Clichéd Love: A Satirical Romance

by Lynn Galli

  “Which one?”

  I named the nationally recognized paper that was often slid under hotel room doors every morning and received raised eyebrows from both women. That should put an end to any disappointment.

  My eyes caught sight of the witty woman making her way up to the bar. It was a little crazy that seeing a woman I wasn’t sexually attracted to and had only met twice would lighten my mood. In my lifetime, I’d made one instant connection: my current editor. Over the years of our friendship, she’d been responsible for some of the best assignments in my career and was the obvious choice for this freelance series. The way I’d been reacting to this woman, I wondered if I’d found another.

  “Where should we start?” Kerry brought my attention back.

  “Anywhere you like.” It was just as interesting to hear where people decided was the beginning of their story.

  “Camping!” They both declared with big smiles.

  I listened to the start of their nine-year love story discovered in the wilderness under the stars or something like that. I refrained from rolling my eyes in some places, especially with the Truth or Dare game played around the campfire by their group of friends. I almost guessed how they’d end up together, but I waited for them to tell me.

  “It rained one night, and Blakie’s tent had a tear in it. She woke up soaking wet and screeching—”

  “I was not—”

  Kerry grinned as she corrected herself, “Bravely griping about getting wet as if it were melting her—”

  “I was soaked!”

  “So I invited her to share my tent.” Kerry’s eyebrows fluttered suggestively.

  “And her sleeping bag,” Blake added with her own eyebrow flutter. “Mine was soaked, remember?”

  “Fortuitous,” I commented, but meant fortunate for her.

  “We were so loud we woke up the rest of the group.” Kerry’s hands came up to cover her face. “We’ll never live that down.”

  “And we’ve been happily ever after since.” Blake wound her arm around Kerry and pulled her in.

  I jotted down answers to a few follow-up questions. It was one of a few other camping stories I’d heard, but the first one with rain causing them to sleep together. The others were about forgetting a tent or an extra two people showed up so they had to double up, but not the rain soaked tent. That alone might help push it to the top of my available camping stories.

  They barely glanced at the release allowing me to publish their story. Two quick signatures on the forms, and I stood to prompt the end of the interview. Blake took the hint first and shook my hand. Kerry insisted on the handshake that turned into a hug as if we were longtime friends. As they left the table, my eyes immediately went back to the bar. I was starving and hadn’t had time to order food.

  Lane glided over as soon as I stepped up with my repacked bag. She looked like she could use a break, but the crowd had doubled in size. She took my order, and I grabbed one of two remaining open stools. Someone brushed against me as she took the one next to me.

  “Did you get the rain soaked story?”

  My lips pursed, trying to hold in the smile as I turned to the witty woman. Her short hair was styled again. I couldn’t decide if I liked the natural wisps or the pasted wisps better. I had the urge to touch both and test the springiness of those waves. That would be a step too far, even if I felt like we had an instant connection.

  “What rain soaked story?” I played stupid to see which way she’d go with this.

  She let out an amused breath. “They tell it to everyone.”

  “Known them long?” I’d met three couples here, and she knew them all.

  “A while.” She turned to face me fully. “What they didn’t tell you was that Blake cut a hole in her tent and let the rain soak her to get Kerry to issue an invitation.”

  My eyes widened. Now that would shoot the story to the top of my list for all stories, not just the camping ones. Manipulative, but ingenious without being skeevy. “Did they tell you?”

  “Blake did. She gets braggy when she drinks too much.”

  “Good to know.” I’d have to confirm this version with Blake to see if she’d be willing to let me print it. If she really did get braggy, Kerry probably already knew about the manipulation.

  “What made you choose Seattle?” she asked, and I really liked that she didn’t ask me to confirm what I did or if what she’d heard about the writing was true.

  “I’ve been through a few times. Always liked it.”

  “Did you end up signing the lease?” Her smile flared at my nod. “You’ll like it.”

  My eyes skated over her casually clad body. Only her well-defined arms showed tonight. Her pants hid those enviable thighs. I’d bet a year’s salary that her abs could be counted from twenty feet away. “Will I find you there some days?”

  “That’s the real reason you’ll like it.”

  If she hadn’t delivered that perfectly, it would have sounded seriously arrogant. Instead, I laughed. “Is that so?”

  Her shoulders lifted briefly. “You’ll like me as a friend.”

  “Will I?” It was too amusing not to prod her further.

  “Ask Lane.” Her hand gestured to Lane.

  “Ask me what?” Lane joined the conversation, placing my burger in front of me. In another tank top and jeans ensemble tonight, she took the sexy bartender thing to another dimension.

  “I make a great friend.” Blue eyes tinted violet more than ocean sparkled at her friend while we waited for what we both thought would be an instant response.

  A long silence stretched out. Lane’s cinnamon brown eyes blinked slowly, plump lips puckered in thought. Neither woman broke until customers started clamoring for Lane’s attention. She shot us the cool lip twitch and admitted, “She does.” Then she was off to make more drinks.

  “Testimonial evidence right there.” Wit leaned in, and I caught a whiff of lemongrass. “I am also the keeper of the real stories.”

  “Like the Blake-made hole in her tent?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  She grinned but stopped when someone bumped into her. She recognized the pretty redhead pushing her way up to the bar and helped to steady her. Again, she worked her boozy whispering and got the woman to skip ordering another drink. Her eyes sought mine in apology as she stood to help the woman outside to a ride. When she didn’t return, disappointment hit me again. She was attractive enough to have major game, but she didn’t strike me as the kind who took multiple women home every week or took advantage of tipsy women.

  “Know what you’re getting into with that one, Vega,” Blake said as she pushed in beside me to order a round of drinks. “I feel like we’re friends, so I should warn you. She’s only interested in one night. It’ll be a good night, but only one. For a woman who’s collecting love stories, you’re probably not into the casual thing.”

  If there was one button someone could push to make me instantly annoyed, it was when she thought she knew me after one meeting in which she’d talked most of the time. After subjecting myself to often nauseating love stories all day, a one-night stand might be the best medicine. Blake didn’t know anything.

  I found myself mystified by my defensiveness of a woman I didn’t consider dating material. Based on the “friend” comment, Wit wasn’t into my type either. Both of the women she’d left with were pretty with more makeup, perfume, and spiky heels than most of the city’s female population. I didn’t own spiky heels or perfume, and my makeup wasn’t meant to be noticeable. What confounded me was that these strangers felt the need to warn everyone off her. Or warn me off her. They hadn’t done anything to stop the two tipsy women from leaving with her.

  Curiosity definitely piqued.

  4 | Jay & Dakota

  | Montana & Mac

  Wind whipped at my face as I walked past the Seattle Central campus on my way back to the bar Sunday night. What possessed me to think I should wal
k to the bar tonight when the temperature had dropped ten degrees since this afternoon, I’ll never know. People on the street wore t-shirts and shorts. Only a few were more covered like me with cotton pants, long sleeved shirt, and lightweight jacket. I’d been in town four days already and no sign of the infamous endless rain yet. Cold and overcast, sure, but not even a sprinkle.

  Riley was getting out of her truck as I passed the bar’s parking lot. She beamed at me and stepped down from the biggest truck I’d seen in the city thus far. There weren’t a lot of full-sized pickups in this part of the city. My feet dragged as I tilted back to check. Yep, she’d taken up part of another compact parking space in the lot. That explained why there weren’t that many pickups around.

  “Yo,” she exclaimed and slapped me on the back again. “Back for another?”

  “For a while, yep.” I was hoping to cut off the question before she decided to ask it every time she saw me.

  “Got people lined up tonight?” Sincerity darkened her light brown eyes. None of the bravado she’d shown in front of her friends stood between us tonight. It made her more likeable.

  “In about an hour.”

  “Oh, good, then you’ve got time for my friends. I told them about you.”

  Sigh. Then again, the more stories I collected, the sooner I could move on to the next city. Not that I had much choice, since Riley used her vice grip hand to clamp onto my arm and drag me inside. I would have protested if the heat hadn’t soothed me once the door closed behind us.

  “There they are.” Her finger pointed to a table of six women, all different shapes and sizes, but very much like Riley and her girlfriend, Pouty, or whatever her name was. One butch, one femme to a couple.

  “I’ll meet you over there. Can I get you something?”

  Her eyes widened. Perhaps no one had ever bought her a drink before. She was probably used to paying for Pouty and any of Pouty’s friends. “A Bud Light. Thanks.”

  Lane appeared as if she’d sensed me from the other end of the bar. She raised an offering glass.

  I indicated the soda nozzle and Riley’s beer tap. “Do you ever get a night off?”

  “Tomorrow,” Lane of few words said.

  “You’re closed tomorrow.”

  “My night off.” She didn’t elaborate on whether she got her only night off when the bar was closed or the bar closed because she needed a night off. Seeing as the boss put in a minimal amount of effort even when they were slammed on Friday night, I’d guess it was more the latter.

  Placing my order, my eyes automatically searched for Wit. She hadn’t shown at the condo gym yet either. I’d been looking forward to that promised good friendship but hadn’t had the opportunity to learn anything more about her. Adrian/Sawyer waved at me from one of the pool tables. I couldn’t remember if she was the pool shark or Riley, and I couldn’t remember if she was Adrian or Sawyer.

  I walked Riley’s beer and my soda over to the table. Riley sprang up from her seat and introduced me around. There were two state names, a few nicknames, and one Geo. Not Georgie, or Gigi, Geo. For a woman. And she said it wasn’t short for anything. If it wouldn’t make me a jerk, I’d ask to see her birth certificate.

  As I was prepping my workspace, the door opened and Wit strolled through. Two steps in, her eyes found mine and crinkled. My stomach warmed, knowing she’d searched me out. I’d get the chance to see if she proved right about the friendship thing. Although with three couples to listen to, I hoped she’d stick around long enough.

  One of the state names one started out. Dakota and her sweetie, Jay, met in high school, secretly crushed on each other but didn’t do anything about it. Not until the ten year reunion when they finally confessed their secret crushes and did the deed in the principal’s office while the rest of their class was boogying to some Justin Timberlake tune.

  My eyes rounded a few times while listening to their story. Not that there was anything original about the secret crushes and nervous eagerness at the reunion, but the getting down and dirty on the high school premises during the reunion upped the ante a bit. Perhaps everyone did this at a reunion. I wouldn’t know, having never even been back to my home town of Frederick, Maryland, let alone return for a high school reunion. My parents did me a great favor when they relocated to Arizona the year after I graduated high school.

  The other state was up next. Montana let her spouse, Mac, do most of the talking. College sweethearts, really by default, since they’d been assigned the same dorm room and, over time, realized that their feelings for each other were more than just good friends. Or more likely, being horny college kids, figured out how much easier it was to have sex with the roommate instead of trying to find an interested woman every week.

  I took a break after their story and made my way up to the bar. Neither of the stories was original enough to make the article and confirmed my theory that most romance stories were pretty uninspired. I’d been treated to a few gems, all of which would end up in the series, but they were hard to find.

  “Can you even imagine being with someone from high school?” Wit asked from right beside me after I’d placed the table’s drink order.

  “What makes you think I’m not?” I faced her, wondering where she’d gone to high school. My eyes dipped down to her legs, a different pair of jeans tonight, but the same cowboy boots. Completely stereotyping, I didn’t think cowboy boots belonged to a woman who’d grown up in Seattle. They looked damn good on her, but if the stereotype held, she’d be from somewhere else.

  Her eyes slit with amusement. “You’re not.” She didn’t bother to drop them to my left hand to check for a ring. She must have done that already. Which reminded me. Nope, no ring on her finger either.

  Normally such a certain statement would grate on my nerves. Arrogance was probably my least favorite quality in a person. She, however, pulled off the borderline arrogance laced with unpretentious humor and turned it into a completely new personality type. One I rather liked. “I’m not.”

  “You didn’t do your roommate in college either.” Her eyes focused on Montana before returning to mine.

  Now it was getting a little scary how well she could read me. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  And she did. Most likely because she knew if you screwed your roommate and it didn’t work out or it was lousy, you’d have to continue living with that person for the rest of the semester.

  “Maybe I should just interview you since you know everyone’s story.”

  She shrugged. “Wouldn’t be right.”

  Very true. “Or printable without a firsthand description.”

  “You both good?” Lane asked as she came back our way. Her eyes lingered on Wit for a long moment before the nodding reply was enough for her to get back to her other customers. My head tilted. No. They didn’t act as if they were together. Perhaps something had happened earlier in the day and she was just checking on Wit.

  “What’s your name?” I should probably know it if we were going to be friends. My fingers crossed in the hopes of hearing a good one. A stupid habit, but as a writer, names carried significant weight.

  An eyebrow spiked. “Four meetings and you’re just now asking? You’re a true original. I’m liking that.”

  Best compliment ever. I’d been called weird mostly, a little off occasionally, but a true original never. She waited for me to say something, but I was still feeling giddy from the compliment. Her eyes sparkled when she realized she’d said something I really liked. My hand gestured for her to respond.

  “Iris.”

  Breath pushed out in relief. “Oh good. You’ve got a woman’s name.”

  She laughed and looked at the table again, then over to the foursome at one of the pool tables. “This from the woman with the rare first name.”

  My eyes rounded. So, she’d found out my name. Although the way some of these women talked about each other, it was probably hard not to hear about the writer with the oddball name that o
nly belonged to fictional characters. Female fictional characters, at least. “Granted I’ve only met a dozen women here, but they’ve all got unisex or men’s names. Is that a West Coast thing?”

  A know-it-all sparkle livened her eyes. I’d let slip I wasn’t from the West Coast. Not only that, since I’d used West Coast instead of Seattle, she must realize I was from the East Coast. As someone used to knowing a lot more about the people I speak with than they know about me, this was a little disconcerting.

  “I think it’s a generational thing. Although some of those women go by middle names because they don’t like their feminine first names.”

  “Geo?” My gaze shot to the stocky woman with her arm around the voluptuous brunette at the table.

  “Georgianna, but don’t tell her I told you that. She’ll key my car.”

  I felt like giggling, and I never felt like giggling. Sporty types didn’t giggle, but this woman was funny and likeable. And comfortable because of that instant connection thing. We’d make very good friends. “I’ll make sure.”

  “You working out tomorrow morning?”

  A smile touched my lips. “Plan to.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  “You can tell me then how you got gym privileges.”

  “That won’t make your article.”

  “I should hope not, Iris.” I tipped my chin at her and headed back to hear Geo, of the Georgianna car-keying fame, and her partner’s story.

  Everyone reached for their drink when I set them on the table. Dakota leaned close to me. “She’s a player, just so you know.”

  I squinted at her as I took a swig of my soda. “Who?”

  “Tall, dark, and handsome over there.” Her chin jutted over to the bar.

  My eyes went back to Iris. She was above average in height, but not basketball tall. Her barely brown hair and lightly tanned skin tone couldn’t be described as dark. Handsome didn’t fit either. Attractive, alluring, hot, but handsome belonged to someone with more chiseled features, more coiffed hair, more masculine everything. Iris wasn’t masculine. She wasn’t feminine either, but handsome didn’t work for her. Neither did pretty or conventionally beautiful. Good-looking and charismatic, both old-fashioned descriptors, but they fit this one.