by Cindi Madsen
Not an easy combo to find, but one day someone was going to throw her for as much of a loop as she did to him.
“You want to go to the store and buy a different color of paint?” I asked.
“Not really.” She whipped her head toward me, eyes flying wide with whatever lightbulb had snapped on, and the hair on my arms and neck prickled. “I know what we need. It’s even ladies’ night, so no cover.”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “Remember I’m evolved and mature and wise and everything that means I’m absolutely not—”
“We’re going dancing!”
…
One might think that a dance club would be a great place to meet single guys.
One would be wrong.
Nightclubs were notorious for people looking for a hook up, and you couldn’t move without bumping into a red-flag guy, especially in this club. Halo Lounge had actually gotten a mention in Complex Magazine’s twenty-five douchiest bars in Atlanta, and every inch of it gave off that vibe. The lights flickered between red and purple and the drinks ranged between ridiculously overpriced and one-month’s-rent. NBA players frequented the VIP area—Ivy had been picked from the crowd by a baller on more than one occasion.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved to dance as much as my best friend did, but I’d rather do it in the privacy of her or my living room. But she was in a mood, all the stuff with her mama obviously getting to her, so I’d put on my little black dress and not-so-little black heels and let her drag me to the club, Wednesday night and work in the morning be damned.
Within a few minutes of swaying to the beat on the floor, a couple of guys approached. We danced in a group for a bit, but as the next song started up, Tall, Dark, and VIP-enough-to-ignore-the-no-ball-caps-rule scooted closer to Ivy. She glanced at me, and I kept my hand down at my side, despite my desire to fiddle with my earring.
By default, that left me with the other dude. When he reached for me, I shimmied my hips and kept space between us. He leaned in to ask my name, and we exchanged pleasantries the best we could over the loud music. Of course no guy in a club could possibly ask your name without putting his hand on your hip, back, or shoulder, and Patrick “Trick” Keats was no exception.
The way he’d said his name also led me to believe he thought I would recognize it—he was tall enough to be a basketball player, but that was a wild stab in the dark. Two eternally long songs later, they invited us to go sit with them and grab a drink. When Ivy shot me the please look, I forced a smile to my lips and followed them to the second floor. At least the music wasn’t quite as ear-shattering at their table.
Ivy charmed the guys and did a couple of shots with them, while I refrained—I had way too much to do tomorrow to deal with a hangover. Since Patrick kept scooting closer, I pulled out my phone, hoping he’d take the hint that I wasn’t interested.
A text from Linc greeted me.
Linc: It’s super slow at Azure tonight, so I’m working on this morning’s crossword puzzle. Want to come help? Today might be the day that “shit” is an answer
I laughed, the noise immediately swallowed up by the commotion of the club, but the light, happy sensation remained.
Me: As much as I’d love that, and seriously, I still get credit if they use it, no matter what the clue, Ivy dragged me to Halo. Judging from her mood, we’ll be here for hours.
I stared at my screen, urging him to respond so I wouldn’t have to sit here bored out of my mind. Just when I was about to give up and use the time to sort through my inbox, my phone buzzed with his reply.
Linc: Research for your list?
Me: No. Clubs are no place to meet a quality guy. They’re just good for people looking for a quick hook up.
I waited for his response, the nerves in my gut bouncing higher and higher the longer it took. I answered three emails, scrolled through my Facebook feed for a minute or so, and then reopened my texts. But nothing more had come from Linc.
Maybe he got busy.
When I glanced up, Ivy had hold of her earring.
“Time to dance again!” I nudged Patrick out of the way, grabbed Ivy’s hand, and pulled her to her feet. The guy she’d talked to started to get up, but she shook her head. “I just want to dance with my friend right now. We’ll come back in a bit.”
That was Ivy Code for “I’m bored of you.”
We wove our way to the center of the floor and danced and danced until I’d pay a hundred dollars just to feel cool air on my skin.
Several guys approached us. Some for Ivy, a few for me, and a couple who came at both of us, like they wanted to see who jumped first. If any had seemed like they were there for more than a girl to take home for the night, I might’ve made an effort, but they all practically had “emotionally unavailable” stamped across their foreheads.
Finally my body screamed in surrender, in desperate need of fresh air or at least water. I yelled over the music as it transitioned into the next song. “Any chance I can talk you into leaving?”
Ivy glanced around, her gaze bouncing from one guy to another before slowly returning to me. She sighed. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
I’d never expected her to agree, and I barely refrained from grabbing her arm and sprinting for the door before she changed her mind. As soon as we pushed out of the club, I took a few greedy gulps of air, wishing that it were much, much cooler. Then I turned to Ivy and swiped my damp bangs off my forehead. “Not feeling it? Or am I being a party pooper, making you leave early?”
“No, I was over it,” Ivy said. “Thanks for coming with me, Savannah. I just needed to get out somewhere that wasn’t work, but in the end…no one caught my interest, and it’s not like I can take anyone home to a half-painted house anyway.”
Since there were a dozen other places to go, she could’ve easily made do. Not that she always took a guy home or went home with someone. Her relationships were often short-lived, but she wasn’t constantly having one-night stands, either. Something more was obviously going on, though. “You okay?”
“I will be,” she said, and although it was weak, she managed a smile. We started down the sidewalk, headed to Peachtree Street. The heels I desperately wanted to kick off clacked against the concrete, keeping a steady rhythm.
I stepped around the sign urging people to go in and get their haircut at the barbershop and took my phone out of my clutch to check the time, but the words on the screen caught my eye first.
Linc: Good luck finding what you’re looking for
My mind spun, struggling for the meaning. I scrolled up to our earlier conversation to find the context and nearly tripped over my own feet. “Oh no. I think Linc thinks I came to the club just to hookup with a guy. I even said that’s all clubs are good for.”
“And you don’t want him to think that?” Ivy asked, glancing over my shoulder at the text.
“No.” My stomach dropped at the thought.
“Why?”
The answer made my stomach dive even further, leaving it down near my toes. I looked at Ivy and she looked right back, a challenge in her eye. “I knew there was more going on than either one of you would admit to.”
Denial was my first instinct, but I knew it wouldn’t work, so I went with the truth. “You know I can’t go there, even if I am starting to feel…” I held my phone over my heart, as if that’d shut off the desire pumping through it. “Even if he’s changed, I can forgive, but I can’t forget. I know better now.”
“So you keep saying. The problem is, you also haven’t slept with anyone since Mason, and because you can’t forget, you remember all too well what being with Linc was like.”
“That’s not—”
She shot me a look before I could attempt to deny it.
“Okay, so I’ve thought about it a little,” I admitted. “What it was like.” The desire grew hotter and burned a trail down my core. “How amazing it was.”
“Absence makes the vagina grow fonder, you know.”
I shook my head
and laughed. “That’s beautiful, Ivy. Really. I think I’m going to add it to the slides for my workshop.”
She joined in, and pretty soon we were two crazy girls standing in the middle of the sidewalk laughing. At least her inappropriate play on words had helped stifle the need I’d felt a moment ago. As soon as Linc’s image flashed to my mind, though, it was back. Stupid misplaced desire.
My gaze honed in on the front of my building, and I quickened my stride—my feet just had to make it a little farther. “Seriously, though, I’m not sleeping with Linc again. No matter what. I stick to my rules so that when my Mr. Right comes along, I’m not entangled in a going-nowhere, toxic relationship.”
Ivy grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. The busy street even quieted, almost as if the universe wanted me to pay extra attention. “Whatever you decide about Linc, you know I’ll support you. But if you really don’t want to slip and sleep with him again, you should be careful spending so much time with him. There’s knowing better and what you think you’re going to do, and then there’s the reality of being alone with someone you have a ton of chemistry with.”
I hated that she was right. Even as crass as her earlier statement was, there might be something to it. It’d been a long time, and I was thinking about crossing lines more and more when Linc and I were together. Which was why I decided not only to let the text from Linc go instead of clarifying, but that from now on, I needed to focus on finding an acceptable date and spend a lot less time with Linc.
Chapter Seventeen
I’d nicknamed tonight’s workshop the Red Flag Session. After I taught my attendees how to read guys’ signals and spot red flags, we’d top it all off with our first field trip to Azure.
As I lectured on the importance of goals versus action, my gaze flickered to the empty seat in the corner. Amy Lynn had missed last week’s session as well. I’d left her a message, but she hadn’t called me back, and I wondered if she decided to settle.
Nothing I could do about it now. My job was to get the women in this room ready, and my focus narrowed to that. “Remember, you’re in control now. No more waiting for the right guy to stumble upon you, or finding yourself in a bad relationship you don’t know how to get out of. You deserve to be treated well. You deserve a real relationship that makes you happy. It’s your life. Take charge of it.”
Several women sat forward and nodded, and empowerment washed over me. Like Linc said, I saw the whole field. I saw the potential. This was my team, and we were all going to win.
The relief that analogy gave me hit me again. Linc said exactly what I needed to hear after last week’s game, and it’d stuck with me since, rising every time I started to doubt myself.
Oops, I’m tiptoeing into thinking-about-Linc territory, and I’m not going there anymore. Honestly, it’d been hard to keep from breaking down and returning his call. He texted a couple of times, too. With either form of communication, I’d wait a few hours and send a quick text. I always kept it short and simple, using being busy as an excuse for why I couldn’t hang out—I was busy, but not that busy.
He’d only been back in my life for three weeks and we hadn’t even spent that much time together, and yet I already missed him.
And I was going to see him at the bar tonight.
My nerves did jumping jacks in my stomach, and I mentally scolded myself. All of the women in this room looked to me, and I wouldn’t let them down because my thoughts and nerves couldn’t behave themselves.
Good thing I’m in charge of my own life.
I paced the front of the room, back in coach mode. If I had a whiteboard and markers, I might’ve even written out plays in Xs and Os. “Tonight when we’re out, think about your list as you’re talking to a guy. Yes, it takes more than one conversation to discover what qualities a guy possesses, but while you chat, ask yourself if you can truly see it going somewhere.”
Eliza, one of my attendees, asked if I could expand more on Step Seven, and how to figure out if the guy was a relationship guy or a hookup guy.
“Glad you asked,” I said, and clicked the remote. My computer woke up, the slide with Step Seven that I’d put up at the beginning of the lecture replacing the dim gray square on the wall.
“In this day and age, a lot of our communications have moved to text messages. Without tone or body language, these often-ambiguous torture devices get overanalyzed by women everywhere, no matter how long or short.” I stopped and flashed my audience a smile. “We’ve all called in a friend to help us figure out what a guy meant.”
My attendees laughed and nodded.
“Occasionally, a line or two from a guy even makes us go aww. But are we aww-ing for the right reasons?” I clicked to the next slide. Two columns for deciphering text messages split the screen, one for “The guy who wants to date you” and the other for “The guy who wants to hookup.” And yes I’d used emoticons, because, well, who didn’t love those fun little faces?
Most of the women scribbled furiously in their notebooks or typed on their laptops as I covered the information.
“First, what time did you get the text? 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. is usually a safe zone. 9:00 p.m. and after is a hook up. Once in a while, a hookup type will text in the safe zone, but it’ll be super vague. Something like, ‘Hey, maybe we can get together tonight.’ They’re basically saying if nothing else better comes along, I’m going to call, so be ready to hook up when and if I do.”
I went over some of the other signs. Only one word replies, bad. Back and forth conversations with substance, good. “What you doing?” versus “I miss you.”
Personally, I’d also be concerned about the lack of grammar in the fishing-for-a-hook-up “What you doing?” text, but that might just be me, since crossword puzzles in national publications didn’t care about grammar and correct punctuation.
And now I’m thinking about Linc again. Damn crossword puzzle clues that I also somehow miss, even though they drive me crazy.
I cleared my throat and pointed at the bottom half of the column. “A request like ‘Come over’ often translates to hook up, whereas a ‘Call me!’ means he wants to make plans. And if the plans are for going out to dinner or a movie, it’s usually a sign he’s investing in a future. On the other hand, if he invites you to watch TV at his place, that could be an indicator he doesn’t want to spend money on you and plans to transition to the bedroom as soon as possible—which is how Netflix and chill became a common phrase. This is in the beginning, of course. After two people get into a more comfortable, relationshipy place, simple nights in say something else.”
The second to last was “Send me a pic,” versus “We should go out.” You’d think some of these would be basic knowledge, but it was surprising what we as women would explain away for guys when we wanted it to be more.
“Then there’s the after-sex text,” I said, automatically flinching, because the fact of the matter was, sometimes a guy was only in it for the chase. Once he’d sealed the deal, so to speak, he was out. Talk about soul crushing.
Not that a hook up happening out of sheer convenience made a person feel much better about herself. Especially if afterward, the guy she was madly in love with left her a stupid blow off note.
My earlier nerves turned to steely resolve. I paced the front of the room, each staccato beat of my heels driving the resolve deeper. “It’s a horrible feeling to realize a guy didn’t care as much about you as you did him, but it’s even worse to not realize it and let him keep using you. Hookup guys usually don’t send anything until the next time they want to hook up again.
“But if he texts—or even better, calls—and says something like, I had a good time, or you’re great, and we should grab dinner/go to a movie/talk about us, more often than not he’s into you for more than just sex.
“Now, while we’re on the subject, there’s a side note to Step Seven.” I displayed the step again with the little asterisk added below it. Adding it after the hookup texts made women pay it more attent
ion. My theory was because many just now realized how often they’d unknowingly been a hook up.
*Know where you’re at with a guy before you sleep with him.
“This can prevent a lot of real relationship versus hook up misunderstandings, and it’s as simple as a difficult conversation.”
I waited for them to get the play on words, although not everyone would. Sadly, my humor and what I found clever wasn’t universal. “We’ll cover how to go about that conversation in a future session, but I want to mention that occasionally—even if we think we’ve read the signs right—we misjudge. Sometimes guys lie. Sometimes we simply get caught up in the moment, and that’s okay. After all, we’re only human.”
Hopefully that comforted anyone who might be beating herself up for not seeing the signs she’d learned in that last slide. Plus, setbacks and slipups were common in dating, no matter how well informed, and I didn’t want anyone giving up before they got to the finish line.
I needed to wrap it up soon, but I also wanted them to be fully prepared for our field trip. “I’m going to go through these last few slides a bit faster, but I’ll email the bullet points, so you don’t have to worry about jotting them all down.”
Since my pacing had apparently moved me out of range of the projector, I clicked the remote as I moved toward my table, until it finally made connection and switched the screen. “Here are some signs the guy you’re with is a jerk…”
- Checks out your cleavage/legs/butt more often than he looks at your face (especially if it’s while you’re talking)
- Blatantly checks out other women (a glance happens from time to time, but lingering for too long, or doing it with every woman who walks by is a red flag)
- Looks at his phone more than you
- Is only affectionate after he’s been drinking
- Never wants to hang out with your friends