Rich S.O.B.: A Romantic Comedy

by Bijou Hunter

  Then again, who cares? I’m able to enjoy his handsome face without having to worry he’ll open his mouth and annoy me with his not at all witty jokes or lame pick-up lines. I’ve found men are always so much more appealing from afar.

  My waffles taste especially delicious today, making me wonder if the cook did something special to thank me for saving everyone’s wallets with my super amazing coffee pot move.

  Come to think of it. The cook didn’t look so happy yesterday. What if he added something not-so-special to thank me for nearly getting everyone killed with my stupid coffee pot stunt?

  If I puke up my waffles in a few hours, I’ll have my answer. Shoving every last potentially poisoned piece into my mouth, I play word search on my phone and think about the Hitchhiker. If my tantrum yesterday left him injured, I’d feel terrible. No doubt I’d still feel awful even if I later learned he was a serial killer luring people to their deaths by hitching rides. I mean, he’d be evil, sure, but what a handsome guy!

  Leaving Hitchhiker, Maureen, and a possibly vengeful cook behind, I skate out of the diner. The bus stop is a block away. Soon, I’ll daydream during the 30-minute ride to my house. Before I reach the stop, I hear a man’s voice calling out to me. Or at least he’s calling out to “the lady on the skates.”

  Swinging around, I figure I’ve dropped something again. I’m the most gracefully uncoordinated person on the planet.

  Except Hitchhiker isn’t holding anything of mine. He stops following me and stares with eyes as black as the darkest night. If I ever have a crazed stalker, I want him to look this sexy intense.

  “Yes?” I ask, enjoying the up-close view of my long-time fantasy man.

  “I was in the diner yesterday,” he says in a deeply rich voice I feel all the way down to my curled toes.

  Rolling closer, I place my hand on his strong shoulder and say in my most tender voice, “That must have been very traumatic for you.”

  “You handled him well.”

  “Yes, I did,” I say, squeezing his bicep as my hand moves down his arm. “I hope you weren’t too upset by the incident.”

  Hitchhiker frowns, proving irritation is a very attractive look on his handsome face. His dark gaze studies where my hand now rests on his forearm.

  “What made you react that way?” he asks, returning his gaze to my face.

  “I can’t say.”

  “Is it a secret or do you not know?”

  “Both,” I say, squeezing his arm.

  “How can it be both?”

  “It’s a secret from even me.’’

  The left corner of his mouth lifts before returning to a very appealing frown.

  “I’m Junie,” I say, taking his hand and shaking it for about a minute too long.

  “You’re very affectionate.”

  “No, I’m really not,” I say, holding his hand with both of mine.

  “Is Junie short for something?”

  “No,” I lie. “What’s your name?”

  The man blinks rapidly and then smiles. “Theo.”

  “That’s a very handsome name for a very handsome man.”

  “Your subtlety is astonishing.”

  “Thank you,” I say, finally letting go of his hand. “Did you stop me today on the street for a reason beyond needing tenderness from a stranger?”

  Theo reveals a smile that rivals the sexiness of his frown. “I thought I could thank you for your quick thinking by taking you out to dinner.”

  “Hmm… That’s a very forward move.”

  Theo narrows his eyes, still smirking. “Are you telling me no?”

  “Why would you assume I could say yes?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I could be married or a lesbian or very shy.”

  “You felt me up pretty convincingly a minute ago. That answers your three options.”

  “I feel up everyone. I’m exceptionally friendly.”

  “Where would you like to eat?”

  “I believe men should pay for dinner. What do you do for a living, Theo?”

  He gives me a death stare of panty-wetting proportions. His glare triggers the memory of where I’ve seen him before. Yes, my hypnotic hitchhiker is a very sexy liar, and I can’t wait to see what “Theo” says next.

  “Are you familiar with the Gold Mart on 12th street?” he asks. When I nod, Theo continues, “It’s my job to stand near the road and wave a sign to draw attention to the store.”

  His lie is so gloriously beautiful that I struggle not to laugh in his gorgeous face.

  “That’s minimum wage, right?” I ask, remembering how many dollar signs he saw when his first software package was purchased a decade ago.

  Still pushing his lie, he asks, “Is that a problem?”

  “No, of course not. I want to ensure we meet at a place you can afford. Have you tried Willie’s Burnt Toast? They have yummy sandwiches at very affordable prices. We can share a meal if you need to.”

  An amused Asher T. Ferrer nods at my suggestion. “What day and time?”

  “How soon can you possibly meet me?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you there at four. Anything later and we’ll have trouble finding a table.”

  Mister Moneybags doesn’t offer me his number or ask if I need a ride. He simply backs away, keeping an eye on me. I pretend he’s so taken with my sloppy beauty that he doesn’t dare look away. Of course, he might worry I’ll knock him over the head and steal his wallet.

  Either way, I turn away before he does. Though I yearn to see his handsome face for as long as possible, I seriously doubt the bus will wait for me.

  CH 3

  ❁ Asher ❁

  Junie’s possessive touch remains on my skin long after I return to my penthouse. I can’t shake how I both crave her attention yet worry about letting her close. She was so much more beautiful up close. Her eyes are lighter, and her smile feistier. I was fooling myself if I thought I was obsessed before today. Now I’m dived headfirst into a desperate fascination with a woman I still know next to nothing about.

  Unable to relax I head to my personal gym where I push my body past the point of exhaustion. Running on the treadmill, I can’t turn off my worries or thoughts of Junie.

  Even after a brutal two-hour workout and the nearly scalding shower that follows, I still feel her fingers squeezing at my arms and stroking my hands.

  I retreat to bed and reach for my earphones and black sleep mask. Resting on my back, I cover my eyes and ears, eliminating their stimuli. Legs straight, arms away from my body, I feel the world fall away.

  In the darkness, I see Junie’s smiling face. Despite the white noise from the headphones, I hear her voice teasing me about needing a hug.

  Giving up on resting in bed, I pour a glass of bourbon and sit on my deck next to the pool.

  A year ago, my business partner, Garrett, sold his half of our company and left Dietrich for Seattle where he’s a small fish in a big pond. I didn’t take his leaving well. Friends are not something I make easily, and I trusted Garrett completely. He understood me and never asked for more than I could provide.

  Then one day, he abandoned me as most people do.

  Now he lives with his plastic wife and their nanny-raised baby in a place where no one knows the real him. Possibly, Garrett wanted to be someone new, but no matter what masks we wear, people eventually uncover the truth.

  After Garrett’s departure, I languished in a funk until leaving the penthouse proved impossible. I even lacked the will to descend ten floors to my offices. Rather than allowing depression to crush me, I tried seeing a psychiatrist for a few months.

  The experience proved exhilarating. I spent my time refuting everything Dr. Disher said rather than focusing on Garrett’s abandonment.

  Therapy irritated me enough to get out of my funk. I couldn’t stand how Disher tore apart my every choice and relationship to prove I had a habit of picking the same kind of people and making the same kind o
f mistakes. He was useless at fixing my quirks, but he did lead me to Junie.

  After a visit to his office, I decided to stop at the diner Garrett swore served the best chicken and waffles. I sat in the back booth and waited for someone to recognize me.

  No one did, and I ended up sticking around for an hour after I finished my plate of food. Reading a paper, I occasionally glanced up whenever the door’s bell rang. I noticed the prostitute and the man with no front teeth who laughed at everything. Minutes before I planned to leave, Junie skated into the diner and plopped down at the front counter.

  I remember thinking she was probably a hippie. Her home was likely filled with pottery and maybe even birds. I’d heard about a woman in East Dietrich whose house was a giant bird cage filled with nearly a hundred of her feathered friends. I didn’t remember the details, but I could imagine the Bird Lady wearing roller skates while out for a meal.

  On that first day, I mentally mocked Junie while paying my bill. Leaving the diner, I caught a glimpse of her upturned hazel eyes, and they were all I needed to get hooked.

  So I returned to the Flamingo Exit Diner the next week. Junie showed up like clockwork, and we began a routine. I’d forced myself to leave the tower and drive across town to a diner where I’d eat the best chicken and waffles while stealing glances at a woman in roller skates. Every week without fail I swore I wouldn’t speak to her. Knowing her secrets would make me responsible for them. She was best left a desirable mystery.

  Now I hold a file in my hand with her basic data. The private investigator said he’d keep digging, but this information was a useful start. If I find something I don’t like, I can cancel our dinner date before things get out of hand. It’s why I used a fake name when we met. I want to keep all my options open.

  Juniper Lynn Voss, twenty-seven years old; a graduate of the local Kitley Technical College; employed at IT Zen for five years; before her computer repair position, she worked in retail; never married and no children.

  I repeat her name in my head before saying it aloud. It’s a silly name for a woman, but the more I say it, the more it fits her. Junie embraces silliness until it transforms into ordinary, thus making what’s normal into boring.

  Nothing I find in the file inspires me to back out of our date. I also doubt I could walk away if I wanted. The possibility of Junie proves too tempting, and I’m a man unaccustomed to addiction. Giving into my impulse is all I can do until either I lose interest in her or she refuses to see me.

  CH 4

  ❁ Junie ❁

  My bus ride home allows me time to consider whether I should wash my hands or allow the tingly feelings to remain forever. The hoodie-wearing hitchhiker-looking hottie makes me feel happy in all the right ways and places.

  I’ve dated three men in my rather eventful life. The first was Ken. His name wasn’t actually Ken. I think it was Chad, but he had super white teeth and super tanned skin and super gelled blond hair. He looked like a Ken doll, and that was all I could think about during our date while he chattered and flirted and laughed at his jokes.

  By dessert, I was certain I was unknowingly starring in a sequel to the movie Mannequin. The entire night was the opposite of romantic.

  The second guy was a banker named Palmer who worked with dividends, stocks, and other things I choose not to understand. I don’t remember what he looked like except he wiped his mouth a lot in between talking about his job and why banks were great and why he hoped to work in banking until the day he died. When he kissed me at the end of the night, I remembered thinking he smelled like old dollar bills.

  Finally, there was Lando who was named after the sexy Billy Dee Williams character from Star Wars. Like his namesake, my Lando was a smooth talker. He seduced me straight into bed without even freezing Han to make me submit.

  Also, like his namesake, he wasn’t trustworthy and ended up smooth talking lots of other girls into dropping their panties. In the end, I thought I loved him, but I was mostly seduced by his amazing chest hairs. When he spoke, I focused on his fur peeking from his V-neck shirts. When I dumped him, I cried for two days straight. Well, mostly I ate a lot of candy and watched TV in between occasional tears. Mostly, I missed playing with his chest hairs.

  Now there’s Asher, who is sexier than any man I’ve met before, and he digs me. Too bad once we go on our date, I’ll realize he sucks. Or worse, his bad taste will make him think I suck. All the tingly goodness will fade away and leave me where I started.

  Which is okay since I’m sort of in love with my current life.

  I arrive home, thinking about the inevitable end to what began less than an hour ago. Couch Potato glances at me when I enter the house, but his gaze quickly returns to the view from the double windows in the living half of my living room/kitchen combo.

  “I talked to Hitchhiker,” I tell the cat while hanging up my bag and skating to the sink to wash my hands. “He’s sexier up close.”

  CP shows no reaction, but he’s always been too chill for my dramas.

  I’m as relaxed as the cat by the time Mallory lets herself into my place. Looking up from a crime show, I smile at my best friend. Her recently bleached blonde hair is cut in a pixie style that perfectly frames her bright, round face. Tall and curvy, she’s a wonderful contrast to my shorter and less curvy self.

  “Guess who asked me out to dinner?” I mumble with a mouth full of pretzels.

  “Joel?”

  Scowling, I send a few daggers in Mallory’s direction. She knows my coworker’s interest in me is a sore topic.

  “Don’t even kid,” I say while she looks through my fridge.

  “Who then?”

  “Asher Ferrer.”

  “Fancy. Is he taking you somewhere swanky?”

  “Nope. We’re going to Willie’s.”

  “I’m assuming that’s your idea.”

  “Oh, yeah. Because it turns out Mr. Ferrer works at the Gold Mart waving around the big finger.”

  Mallory glances back at me and grins. “Times are tough for everyone.”

  “No doubt.”

  She sits on the other end of my blue velvet couch and rests her feet on the blue coffee table I painted last summer.

  “How did you meet him?”

  “He’s Hitchhiker from Flamingo Exit.”

  “No way. I thought you said that guy looked homeless.”

  “I never said that. I said he looked like a vagabond.”

  “Isn’t that another word for homeless?”

  “Is it? I thought it meant he was a nomad free-spirit type.”

  “Whatever. So he finally asked you out,” Mallory says, retrieving her phone. “I forget what Ferrer looks like.”

  “He told me his name was Theo.”

  “So maybe you’re wrong about who he is. You didn’t know what vagabond meant.”

  I yank out my phone and look up the word. “Ah-ha. Look.”

  “You look,” Mallory says, taking my phone while handing me hers. “Is that him?”

  I study image results from her Google search. One of them is from after Asher sold his first big, amazeballs app and made his first bundle of cash. Leaving a meeting, he gives the photographer a glorious frown. A lesser person—like myself—would have flipped off the intrusive shutterbug. Asher keeps his respectable mask on, but his nearly black eyes reveal how much he hates the guy. Good for him.

  “That’s Theo who waves a sign at traffic.”

  Mallory hands back my phone. “Fine, vagabond doesn’t necessarily mean homeless.”

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “Are you sure about Moneybags? Liars often hide lies.”

  “That they do.”

  “He could kill you, and who would even know?”

  “You would.”

  “Who would believe me?”

  Smirking, I toss a pretzel at her. “If you’re worried, I can make a video stating I’m going on a date with Asher and where we’re going and how he told me his name was Theo. That way, if I
disappear or end up dead, you can take it to the police.”

  “He brought thousands of jobs to this town. I wouldn’t be surprised if he owns the police department. They’d most definitely bury the case and let him get away with torturing and murdering you.”

  “Why am I tortured now?” I grumble.

  “Can’t imagine he’d take the time to murder you if he didn’t want to do something freaky first.”

  “No, probably not,” I say, chewing a pretzel. “Okay, then take the video to the press instead of the police. Let the media force the cops to act and keep you safe from retribution.”

  “You know,” Mallory says, reaching over to pet CP, “rather than going through these precautions to avoid torture and death, why not stand him up?”

  Waving in her face the phone with Asher’s picture on it, I say, “Hello? I’m not standing up this delicious man even if things don’t end well. People die all the time. I can’t stop living my life just because I might end up in a ditch.”

  “You’re so shallow,” she says, looking at the picture. “Much like your grave will be.”

  I laugh at her earnest expression. “I’ll have to remember to call him Theo.”

  “Why not call him out on his lie?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” I ask, winking goofily at her.

  “I bet he’d be even more handsome if he was awkward and apologetic.”

  “You’re right. That’ll be my plan for our second date.”

  Mallory’s dark eyes light up, and she asks, “What if he doesn’t want a second date?”

  “Why wouldn’t he? Men tend to keep a woman around until she puts out.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “I watch TV, silly goose.”

  Mallory glances at my flat screen before squinting at the show I’m watching.

  “Why would anyone trust someone they met on Craig’s List?” she asks the universe rather than me.

  Ignoring her question, I say, “I hope to enjoy three dates before Asher gets on my nerves. Or I get on his. Or one of us murders the other.”