by Jemma Bell
I clench my teeth and fake a smile, “Too bad your ego is still hanging around, too.” That comment makes him smile wider.
“Hey, Derrick, can I get a picture of you and my pal Jenks here?” Layla inquires. “She’s a huge fan of your body, I mean work.” Ok then, I need a huge hole in the floor to open up and swallow me. Right now! Closing my eyes for a few seconds to absorb the embarrassment, I take a deep breath and look him in the eyes. He’s clearly entertained. Meeting him in the men’s room, falling at his feet, and now, him hearing my ridiculous nickname, my dignity is completely trampled into this cheap, psychedelic looking, beige carpet.
“Jenks?” he asks.
“Yeah, sugar lips, its short for her last name, Jenkins.” Layla fills him in. Whiskey colored eyes sparkle down at me: he is a few inches taller than my 5’5” frame. I push my glasses up my nose and correct both of them.
“Amy Jenkins, like I told you earlier.”
With a chuckle, he says “Well, Miss Jenkins let’s take our picture, shall we?” We pose in front of Anita’s banner, with Derrick’s arm around my lower waist.
“Alright, beautiful people show me some teeth,” Layla shouts. “Jenks, a smile please, not a look of constipation,” If looks could kill, Layla would be dead in a ditch right now. I manage to smile pathetically and get the picture over and done with. As I step away from my favorite book boyfriend, I feel his hand breeze over my rear. Hmm, must have been an accident. The line of women waiting for their turn with Derrick is getting very antsy and I see Layla getting her “Don’t mess with me face” on. As I turn to go retrieve my cart again, I feel Derrick squeeze a business card into my hand.
“You can follow me on Twitter and Instagram. I love to hear from fans of my body, I mean work,” he says with a flirty grin and a wink. “Feel free to post these photos on my Facebook page as well; it’s great for promotions.” We are having a moment right now; one of those moments that you wish would go on forever, but somebody always screws up for you.
“Alright, Derrick, we have lots of other ladies waiting for a piece of your time, this young lady surely knows you are incredibly busy and in demand at the moment.” Enter the dragon lady. A cool, sophisticated looking woman in an expensive suit pushes between us. She looks like Business Woman Barbie. Flashing icy blues at me, I get the stink eye and a once over where she obviously finds me lacking in some way. “Run along now, love.” She says to me with a flick of her hand. Shrewdly she pushes him back toward the crowd.
“Mitzi, I was talking to that girl,” Derrick argues.
“Pick up a piece of ass on your own time, Derrick. This is my time, now get your gorgeous self, back to work.” She answers with a snap of her well-manicured hand and a flick of her long, blonde hair. With one last glance in my direction, he leaves me standing there with my mouth hanging open as he rejoins his horde of adoring ladies at the behest of whoever the hell “Mitzi” is.
Chapter #3
Nerd Girl Problem #103
Realizing much too late that the guy of your dreams is probably incredibly unavailable and wasn’t interested in you to begin with. Queue sappy, sad love songs for the splintered heart.
It’s just past 9:00 PM when Layla and I hit the NJ Turnpike. We left Philly shortly after the author event came to a close. I managed to get a few more signatures for my books and even got a few of my favorite Indie authors to sign my Kindle cover. Layla took a few more pictures of me with authors and a couple other cover models. Brandi Parsons was just a fantastic lady and Jackson Kent is as flamboyant as the puffy pirate shirts he wears. There was quite the stir when, at some point near the end, a loud blast of screams could be heard from where we left Derrick.
“What’s going on over there?” Layla asked some woman as she high-tailed it for that corner of the ballroom. “Derrick Walker just took off his shirt!” She squeals and takes off with her friend. Huh, I guess it’s all part of the fantasy for some people. Shame I missed that.
We coast down the turnpike towards home in “Dotty”, Layla’s reliable but old Ford Bronco. Layla likes to think of herself as a hard-ass driving this beast of a truck. The look is complete with quirky bumper stickers that say “Silly boys, Trucks are for girls!” or “Chick Truck.” I love my friend, but I’ve always thought of her as one of those Cadbury Eggs. Hard coating on the outside, soft on the inside.
I can’t help but think about the events of the day and whether or not that butt rub was intentional. Layla’s chattering on and on about something. I must have spaced out for a second, because I catch her saying, “Jenks, you have to post that pic to his Facebook page and try to keep in contact with him. I swear, the fuck-me eyes you two were giving each other were so freakin’ sexy.”
“Layla, you clearly imagined things. He was only doing the flirty thing to play a part. I’m sure he winks and smiles at all of his adoring fans.” Yeah, there was attraction, on my part. There was also a bit of annoyance on my part because of his humongous ego. But why did he continue to hold my hand once the job requirement of picture taking was done. Foiled by Mitzi, the dragon lady. I don’t know why I’m dwelling on this; I’ll probably never see him again unless he’s at another event like this one. What would Mr. Yummy want with an awkward, clumsy, plain girl like me? He could have his pick of anyone he wants and I’m sure I don’t meet his usual criteria.
“Imagining things? You didn’t see the fascination from where I was standing. I think he could be into you.” The radio plays in the background, and I hear “Between the Raindrops” by Life House coming through the speakers. “That uber wench swooped in at the worst possible moment. Who was she anyhow?” Layla says probing for more information.
“I caught that her name was Mitzi and she seemed really bossy telling him what to do and stuff. Agent maybe?”
“Well, whoever she is, she needs to be taken down a few pegs or get a swift kick in the ass. I’m wearing the perfect boots to do it, too,” Layla says, pointing out her Docs. Slowing down, we pull into the Molly Pitcher Rest Stop and park the Bronco. The smell of gas is strong and the parking lot is full of eighteen wheelers.
“I’m in need of a Dirty Chai,” Layla shares, indicating her favorite caffeinated beverage. Chai tea with a shot of espresso sounds heavenly right now. I could use an energy pick me up since we’re still about 45 minutes from home. I nod my head yes, and Layla climbs out of the beast and trots across the parking lot to the coffee shop. I turn up the radio to drown out my thoughts. Unluckily for me, I hear an old song by Van Halen that clearly is perfect for this occasion. ‘Yeah, Sammy sing it! Why Can’t This Be Love?’ As I sing along to this ironic song, I hear my iPhone ping telling me someone tagged me with something. I open my screen and touch on Facebook and there, in my face, are two pictures of me and Derrick. Conveniently posted three minutes ago. One with both of us facing the camera, he’s smiling happily, and I’m, well I look like I’m constipated. Good one Layla! The next photo is of me glaring up at Derrick for some comment he must have made and he’s looking down at me with a sensual smirk. Wow, does he ever not look good? Scrolling through the comments from friends and family I notice one from Derrick Walker; damn you, Layla, why did you tag him as well? “Had a great time today and I met a special pair of lovely ladies! Thanks for the friendship, Layla.” Oh no, no, no, no, no! I quickly flip over to Layla’s home page and there sits a new picture of Derrick in her friends’ box. “I’m going to strangle that hag!” I mutter to myself.
I glance up to see her coming out the door with two cups in a cardboard carrier. Opening the driver side door with a rusty squeak, placing the carrier on the center console, she pulls herself up onto the seat.
“Your dirty chai, my dear.” She says handing me my cup. I don’t take it and continue to stare out the windshield. My arms crossed tightly across my chest.
“Jenks? Earth to Jenks. Care to share with me what crawled up your butt during the ten minutes I was gone to get drinks?” I slowly turn my head and glare at her. She knows wha
t’s up. She just wants to hear my argument on why I think she was wrong to do it.
“You are such a twatwaffle! I know why you posted those pictures, but why would you accept him as a friend?” I whine.
“Why shouldn’t I accept him as friend? Give me a real good reason, Amy, and I’ll unfriend him just for you.” She says while giving me a squint of her eyes. Uh oh, it’s never a good thing when she calls me by my name. I back down from my argument, because I can’t give her a good enough reason.
“Amy, odds are you’ll never see Derrick Walker again. So what if I allow him to be a pretend friend online. It’s not hurting anything!” Layla starts laying into me. “Your big problem is you like him, but don’t think you're good, pretty or sexy enough for him or someone like him. Well, news flash butt munch, he was flirting with you, he was interested in you, without meddlesome Mitzi crashing your little eye fucking scene, he might have asked you for your number.” I’m guessing Layla is on a rant because she keeps going.
“Jenks, you are a gorgeous girl, I would kill to look like you. You’re the complete package; good boobs, nice ass, pretty face, and fabulous hair.” I just stare at her as she lists what she thinks are my assets. “With a little help from me and realizing that I am always right, we might be able to work with what we’ve got and turn you into a sex kitten instead of the lonely cat lady.”
“Layla, I love you, you jerk, but I don’t think it can be done.” I plead. Layla hands me my dirty chai and cranks up the beast.
“Just leave the details to me, my friend, Derrick might be out of our reach, but we most definitely will change your luck with guys. Operation get Jenks laid is about to commence. ” Oh lord save me!
*** Derrick ***
Home sweet home, finally! It was starting to feel like this day would never end, I think to myself as I crash down on top of my bed. Running my fingers through my hair, I loosen all the extra hold gel that I use to give me my signature faux hawk. Relaxing is just what I need. I lay back in my pile of pillows and am enveloped in the smell Downy fabric softener. Fresh and clean! I unbutton my jeans for some breathing room, toss my arm across my eyes and settle in. Reflecting on the day’s events, I’d consider it a success. Tons of book sales for Anita, awesome exposure and a phenomenal response from fans for both of us.
My cheeks are sore from all the smiling I’ve done today. Posing for pics with fans, being happy to see everyone, just being an all-around friendly guy. All fake! The only genuine smile I had today was when I bumped into a girl in the men’s room. It still gives me a chuckle. She was just as surprised as I was. It’s too bad I was trying to hide from a mob of chicks. She probably thought I was an incredible wuss, locking myself away in the most predictable hiding spot. I’m typically a guy who prefers blondes, but something about her just sucked me in. Incredibly cute, rocking body, great tits, strawberry blonde hair, blushed cheeks and grayish eyes concealed behind tortoise-shell glasses. Boy, would I like to steam up those glasses with some dirty talk and deepen that blush with a more pleasant exertion. Just thinking about her is getting me hard. A sexy librarian all buttoned up and proper. Give me a chance baby and I’ll annihilate that image for you and make you wonder how you ever survived without me!
“Dude, I hope that chubby you’re sporting isn’t because you’re thinking about me,” my buddy Riven announces. “You know my door doesn’t swing that way, man.” He says continuing to egg me on.
“Riv, man, leave me alone, it’s been a long-ass day,” I plead, without removing my arm from my face. I know it’s in vain because he’s going to want details about the signing and if anything interesting happened.
“Alright, so give me a count, how many butt grabs, junk rubs and nipple twists this time?” He asks with a laugh.
“I lost count and some woman old enough to be my grandma gave me all three and then asked me to be the cream in her coffee, whatever that means. Could have been worse though. Mitzi only lets them feel me up so much and then she sends them on their way. Got to allow some of the heavy petting, so the ladies feel like they are living in the book fantasy, you know!”
“Ah yes, and how is Moaning Mitzi today?” Riven inquires. He’s referred to her by that name, because occasionally Mitzi accompanies me home. She is an overly loud lover and just like her everyday personality, she’s a pit bull in the bedroom, too. Aggressive and assertive. She’s a determined woman and a great manager, not happily ever after material. So with her, it’s always a fuck and duck. We both get-off and she goes home. No strings emotionally, well on my part at least. Mitzi does like to mark me as her territory, just like she did with that girl Amy today.
“Mitzi was satisfied with the turnout and is booking a few photo shoots and appearances for the coming weeks.” I respond.
“All good brother, get some shut eye. We have a three-hour workout session in the AM.” Riven informs me. He’s not only my buddy and roommate, he’s my co-worker and trainer. We work out and work together at Galaxy Fitness Club. “And, by the way, what babe were you thinking about that caused you to sprout some wood?”
“Fuck off, Riv,” I shout and toss a pillow at his goofy face.
“Alright, douche bag, get some rest. You’re going to need it to survive the session I have planned tomorrow. Nothing but gains.”
And with those parting words, he leaves me to my thoughts. Thoughts surrounding a certain strawberry blonde. I was shocked as shit to see that her friend posted those pictures on Facebook and sent me a friend request. I immediately accepted that. It’s pathetic, I know, but I can at least look at pics of her and post an occasional comment. Perhaps something more; after all, its a very small world.
Chapter #4
Nerd Girl Problem #104
Finding out that Ben Wa is a lot different than Benihana.
The buzzer on my alarm sounds off at 8:00 the next morning; I’m so not ready to get up and face the world yet. I click the snooze button for an extra ten minutes and roll over to face the wall so the light from the window doesn’t shine in my face. I’m met with a cold nose to my cheek, proceeded by a very large tongue giving me a face bath. Sounds kinky, right? Yeah, not when that tongue is attached to a 60 pound Redbone Coonhound.
“Clyde, get off my bed. Your breath smells like Milk Bones,” I say as I attempt to avoid the mad licker coming at my face again. I manage to push him away with both arms. Grunting his disapproval at me, Clyde climbs off the bed and slinks out my bedroom door that’s cracked open. “I love you, boy,” I yell to Clyde. He answers back with a loud hound howl. He always has to have the last word.
I do love Clyde; he’s my Pops’ dog. We rescued him from a high-kill shelter in Newark. He was an eleventh-hour rescue because the trainers said he was unable to learn the most basic commands like sit, stay, speak. Those skills make dogs attractive to possible families. Pops didn’t care. He saw that rich red coat of fur with sad, pleading eyes and found his new four-legged child. They were right. There’s only one command Clyde understands and follows. Pops taught Clyde to pee on command. Have you ever watched the Clint Eastwood movie Any Which Way You Can? You know the one with the orangutan? Well, this is Pops’ favorite movie. When he found out the dog’s name was Clyde, Pops went on a mission. At the command of “Right Turn, Clyde” the orangutan in the movie would punch someone standing on his right side. You see where this is going? Yep, Pops taught our Clyde to pee on the command “Right Turn, Clyde.” Totally gross, but on the bright side, it shows Clyde is capable of learning, he just chooses not to do dumb dog tricks. He’s more sophisticated than that.
The buzzer sounds again and this time the day cannot be ignored. I’ve got to go shower, shave my legs and show up for work; the three S’s. I’m so tired today. It took ages for me to fall asleep last night and, when I did, I had dreams of Derrick that turned into nightmares when Layla made a vain attempt to sexify my nerdy self for a date with him: teased hair a mile high, blue eye shadow, and hot pink lip stick. I looked like a throw-back to a Twisted Si
ster music video. Scary!
The hot water pours down on me and it feels so good, I could stay in here all day, but duty calls at the bookstore, along with another long evening of my online computer college courses. Most of the online work is complete, I’m set to graduate from the University of Phoenix Online in May with a degree in Business Administration.
After I blow my hair dry, I pull it up into my usual signature ponytail. I quickly choose my outfit for the day: black skinny jeans, a button up red and navy flannel shirt and my favorite black Chuck Taylors. I add a black leather and bead bracelet just for a girlie touch and sling my leather camel colored purse across my chest. With one last look in the mirror, I give myself my usual pep talk about my appearance. “Alright, Amy, just like any other day, this is as good as it’s going to get.” Skipping downstairs, I quickly bustle through the kitchen, grab a cinnamon roll, kiss Pops goodbye and run out the door.
“Amy, are you going to be home for dinner?” Pops yells to me. “GG is making baked chicken and mashers.”
“I’ll call you after work Pops, not sure yet,” I answer as I climb in my little red Hyundai. It’s a short, fifteen-minute drive to work at The Book Mark, a local mom and pop bookstore and coffee shop. What can I say, I love books, I’m addicted to caffeinated beverages and I’m a poor college girl. Working here is no hardship. I park my car in my usual spot two doors down. The downtown area of Red Bank is never busy at this time of the morning. Climbing out and locking my doors, I quickly walk down the street. The door is unlocked and the welcome bell chimes as I enter the store. I turn the closed sign over to open, seeing as Barb, my boss, forgot to do it.