“Not all women. And not on the first date,” I scoff.
Don’t get me wrong, I can go for a nice spanking. But this? Oh, hell no.
I can’t believe I’m sitting in a nice restaurant scolding a grown man. I sure know how to pick ‘em. On the eLove app, Tyler was perfectly normal. Wasn’t he?
Apparently, he hides his crazy until the first date.
“Yes, all women. It’s biological. Just like all men are predetermined to cheat,” he says.
This night is getting stranger and stranger by the minute.
“I do not believe all men cheat.”
Tyler laughs and rolls his blue eyes in a look of annoyance. “You’re wrong.”
I picture my parents. I know they have a dull marriage but I can’t see my dad stepping out on my mom. I just can’t. I refuse to believe this.
And who says something like that on a first date? He should be trying to set a good first impression. Shouldn’t he? Why is he telling me he’ll cheat on me if we were together?
Just in time to break up the tension at our table, the waitress brings over our martinis and seafood appetizer. I take this time to load up my plate and collect my scattered thoughts.
How should I handle this? Get up and leave? I’ve never done that before. Well, I did walk out on Clark but that was not a date.
“So … how many dates does it take you to have sex with someone?” Tyler asks.
Caught off guard, I spit out my drink across the table at him on accident. “Oh my gosh. I’m sorry.” I reach for napkins and try to dry up our table. Luckily, none of my spit made it on his dress shirt.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m going to guess not on the first date then?”
When I really think about it, I don’t know why I apologized to him. What kind of question is that? How many dates until I’ll have sex with him?
There will never be enough dates for me to decide to sleep with him. The early attraction I had for him is long gone. And to be honest, I have never had sex with anyone I met on eLove.
“I don’t think that’s an appropriate question to ask.”
“What about making out?” He picks up his drink. “I make out with every girl I go on a first date with.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh and roll my eyes. “Well, that’s not how this first date is going to end.”
“Then what’s in it for me?”
“Enjoying my company.” I shrug my shoulders.
Tyler makes some kind of noise under his breath. Clearly, that’s not good enough for him.
Before I can call it a night, he stands up from the table and declares he needs to use the restroom. I take this time to get out my phone and read over the conversations we’ve had online the last few days.
Perfectly normal.
I knew I wasn’t crazy.
When Tyler comes back to the table, he notices I was on the eLove app. It’s embarrassing to be caught reading over our messages but I am past the point of caring what this guy thinks of me.
“So what made you decide to go out with me?” he asks. I swear he just pushed out his chest. He’s fishing for attention.
“I’ve never been asked that on a date before.” I pause to contemplate how I want to answer.
Tyler doesn’t give me time to finish thinking. “That’s because you’ve never been on a date with a man like me before.” He winks.
“Well, that’s the truth,” I chuckle.
“You know? I thought you’d be thinner. Your pictures are a little misleading.”
Did I hear him correctly? I’m praying I need to clean out my ears. My pictures are exactly what I look like today. No filters or photoshopping.
A million comebacks flash through my mind. I want to lay into this guy about how he’s a narcissist who will never amount to anything, but I hold my tongue.
Instead, I stand up from the table, give him the middle finger, and walk out of the restaurant without looking back.
When I make it to the subway station, I let out a sigh of relief. That was the worst date I’ve ever been on. I’d rather go out with Sweaty John any day of the week than Hannibal Lecter.
Boarding the subway, I squeeze into a seat next to a middle-aged lady with a small child in her lap. I offer them a smile and get as comfortable as I can before we start moving.
Sitting across from me are two senior citizens. I watch as the gray haired man slips his hand into the woman’s. She smiles up at him before resting her head on his shoulder.
My heart melts at how disgustingly cute they are.
As much as I try to act like a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man, I realize that’s not true. Yes, I don’t need one. But I sure want one to share moments like this with. I’d love to have someone’s shoulder to rest my head on during a subway ride.
You aren’t going to end up like these two if you keep going out with guys like Tyler.
How did I end up on tonight’s date?
Oh yeah, I remember now. Clark pissed me off so I went home and searched through the eLove app until I found a “decent” man. Big mistake.
Tyler was an arrogant guy.
And so is Clark.
But why doesn’t it bother me when Clark says things out of line? When he pitched me sex?
He hasn’t bitten into my hand yet, but the thought of him doing that turns me on. Everything about him turns me on.
Because you have feelings for Clark. You want to be with Clark.
Well, shit. That’s not good.
If there’s one rule I know about having a fling, it’s you should never catch feelings for the other person. And that’s exactly what I’ve done.
Caught stupid feelings.
12
Incoming text message: Clark
You want me to fuck you, buddy?
Buddy? His immature text message makes me angry. After our night on the kitchen island, Clark waited days to reach out. To be honest, I didn’t reach out to him either. I didn’t know what to say.
Thanks for the orgasm in your kitchen.
Thanks for causing me to have insecurities.
Thanks for letting me walk out the door without you chasing after me.
Thanks for being such a douche, that I went on a date with a crazy biter.
His message does not deserve a response. The bell rings and my students take their seats. First hour, second hour, and third hour fly by without another thought of Clark. I’m much too busy making sure these teenagers learn all they need to get into top universities—or their parents will kill me.
It’s not until lunchtime rolls around that I’m left staring at my phone. I could just delete the text, block his number, and be done for good.
Before I can hit the button to erase it, Lauren and Grace storm into my classroom door.
“Spill the beans,” Lauren says, taking a seat in the front row.
Grace follows behind to take the seat next to her. “How big is his penis?”
“Oh my God!” I shriek. Did sweet, innocent Grace really just use the word penis? I’m mortified.
“Don’t play coy and ‘Oh my God’ us. Tell us what we want to know,” Lauren commands.
When did I enter an interrogation room with two cops?
“Neither of you tell me your sex stories. Why do I have to share mine?” I shoot them quizzical looks.
They’re both quiet for just a second, leaving me to believe I made my point.
“We are married. We don’t have sex,” Grace says.
“We need to live vicariously through you!” Lauren shouts, a little too excitedly. “Give us something … boxers or briefs? Come on.”
I glance at my watch, hoping that lunch will be over any minute, but I see they still have a good fifteen minutes to question me.
“Fine. I’ll give you a few details. First, boxers or briefs? That’s not even a good question to ask, but if you need to know, boxer briefs. His penis, and no one says the word penis, is massive. He had his way with me over the kitch
en island.”
Their jaws drop. They turn to face each other and shriek in excitement.
“Oh my God. He took her over the kitchen island!”
Lauren leans in closer to Grace. “And he has a massive dick!”
“You and Clark would be so cute!” Grace cheers and claps her hands. “And you’d have beautiful little babies. Oh, can we be bridesmaids in your wedding?”
“No, none of that is happening.”
They both roll their eyes. “Don’t say that! It could totally happen,” Lauren says.
“No.” I stand firm.
“Yes,” they both say.
“No.”
“Why are you so negative? You don’t want to be married?” Grace quizzes me.
My heart rate escalates. “Yes, I want to get married. No, that’s not going to happen with Clark.”
“And why not?” the two cops ask in unison.
I blurt out, “Because we are just friends with benefits. That’s it. He’s made that clear, and I agreed to it. I’ve already gone on a date with someone else.”
They fall silent. I can’t read their expressions. Pity, maybe? Oh great. Now I’m the girl being pitied for a stupid decision I don’t even want to be in.
Just then the school bell rings, lunch is over, and it’s time to get back to William Shakespeare. Lauren and Grace turn to me with fake smiles—hiding their disappointment.
“Alright, you two get out of here before the herd storms in,” I say.
They bolt out of my room and head to wherever they need to be—which is far, far away from me.
My fourth hour is taking a test that I quickly pass out. When they have their heads down quietly working like good students, I have time to sit and ruminate about what my next step will be with Clark.
The sign from Superman Jr. to reach out to him doesn’t apply anymore. That got me to agree to meet him once, not to continue with this sleazy arrangement.
Why can’t I have an even bigger sign from The Universe to tell me exactly what to do? A step-by-step guide.
Signs from above—I know just who to go to for help with that wacky shit.
Aunt Edie’s house—yellow on the outside with pops of colors splattered inside—was always one of my favorite places to visit as a kid. It was better than Disney World. She has trinkets from her travels on her walls, displayed in her cabinets and sculptures around the tiny home. Walking inside you’ll smell fresh-baked goods, and now as an adult I can recognize the scent of weed.
Because she is one hundred percent different from my mother, we’d very rarely visit. Edie is my mom’s older sister, a sister she pretends she doesn’t have because she’s the “black sheep” of the family—mom’s words, not mine. Never mine. I love my aunt Edie very much.
“You want some sexy tea?” Aunt Edie asks, thrusting a green tea mug at me.
I don’t ask her what “sexy tea” is because she may answer me, and I don’t want to hear her explain it.
“How’s Donny?” I ask, taking my first sip of what turns out to be savory honey tea.
“Who?” She tilts her head to the side.
I glance around her house to see if I can find a photo of him but come up empty.
“Did I get his name wrong? Weren’t you dating a guy named Donny?”
She brought him to a Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s house many years ago. Mom threw a fit at how disgraceful that was. To quote mom, he was a “hippie drug addict who did not belong at our table.” Mom has always looked down upon my aunt; Mom looks down on everyone.
“Oh, Donny! That dude is long gone, girl, get with the program.” She flips her silver hair behind her shoulder. “I’m dating Dean now. And Bruno. And Craig.”
I nearly choke on my tea, which burns my throat. “You have three boyfriends?”
She doesn’t even bat an eyelash to confirm my shock. My aunt is a player.
“You didn’t come here to talk about my love life,” she says before she takes a nice long sip of her own sexy tea, “did you?” Her eyes go wide.
How do I even say this without sounding like a nut?
“I need you to help me ask for a sign,” I whisper.
“I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes? That kind of sign?” She sings the catchy tune, completely teasing me for being shy about all of this.
I laugh and drop my head into my hands in defeat.
“Okay, fine. I’m kind of dating this guy. But I’m also kind of not.” I nod my head along as I search for the right words. Aunt Edie just stares, waiting for me to continue. “And I want to know what I should do—ditch him or stick around. When I break it all down in my head, I know I should go. But there’s some kind of pull he has over me, that makes me want to stay. Is there something I can do to help me figure that out?”
I can’t believe I just said this to another living soul. Even hearing myself say it aloud embarrasses me.
“Have you tried making a pros and cons list?” Aunt Edie asks. She takes her red glasses off the top of her head and places them on her face, trying to look serious.
A list? She wants to know if I made a list?
This is not the advice I was expecting when I came here. This is the kind of advice my type-A personality could give myself. I’ve already made a list.
She watches the internal battle I’m having and then busts out laughing.
“Okay, okay, that was too fun. I’d never say make a list. How boring.” Aunt Edie gets up from the chair she was just sitting cross-legged in and walks over to a cabinet. She opens a drawer, pulls out a gold velvet pouch, and returns to her seat. “I want you to pick a crystal.”
She turns the pouch over and dumps out an assortment of gems on the table between us.
“What am I picking a crystal for?” I ask, looking at all the varieties in color, size, and shape.
“Why do you have so many questions? Just put your hand over the crystals and see which one speaks to you.”
It’s like she’s not even speaking English. Which one speaks to me? I didn’t know these were magical crystals that could talk.
“What are these things going to say? Hola, como estas?” I laugh, but Aunt Edie does not.
She raises her eyebrows and then nods her head in the direction of the crystals. She means business. “Pick one.”
Doing as she instructs because I’m a little scared of her, I place my hands in the air above the gems and wave them around. Nothing “speaks to me” but I grab the prettiest one.
“Hold it between your hands.”
Aunt Edie also picks up a crystal and does as she tells me to do. “Now I want you to do whatever you see fit to get the crystal’s energy to connect with you—run it between your palms, squeeze it, kiss it, dance around the room with it, strip off your clothes and rub it on your body. Whatever you want.”
I stare at my aunt and then down to the pink gem sitting in the palm of my right hand. Dance with it? Strip naked? She’s out of her mind. I take the easy route and roll it between my palms until it warms up. Is this the energy she’s talking about?
No, that’s friction, you fool.
“Now I want you to channel your crystal’s energy when you ask the gorgeous, abundant Universe to send you a sign about your honey man. Say that you want to see a sign if you are supposed to stay with him.”
“What kind of sign?” I ask, sitting on the edge of my seat. I need all the answers. I’m a complete beginner at all this woo-woo stuff.
“Whatever sign you want.”
She says it like it’s so normal.
“I want to see …”
Aunt Edie cuts me off by waving her hands around. “Don’t say it like you don’t even mean it. That was totally lame. That’s how you want to speak to The Universe? With a tired, monotone voice—no, no, no. Do it again.”
My heart races, and my palms are sweating, with a now clammy crystal in my weak grasp.
“Who exactly am I talking to?” I feel ridiculous asking this question.
Aunt Edie pauses for a moment while looking down at her crystal then looks up at me with bright eyes. “My dear, you are speaking to whomever you want. Some say God, others say The Universe. There’s always Source or pick a goddess you’re into. Don’t complicate this. Just speak from your heart. Someone is listening.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“I’m going to give you a chance to do this by yourself. Maybe you won’t feel so silly,” Aunt Edie says, getting up from her chair and walking to the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, I stare at my crystal and think:
Dear Universe or whoever is listening to me,
Hi, it’s me, Juliette. Well, maybe you already know that? Shit. Am I doing this wrong? I want you to know I’m open to receiving your guidance. If you think Clark is someone I should give another chance to … can you please show me a sign? Show me a … bunny.
My mind just betrayed me.
A bunny?
Why did I think that?
Why did I say that to the mighty higher powers above?
I don’t have any connections to bunnies.
I royally screwed up the one task I was given. Where am I ever going to see a bunny? My hand shakes as the crystal falls to the floor.
Aunt Edie comes back into the living room with a plate full of chocolate chip cookies. I eye them as if to question if they are full of weed. Actually, right now I could probably use it to mellow out.
“You won’t find any drugs in there,” she says, thrusting the cookies at me just like she did with the tea. “I left those cookies in the kitchen.”
I grab one and bite into it. The cookie is so fresh that chocolate oozes out. It hits the spot and uplifts my mood.
“What’s with the sad face, buttercup?” Aunt Edie asks, now joining me on the couch. “Your crystal lost its juju. Want to pick another one?”
“No, my crystal didn’t do anything wrong.” I shove the rest of the cookie into my mouth and pick up another one as a backup. “Let’s say you ask for a sign that really makes no sense. It was a dumb word that popped into my mind. I’ve never even thought of it before. It has no connection to anything.”
Fortunate Encounters (The Sign Series Book 1) Page 8