez, Evie, I heard what happened. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m all right,” I said, though I didn’t really think I was. “I just lost my temper, you know? It’s for the best that they sent me home for a few days. I don’t think I can work with Josh right now.”
“I totally don’t blame you,” Dar said. “This fucking sucks. If it’s any consolation, I think he’s an idiot to lose you over her.”
“Thanks,” I said. It wasn’t much of a compliment, considering Dar had known Josh was cheating on me for God knew how long, but hadn’t seen fit to tell me. Still, I’d called her for a reason. “Can you just tell me one thing? Then I won’t suck you into my drama anymore.”
“Sure,” she said, though she didn’t sound sure at all.
“Just tell me how they met.”
She sighed. “I think it was around Valentine’s Day. You remember when we had those paper hearts up everywhere, and a cake for all the customers?”
“Yeah,” I said as the air slowly closed off in my throat. “I remember.”
“Well, all I know is that Gail sent Alison to pick up the cake, and Josh went with her. And they were gone for two hours. It was so strange, everyone had started talking about it, but when they came back they acted all casual, even though everyone knew. And after that, it got out through the grapevine that they were seeing each other, so I knew I guessed right.”