Sweatpants Season

by Danielle Allen

  There was only one car in the parking lot besides mine. The white security jeep was in the corner and I let out a little sigh of relief. Grabbing my camera, I exited my car and made a beeline to the makeshift observatory. The elevated structure was where people would go to take aerial shots of their friends in canoes and kayaks on the river. As I eyed the sleeping security guard, I noted that it was also a prime location for a nap.

  Clearing my throat, I started humming as I approached. “Hello,” I greeted the recently awakened guard.

  “Hey, hey, um good morning, ma’am,” he stammered, jumping to his feet. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I’m going to capture the sunset.” Tapping my camera bag, I gave him a look. “What about you?”

  “Making my rounds.” He gave me a onceover before heading toward the steps. “Uh, this area is secure. If you need anything, I’ll be patrolling the area.”

  “Thanks.”

  I watched and listened until he was halfway down the stairs, and then I positioned myself on the far edge of the deck. I couldn’t see the parking lot, but I had a great view of the river, the trees, and the skyline. Only about ten minutes passed before I heard footsteps climbing the steps. I didn’t hear a car, so I assumed it was the security guard.

  “Hey.”

  The short grunt of a greeting made my head snap to the right.

  Wearing grey sweatpants, a navy-blue zip-up hoodie, and grey and blue sneakers, Carlos made his way toward me.

  Those damn sweatpants!

  My eyes jerked up and I felt my cheeks heat. “Hey,” I replied, staring at his face and nowhere else.

  He silently checked his camera out and leaned against the railing, his back against the wall. I busied myself staring into the darkness, catching the flickering of light as it bounced off the water. On the way there, I’d thought of all the things I wanted to say to him. But as I stood in his presence, all I could do was wonder if he could tell I had a sex dream about him a couple of hours ago. Or that I’d masturbated to him an hour ago.

  For fifteen uninterrupted minutes, we stood in complete silence. It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life.

  “Everything okay up here?” the security guard asked as he appeared on the deck.

  I was concentrating so hard on ignoring Carlos, I didn’t even hear the guard walk up the steps.

  “Yes,” we said in unison.

  “I assumed you knew each other since you both had your cameras out and said you wanted to take a picture of the sunrise,” the guard continued, ambling over to us with a tired smile. “But whenever there’s a young lady around my daughter’s age involved, I make a point to make sure she’s okay.” He gave Carlos a look. “I’m only a call away, just so you know, young lady.”

  I just nodded. “Thanks, but he’s fine. I’m okay with him.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back. I’m going to check around the base, but I’ll be back.” The security guard gave me a thumb’s up before he descended the stairway.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t tell him I was trash,” Carlos muttered as he pushed himself from against the wall and moved toward the railing without looking at me.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not trying to get you arrested.”

  He shook his head but didn’t say another word.

  Sixty agonizing seconds later, I sighed. “Listen, we have to work together for our photography and for Re-Mix. We can’t have this tension negatively impacting our work.”

  “Like I told you at the park, you can think whatever you want.” His face was hardened with determination. “But I’m not letting you or anything else interfere with my work.”

  I swallowed hard. There was something sexy about the way he emphasized his point. “I feel the same way.”

  “This is business—nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page then,” I murmured, tearing my eyes away from his.

  “Doubt it,” he scoffed. “But we’ll make do because we have to.”

  “Doubt it?” My face scrunched up and I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shook my head after a brief pause. “You know what? Never mind. We’ll work together when we have to work together and then when we’re not obligated to work on an assignment or a story, we don’t have to see or think about each other anymore.”

  He made a noise but didn’t say anything.

  “What?” I snapped, jerking my head his way.

  “Nothing.” He smirked as he lifted his camera to his face and took a test shot.

  “What?” My voice came out more forcefully as I put my hand on my hip and glared at him.

  “You said we didn’t have to think about each other outside of when we work on our photography assignments and our articles.” He gave me a taunting look. “Anymore.”

  Shrugging a little, I furrowed my brows. “Yeah. Exactly.”

  “So, it sounds like you’ve been thinking about me.”

  “What?” I screeched, recoiling. “No, I was—I wasn’t…I said we only—”

  “Everything okay up there?” the security guy called out from somewhere below us, interrupting my explanation.

  My face was flushed, and I was happy for the interruption. “Yes!” Gathering myself, I took my own test shots. “You’re so full of yourself.”

  “And you’re so full of shit.”

  “What?” My mouth fell open. “You don’t know me.”

  “You don’t know me either, but that didn’t stop you from calling me trash.”

  I exhaled, lowering my camera from my face. “I never called you trash.”

  He turned his head, giving me a withering stare. “Yes. You did.”

  I shook my head. “I said your podcast is trash and the objectification of women is trash.” Lifting my shoulders, I stared up at him. “I stand by that. But I didn’t call you trash.”

  “You said my friends were trash and that if I hung out with them…” He let the sentence trail off like I had, and then he made a face.

  “See… I didn’t call you trash. I inferred that you were trash adjacent,” I continued with a slight smile.

  His mouth remained in a hardened line, but his eyes crinkled slightly. I could tell he was amused and that made me smile.

  “Hm. Interesting,” I coyly murmured as I put my camera to my face again and snapped a photo.

  “What?” he asked.

  “The trash comment was from when we were at the park?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, if that comment has been on your mind since I said it…” Tilting my head, I smirked. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about me.”

  The corners of his lips turned upward even as he shook his head. “You are so full of yourself.”

  “And you are so full of shit.”

  “Woah, I walked up just in time,” the guard interrupted as he strolled onto the deck. “Full of shit, huh? You two don’t seem to like each other very much.”

  “Not particularly,” I answered at the same time as Carlos was saying, “No, we don’t.”

  Our eyes locked and something felt different. We both admitted to not liking one another simultaneously. We both verbalized it with the same tone and attitude. But there was no malice or disdain in our admission. As we stared at one another, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was happening. But it felt a little like mutual understanding.

  As soon as the security guard left, the first hint of light started to break the night’s sky. We stood side-by-side and silently snapped dozens of photos.

  “I got my shot,” I said hoarsely, finally breaking the silence.

  “Good.” He continued snapping photos.

  “I’m going to head out.”

  He turned his entire body toward me, fully facing me. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Suddenly feeling nervous, I adjusted the strap on my camera bag. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know.”

  He fell into step with me and we made the short
trek to my car. “This is me,” I announced, slowing to a stop.

  “Ok, cool.” With just a solitary nod, he left in the direction from which we just walked.

  “I thought you were leaving,” I blurted out, shifting from one foot to the other.

  Carlos turned around, but continued moving backward, away from me. “I never said I was leaving. I said I would walk you to your car.”

  Perplexed, my forehead creased. “But you didn’t have to—especially if you weren’t leaving yet.”

  “I know.” Without another word, he turned around and continued to the deck.

  I didn’t know how to feel about that.

  Chapter Eight

  I stared at my reflection and second guessed my outfit again. The olive-green shirt looked excellent against my brown skin. The clingy material and plunging neckline was sexy and paired well with the dark denim jeans. I turned and stared at how the stretch of the jeans flaunted the roundness of my ass and the thickness of my thighs.

  “Meghan?” I called out when I heard footsteps at the other end of the hallway.

  I hooked my fingertips into the belt loops and pulled them up just as my bedroom door flew open.

  “Oh, I like this!” Meghan gave me an appreciative nod. She leaned against the doorjamb in her casual purple dress, matching sneakers, and jet-black wig. “Do you feel more comfortable now?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I felt too dressed up in everything else.”

  “Well, you’ve looked great in everything, so I don’t want to assume anything, but… do we have a winner?”

  I nodded, staring at my reflection. “Yes. Final decision.” I turned to face my best friend. “I just didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.”

  And I didn’t want Carlos to think I was getting dressed up for him.

  “That necklace with that shirt is hot.” She smiled at me. “And your hair looks so good like that.”

  My dark, tightly coiled hair was brushed into a high ponytail that sat on top of my head like a crown. My gold hoops and bracelet sparkled in the light. But the highlight was the small, gold chain that formed a T at the base of my neck before dipping between my breasts, almost to my belly button.

  I wiped my palms on the thighs of my jeans. “Thanks. And you look amazing—as always.”

  “This is true,” she sang, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “But I understand why you’re nervous…”

  It wasn’t that I was nervous about seeing Carlos. It was just a little awkward thinking about seeing him in a dating environment. The idea of having to mix and mingle with him a few feet away, probably watching me, likely judging me, made me feel out of sorts. But it definitely wasn’t because of Carlos himself.

  I slipped into my black booties. “Yeah, it’s the—”

  “…this is your first assignment,” she explained.

  Hesitating slightly, I nodded profusely. “Yeah, the assignment. Exactly. That’s it.”

  She gave me a bright smile. “You are going to have fun and you might even meet someone. That’s why this assignment is so perfect for you. You’re getting paid to write about these cool experiences around town that you might have missed out on otherwise. And on top of that, you might meet a man. And the cherry on top is that the man might be Big Dick Carlos.”

  “Can we just call him Carlos?” I groaned, masking my giggle as I grabbed my black handbag. “Or better yet, can we just forget he exists?”

  “Yes, we can,” she relented as we walked through the living room and out the front door. “But I have two questions.”

  “What’s the first one?” I asked as I unlocked my car.

  “Be honest… you looked at his dick print again, didn’t you?”

  Laughing, I revved my engine. “It was actually too dark when he arrived, so I wasn’t able to see anything—not that I was trying to look, because I wasn’t. And he was leaving when I arrived for the sunset photos.”

  “Mm hmm. Second question…”

  My lips still curled into a smile, I pulled out of my parking space. “Yes?”

  “If you both admitted you didn’t like each other and then you didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the morning, why do you think he walked you to your car?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.” My sentence dissolved as Meghan giggled. My own chuckle made it difficult for me to get the whole statement out of my mouth. “Okay, okay, okay… I thought about it and I don’t know. I got under his skin with the trash comment. So maybe he was trying to prove he’s a gentleman since he thinks I called him trash.”

  “Well, he probably thinks that because you did.”

  “Like I told him, I said that he was trash adjacent.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s hilarious! What did he say when you said that?”

  I smiled, remembering the look on his face. “He was amused. He tried not to be, but he was.”

  “That’s too funny.”

  “Right? There’s never an audience when I think of good comebacks.” I shook my head as I made my way to the other side of town. “Trash adjacent.”

  Pulling out her lipstick, Meghan applied the plum color to her full lips. “Even though birds of a feather flock together, we have to admit that there’s a slim possibility that he isn’t like his friends.”

  “This is true. But it’s just as likely that he’s exactly like them.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “True. But there’s only one real way to find out.” Grabbing my phone, she scrolled through various podcasts before finding The Lost Boys. “We listened to the latest one?”

  “I think so.”

  “Oh, wait… there was one posted on Friday night. Have you listened to anymore of their podcasts?”

  “No, just the ones that helped me come to the conclusion that they are trash.”

  She hit play.

  After twenty seconds, she skipped the intro. We listened to them discuss what women need to bring to the table and the difference between a ‘good woman’ and a ‘bad bitch’ and of the two, which is worthy of a date. The podcast was more supporting evidence that The Lost Boys were as bad as their other podcasts painted them to be.

  “I can’t take much more of this. This episode might be worse than the other ones…and those were bad,” I groaned.

  It was clear that City Boy was the biggest jackass. Country Boy was a slightly less ridiculous version of City Boy, but he still agreed with most of City Boy’s antics. Carlos, better known as Los Cabos, was the voice of reason. Although he still entertained the conversation and laughed at some of the jokes, he never outright said anything that was demeaning. But nevertheless, he silently participated in the degradation.

  “Carlos isn’t innocent, but I don’t think we can lump him with his friends,” Meghan stated, leaning to turn the volume down just as we pulled into the parking lot of Pop’s Bar.

  “Yeah, like I said… trash adjacent.” I paused. “Although, I am glad he defended the girlfriend of the one caller who—what?” My mouth was agape, and my sentence came to a dramatic stop.

  “…written by A. Bishara that has been brought to my attention by one of our loyal listeners, KillerMiller1,” City Boy started, his voice rising with amusement.

  “Oh, hell no…” Meghan breathed, her hand covering her mouth.

  Clenching my jaw, I braced myself.

  “What is this?” Country Boy implored, his deep voice full of faux curiosity.

  “Apparently A. Bishara is blaming our show because she can’t get a date,” City Boy yelled, causing Country Boy to laugh. “We said something that offended her delicate sensibilities, and now she’s writing columns about how we are what’s wrong with the modern man. KillerMiller1 attached the article, and he wants to know our thoughts on her calling us, and the men who listen to us, toxic, misguided and communication deficient. Those were her exact words. She said that we feed bad advice to susceptible men!”

  “Oh god, here we go,” Country
Boy muttered as he laughed. “Here we go!”

  “Well, A. Bishara, we are not going to apologize that you can’t get a date. That’s not our issue. Maybe you have a stick up your ass and that’s the problem. So, sure… we aren’t always the most politically correct, and I already issued an apology for my unfortunate comments. But come on… don’t make us the scapegoat for your personal problems, sweetheart.”

  “So, you think her issue with us is her lack of a man in her life?” Country Boy asked. “Because this doesn’t sound like the complaints from last week.”

  “It’s not. Those were complaints of the offended. This is the ramblings of a basic looking spinster chick—probably a three—who is lonely and is looking for someone to blame for her spinster lifestyle!” City Boy roared, riling himself up. “So, KillerMiller1, to answer your question, my response to A. Bishara is for her to get a life. I have more to say, but I’m going to just leave it there. Los Cabos is shaking his head and mouthing for me to stop.”

  “Los Cabos. Always the diplomat,” Country Boy teased.

  “What’s the problem?” City Boy asked. “We are answering a listener’s question about an article that talks about us. It’s fair game.”

  “You already had to issue an apology this week. Let’s just let this go,” Carlos demanded firmly.

  “Well, how about you respond, Los Cabos,” City Boy propositioned.

  “Yeah, let’s let our diplomat speak on behalf of the council.”

  Carlos cleared his throat. “KillerMiller1, the official Lost Boys response is that A. Bishara is entitled to her opinion—albeit wrong, she’s entitled to it.” He paused before continuing, “I mean, look, we don’t always agree with one another and some of the responses to listeners may toe the line, but we aren’t peddling toxic masculinity. This show is for entertainment purposes only. That is our statement.”

  “Los Cabos has spoken!” City Boy let out a chuckle “That’s our official word. But unofficially, A. Bishara still needs to get the stick out of her ass, and that’s all I’m going to say about that. That’s it! I’m done!”