Thirty Days: Part One (A SwipeDate Novella Book 1)

by BT Urruela

  “Gavin, my man, it’s been awhile!” He reaches his weathered hand out and I shake it.

  “How you been, Julius?” Releasing his hand, I slip my own back into my coat pocket, still trying to warm them up.

  “Eh…” He motions to his missing leg. “The cold loves to fuck with nubbie, but I ain’t bad, man.”

  “Army still giving you the run around?”

  “Ah, they’ll blame anything other than agent orange for as long as they can. Asshats. I’ll get it, though. And back pay’ll be a bitch for them.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you, brother. The guys here?”

  “Same booth as always,” he responds, motioning for me to join them. “Have a grand old time and try not to kick the other team’s ass too bad.”

  I laugh, nodding toward him as I pass. “We’ll try not to. Stop by the table and fuck with Andy for me, will you?”

  He winks and says, “I’m ten steps ahead of ya.”

  I smile, turning toward the bar and proceeding through the scattered groups of people. Sufficiently warmed up by now, I remove my coat and spot Bobby and our boy Andy, as full-figured as Bobby, but less muscular, already sitting at the back booth with beer, wings, and trivia cards on the table in front of them. I toss my coat onto the bench seat, drawing their attention.

  “Holy fuck. Look who decided to show,” Bobby says, slapping hands with me.

  “I told you I would. Plus, I didn’t feel like hearing you bitch,” I reply with a grin.

  “How ya been, Gav?” Andy says in his Tennessee twang, scooting off the bench and greeting me with a hug.

  “Not too bad, Country. How about yourself?” I ask as he shuffles back to the booth and slides in. I take a seat as well, next to Bobby, and pour myself a beer.

  “Gettin’ laid, gettin’ paid. Ya know what I mean?” he says and shoots me a wink.

  “Getting laid?” Bobby muses. “Farm animals don’t count, Andy.”

  “Hey, fuck you. Don’t talk about my momma like that!” Andy glares at Bobby, balling a fist and shaking it at him. “I’ll beat you something good, boy.”

  Bobby reaches his arm out in front of Andy, letting it linger there for a moment before grabbing a wing and taking a bite. He passes googly eyes at Andy as he chews.

  “You guys seriously look like you’re about to fuck. Do you want me to give you some privacy?” I jest, and Andy’s eyebrows wiggle.

  “Well, now you’re talking,” he says, his hands drifting to his chest and he grips both pecs and squeezes them.

  “I wouldn’t fuck you with Gavin’s dick,” Bobby says, laughing.

  “Aw, c’mon now,” Andy says, dropping his hands back down to his sides. “Ya don’t want none of this virgin butthole?”

  “I’ll have to respectfully decline,” Bobby responds, shaking his head.

  “Can you assholes just fuck already and get it over with? Trivia’s starting soon. Speaking of which, where’s Javon?”

  “He’s on his way… he had a date,” Bobby says.

  “While we’re on the subject of dates… how’s yer datin’ Royal Rumble goin’, Gav?” Andy asks and I narrow my eyes on Bobby.

  “You told him, fucker?” I ask and Bobby just shrugs.

  “I didn’t know it was a secret,” he replies.

  “It’s not, but for the love of God, why would you tell this asshole?” I ask, pointing at Andy. “You know he’s never gonna shut up about it now.”

  “Hey now,” Andy says, a bullshit look of hurt on his face. “And here I thought we could pillow talk about it and shit. I can help guide ya through your journey. Like some redneck Sherpa.”

  “Yeah, it couldn’t possibly be your desire to shit all over my love life. Or lack thereof. Nah, couldn’t be that.”

  “Man, I ain’t tryin’ to shit on nothin’. I ain’t fucked the wife in three-plus months. If I’m shittin’ on somethin’, it’s gonna be her.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that wouldn’t be the first time?” I ask, a devious smile spreading across my face.

  “That’s just an obvious damn statement, right there. Ain’t it? Of course I’ve shit on Teri. Only been messy once, though, and well, that’s on me. I shouldn’t have gotten us Taco Bell for dinner.”

  I pretend gag before shaking my head at him. “Please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up.”

  “Tell me about your dates or I’m gonna tell you more about the time fucking Teri in the butthole was like churning butter. Fuckin’ Parkay all over the bed and shit.”

  “Please, spare me,” I say, putting my hand up.

  “I do believe I gave ya an option.” Andy raises his brows.

  “It’s been over a year since I dated last. How do you fucking think they’re going?”

  “Shit on a stick?”

  “Something like that. The date today was the worst. Horrible… horrible date.”

  “Why’s that?” Bobby asks, his face full of intrigue.

  “She was just a real peach. Started the date off by berating me for holding the door open for her. She said it was sexist. Some bullshit about equality… I don’t know. I was really scratching my head at the end of the date when she didn’t even reach for her wallet. She was totally okay with me paying. Shit, I would’ve paid twice what I did to get her to stop talking politics.”

  “She’s a Killary fan, ain’t she?” Andy asks, and I glare at him.

  “Andy, that wasn’t an invitation for you to talk politics. Quite the contrary. Please, please save me your rhetoric,” I say.

  Before Andy can respond, Bobby asks, “What did you guys do?”

  “Just lunch at some snobby spot she picked in Manhattan. That should’ve been my first indication she was toxic.”

  “Hey, Cassandra lives in Manhattan,” Bobby says.

  “Precisely,” I tease, smiling behind the beer in my hand when he raises his middle finger and holds it up to my face.

  “If you’d ever actually take the time to get to know Cassandra, you’d see she’s a pretty great woman. And why the hell are you letting the girl pick the spot on a first date anyway?” he asks, shaking his head just as Andy raises his hand for our attention.

  “We’re gonna make America great again. Y’all will see,” Andy says, as if we haven’t already bypassed that conversation. I love him to death, but you don’t want to get this man on politics… or much else for that matter. He has no filter.

  “Andy… I won’t tell you again,” I say, raising my hand as if I’m about to bitch slap him. “I will take your redneck ass out. I’m sick of fucking politics… I’m serious. Election Day is soon. Regardless of who wins, they’ve got a big job ahead of them. Now shut up and drink your beer.” His eyes remain on me for a moment, holding my glare, before he shrugs and takes a gulp. He lets out a sigh of contentment while he pats his impressive beer gut.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he says, swiping a hand across his mouth to collect the leftover foam from his To Catch a Predator mustache.

  “Besides all that nonsense, the last book she read was in high school,” I say dryly and Bobby nods his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, knowing full well that’s my ultimate no-no.

  “Shit. That’s not good,” he says.

  “Yeah, not many of the girls so far do read. It’s kind of sad.”

  “People get busy with life,” Bobby says as Andy’s eyes roam to the passing waitress’s ass.

  “Dude…” I tilt my head. “That, I get. But not reading a book since high school is a completely different story. Come on, Bobby. You’re an author, too. You can’t tell me you don’t see it. It’s blindingly obvious.”

  “Well, I happen to think it’s a good thing,” Bobby responds and I shoot him a look of confusion.

  “Wait. Having fewer readers in the country, far fewer… for an author… is a good thing? Did I miss something here? I don’t remember learning that in my writing classes.”

  “I’m just saying it forces us to get better as writers. To hone
our craft. To work that much harder, because, you know, with all the stimuli around us twenty-four hours a day, you really have to grab their attention and keep them strapped in. I think it makes us better and makes the process more fun.”

  “Easy for the guy with three Times’ lists under his belt.”

  “Gavin, you’re a better writer than me. We both know this. Shit, you’re the one that fucking taught me. You just gotta keep working at it.”

  “How would y’all like it if I sat here talking about what it’s like fixing shitters all day?” Andy asks, a goofy ass look on his face.

  “Sounds like it could get interesting,” I muse.

  “Well, if y’all keep talkin’ this writin’ business, I’m going to tell ya about last week when I snaked a heapin’ wad of bloody tampons from this chick’s drain.”

  “How about them Mets?” I ask, and Andy chuckles.

  “S’what I thought,” he says, clicking his tongue.

  As the terrible imagery of what he’s just said begins, I’m relieved when I see Javon striding toward our booth. He towers over everyone, so when he enters a room, people take notice. He was adopted at a very young age by a pair of free spirited missionaries in Nairobi. He grew up in a very open home and was encouraged to experience everything that life has to offer to find his true passion, taking to two things in the process—basketball and stocks. After playing division one ball and getting an economics degree, he’s currently rocking and rolling on Wall Street and helping to run an inner-city youth basketball program he started.

  He is the definition of intimidation. His confidence, unparalleled.

  “What’s up, gentlemen?” he asks, decked out in designer slacks, well-shined shoes, and a tailored button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He reaches a large hand out and greets Bobby and Andy first, and then nods toward me; a wide, perfect smile still on his face. “Gavin, I’m glad you could make it out.”

  I lean in and give him a bro hug before he sits down next to me, filling up the U-shaped booth. He pushes the retro black-rimmed glasses back up his nose and grabs an empty glass from the table.

  “How have you been?” he asks, filling his beer, but his eyes returning to me once he’s finished.

  “Not bad. Still going through a good deal of writer’s block, but plugging away at it. How about you? Still making your clients millions?” He laughs, brushing me off as he’s known to do. He’s one of the humblest people I’ve ever met. One of the most intelligent, too.

  “Plugging away,” he says, sipping at his beer.

  He’s the cool guy in our little clan. I’m not even quite sure how he ended up with the likes of us. I met Andy on a softball team I played on when Bobby and I first moved to New York. He found his country ass stuck in Brooklyn some ten years ago, chasing his wife, who was following her family. He started hanging with Bobby and me, and just kind of stuck. Javon, on the other hand, was just by happenstance. He was out at a bar we were at, in the midst of one of a handful of fights Bobby and I found ourselves in during our mid-twenties. A few fights were alcohol-infused and pointless, but this one was a little more noble. A girl had been roughed up at a bar down in Manhattan. Bobby and I jumped in just a few seconds before Javon was about to retaliate himself. After finishing up with all the police shit and getting the girl a taxi, we ended up hanging out with Javon for a few more hours that night and really hit it off. We’ve all been friends ever since.

  “They still working you into the ground?” I ask Javon as the other two bitch beside us and he just shakes his head.

  “You have no idea,” he responds as the trivia guy takes to the mic, announcing the start of the game. “A few more years of it and I should be able to do the basketball stuff full-time.”

  “That’d be great, man.”

  “By the way,” he says, raising the volume of his voice to combat the trivia guy’s intro, “can we talk after this?”

  I nod, but say nothing, knowing full well what he’d like to talk about.

  We end up winning trivia, which often happens when the four of us are together. I’d say the three of us, but Andy happens to know a lot about sports, so he pulls his own weight most of the time. I don’t often gloat, it’s not my style, but I do kick some major ass at trivia. I blame it on an incessant need to look up anything and everything, which has led to a wealth of useless knowledge.

  Andy and Bobby grab a cab on their way back to Queens after saying goodbye to me and Javon, and the two of us stroll down Bleeker together.

  “You didn’t drive, did you?” I ask, my hands in my pockets and trying my best to keep up with Javon’s lengthy strides. He’s walking casually and I’m fucking power walking over here.

  “No, I’m headed back to that girl’s place. She’s just a few blocks from you. I just wanted to talk with you a little more. You know I worry about you.”

  “I know. It’s kind of why I hate that you’re my only boy in the know,” I reply, grinning.

  “Would you not share it with me again if you had the chance?” he asks, his patient eyes looking back at me as he continues walking.

  “You know I would. You helped me a lot.”

  “And why is that?” he asks, tilting his head and smirking.

  “Because you’ve been there before,” I respond, and he nods.

  “Exactly. You need to at least keep in touch. I’ve been there. I fought my way out of it. If you talk to no one else… at least talk to me. You still seeing Dr. Thresher?”

  “Yeah, thanks again for that recommendation. She’s pretty great.” We stop just before my loft and I motion toward the steps. “You want to come in for a beer or something?”

  “Early morning tomorrow, or else I’d be happy to. I just want to make sure you know I’m still here. Even if it’s just to bullshit. I don’t wanna see you get to that level again.”

  “Genuinely, I’m over that. There’s a lot more work to be done though,” I say, pulling my keys from my coat pocket. “But that was just an ugly time for me. It hardly feels like that’s who I was at one point.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s nice to get to that point. You know, when Ma and Pop died and the injury ended my chances at pro ball… I look back on who I was after that… and it really is like a completely different person. Enjoy this, Gavin. I think you’re on your way out of the fire.”

  “I sure hope so,” I respond with a smile. “You going to be at trivia next week?”

  He laughs. “I always am. The better question is, are you?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there. I need something to break up the monotony of these dates.”

  “Then I’ll see you there. But don’t be a stranger. Message me if you need to,” he says, putting his hand out and taking me in for a bro hug, which I always hate with him because I feel like a fucking toddler in his Go-Go-Gadget arms.

  “You got it. Thanks, bro.”

  “Anytime,” he says, letting go and throwing up a peace sign. “Rest easy. See you soon.”

  “See you. Try not to make her fall too in love with you, man,” I tease with a grin as I start up the steps.

  He laughs as he continues down the street. He turns back one last time when I slip the key in the lock. “You gotta worry about yourself there, Gavin. I think you’re gonna have some fun on your hands after twenty-something more dates. I’ve been on them apps. Godspeed, homie.” He cackles as he lumbers off into the darkness.

  With Bobby’s check deposited, I at least don’t have to worry about money on today’s date, but the same mess of nerves sits squarely in my gut, willing me to turn around and abandon the whole challenge. After the last few duds, and Maria still regularly texting me even though my responses are short, I’m thinking there’s a snowball effect that will come with all of this. I genuinely hope I’m up for completing it, but every night, I don’t want to go to sleep because of what the next day entails. That’s no way to live.

  I set up a brunch date since I’m taking Grandma out in the afternoon. I figured hittin
g up Sant Ambroeus would be a win-win for me… even if Megan, 31, from the Upper West Side, ends up being a dud, I’ll at least get to experience a pleasant food orgasm in the process.

  Sant Ambroeus is packed as usual, but I’m no newbie. I set this up days in advance, regardless of who I’d be seeing. I must say, that’s been the most difficult part of the process. I’ve never been the most organized, but this takes it to a whole other level. I tend to forget names, who I’m seeing when, and where the hell I’m even supposed to be. I’ve had to rely heavily on my calendar app and frequently check back on SwipeDate messages and profiles to remember who I’m meeting with. Megan, I had to swipe right on because she’s a nurse, which I can’t help but find endearing, and because she listed Breaking Benjamin and Chevelle in her profile. There’s one thing that is terribly lacking in the opposite sex and that’s fans of good rock music.

  It’s a rarity for sure.

  Megan is a brunette, with flowing hair that reaches past her shoulder blades and looks like it belongs in a shampoo commercial. Her rich olive complexion makes me think she’s Italian, which would be damn good news for me. God did it right when he made Italian women. I can only see her from the back, so I can’t say whether her face matches the pictures, but that mane she’s got is easily identifiable. As if she feels my approach, she turns and smiles, standing from the bar stool. The light in Sant Ambroeus is quite dim, especially at the bar, but her beauty is undeniable. Her full green eyes seem to shine.

  “Gavin?” she asks, putting out a petite hand.

  “That’s me,” I say, taking her hand and giving her a small hug before pulling back. Just the second or so my arms are around her, I can feel a sense of desire wash over me. Unlike the majority of the women I’ve dated through this challenge, Megan has curves for days. For a guy like me, that’s a dream come true. I have no hate for the petite girls… none for the bodybuilding chicks either. We are all different and each with different tastes for a reason.