Looking at Preston, I issue a challenge. There is no way I’ll allow him to ruin a fantastic vacation. He’s staying home. What’s ironic is, he understands my unspoken challenge and grins. What I need is a game plan to get Mr. December to back out. Then I’ll have the most perfect vacation of all. Insert menacing laugh here.
Preston meets my challenge with one of his own. His cocky face turns defiant. He bites his lip and nods his head as if trying to communicate, “It’s on”. He doesn’t want me joining the trip either. Well you know what, Mr. I-can-have-any-girl-I-want? I’ll destroy you from the inside out.
My eyes squint harder and harder until Kristin has to clap her hands in front of me to break the trance. Of course, I jump and spill my latte. As I got up to leave, I saw Preston pointing both fingers from his eyes to mine as if to say, “I’m watching you”. If that’s not creepy, nothing is. All I need to do is get through work this week. Then, before Friday, I’ll plead my case to Preston, making him feel the need to stay home while I go vacation in Aloha land.
Chapter Four
I skipped Bible Study. It was wrong and I will accept punishment later. I had to escape, to get away and think, or more accurate, I left so I could plot. Preston does bring out the worst. However, I don’t seem to bring out the worst in him. Wondering why, I begin to think of ways to make this vacation fireman-less.
What I need is to go for a run, but I feel guilty leaving Mrs. Butterworth at home by herself. She gets lonely and cranky, then she isn’t the best guard cat. Therefore, I try to spoil her to keep her on her best behavior. My plan is this: go home, have a relaxing afternoon with my cat, feed her some tuna, then watch a movie. I feel better. The tightness in my chest has subsided, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.
I get home, put on my sweats, and wrap a sweater around Mrs. Butterworth. Her exposed skin leaves her quite cold during the wintertime. Most people wonder what I’m doing with a hairless cat, but the answer is simple. I have allergies so she was the only option. Once you get to know her, the whole hairless aspect fades into the background. Since she can’t stay warm by herself, she cuddles often and has a jet engine purr that sooths my racked nerves. She was actually a gift from my parents when I graduated college. Some kids get cars, others get cool trips or watches. I, however, got a cat. Perhaps it was some sort of hidden message of “well she’s never going to find anyone so we might as well get her a companion”. In which case, it would have been terribly depressing, but I like to think my parents just wanted me to not be so lonely. However, the prospect that my parents might have thought it about me makes me want to defend myself. I’ve been on plenty of dates. Just to prove it, I decide to pull out my journal and write out all the names of my past boyfriends.
There was…
Derek. Psycho, and in love with someone else. Yet I still dated him, and so he remains on the list. Plus he hated Mrs. Butterworth. A guy who hates animals obviously has some unresolved issues.
Tyler, oh Tyler! Yes that’s a good one. I do believe we dated for three months before I found out that he still lived with his parents. Or should I say off of his parents? The fact that his house was huge and that the furniture had a sort of familial feel to it should have been some sort of red flag. I finally clued in when his parents forgot he was taking me to their house and came home from work too early. It was awkward, and it got worse when his overly polite mom asked me to stay for dinner. When I saw his mom actually cut his steak into bite size pieces, then proceed to pat his head like a good boy, I almost threw up. Gross. I feel like crossing his name off. He definitely shouldn’t count.
Jonathan, now there was a keeper. He could sing, he could dance, and he played basketball. He was actually quite a talented athlete. The only issue was the fact he knew he was all of those things. Meaning, I was one of three girls he was dating. He never used my real name, but instead things like “honey" or “sugar”. Eventually I started to piece together the truth. However, revenge is sweet. When I dumped him, I also broke into his email account and sent a forward to all of his friends with an up-close and personal photo of him picking his nose. So what if it was photo-shopped? Only John knew, but nobody believed him.
And that leaves the one guy I actually did like, until the incident.
His name was Bobby. And no, I didn’t meet him on the playground. Bobby was actually pretty cool. We met in college in a freshman English comp class. I fell hard. He had sandy brown hair and dimples. Every girl in my class was in love with him.
One day when we were walking to class, he asked if I liked Swedish fish, to which I enthusiastically replied, “Heck, yes! Do you have any?” I used my flirty voice, I might add. It must have worked, because he told me he’d give me some if I studied with him, which I did.
We dated all the way through to my senior year of college, until on a cold, stormy night he broke things off.
“Amanda,” he said. “I just think we’re in different places. You want to go do fashion stuff, and I’m not saying that it’s un-Christian to like fashion. But I just think that, well, I have a higher calling. I’m going to be a pastor.”
And this is why I’m strong now. I let this boy in, and he ruined my life! He went on to say that not only does he think it is un-Christian to like clothes, but his parents also think I’m materialistic.
Needless to say, I went shopping after that event. Kristin helped me take back all the clothes I bought that day knowing a college student couldn’t afford them. I haven’t seen Bobby since. But I’m guessing he grew out of his stupidity and is now pastoring a thriving church somewhere in the Bible belt. Good riddance.
So that’s it. That’s my list. I decide to uncross Tyler because I should have dated more than four people in my lifetime. There’s no way I’ll count the dates that never went past the first meeting. Plus, it seems like a depressing endeavor to undergo on such a stressful day.
The phone ringing interrupts my thoughts, reeling me back into reality. “Hello?”
“Hi, Amanda, it’s Jane.” Jane is one of my managers at work. She’s stupid; sweet, but stupid. You know the girls that seem to steal brain cells from you just by being in their presence? Her dad is our district manager, so she didn’t have to climb the corporate ladder like everyone else.
“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to sound polite, even though I’m annoyed by the interruption.
She giggles, and I roll my eyes, praying for the phone to disconnect. “Well, I just got the go ahead from Daddy to launch our new local ad campaign.”
“Awesome.” I say dryly. Why is she calling me on a Sunday to tell me this?
“And,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “he also let me pick out the male models. And you know what’s so great, Amanda?”
“Nope, but I’m sure you're going to tell me,” I joke, half kidding, half totally serious.
“One of them knows you.”
My heart stops. Someone call an ambulance; my heart just stopped. I know who it is. It has to be Preston. Because come on, if we’re honest this is how my life is going right now. It has to be him, how did he do this? Why is he weaseling his way into my life like this?
“His name is Preston, he’s one of the firefighters from the calen—”
“Right,” I cut her off. “Well, sounds great. See you Monday.”
“Wait!” She shrieks on the other end making me pull the phone away from my ear. “I have to send all of them to you this afternoon so we can get the measurements for the shoot tomorrow. That’s why I’m calling. You should expect them around two.”
I look at my clock and pale. It’s one forty-five.
“Jane!” I warn loudly not even bothering to hide my frustration. “Why didn’t you call sooner?”
“Sorry, I was busy. Plus, I thought you were one of those people who went to church. Geez, calm down.”
I’m hyperventilating into the phone. Must. Get. Air.
“So that’s all. Make sure you get all of their measurements. They have to take
off their shirts, too, so we can see the correct fit of the muscle T’s. Makes me wish I had your job. Have fun.”
She hangs up, leaving me in a state of panic and disarray. I look down and moan. Yup, still in the sweat pants. I hear my door bell and feel myself say in slow motion, “Just a sec!” Only it sounds low, like you see on TV when they do the really dramatic scenes. Luckily, my body is still moving at normal speed, so I dive into my room like a tornado and throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, grab my measuring supplies, and return to unbolt the door.
February. It’s Mr. February. I remember because he has blue eyes you can get lost in, yet he looks way older than me, most likely in his fortys.
“Hey, sorry to barge in, but the girl at the store said–”
I cut him off with my hand. “No, it’s fine. Come on in.”
“Oh okay, thanks.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and ducks, yes I did say ducks, into my family room. “Nice place.” He turns to smile at me, but his teeth were, well, let’s just say, not straight. Now I know why he didn’t smile in the calendar picture. He does have a good smolder, but a good smile? Not so much. I did his measurements and sent him on his way.
January was next, then March, April, June, May, September, November, July, and August.
All I had left was October and December. I was hoping that Mr. October would arrive before Mr. December, then maybe I could bolt my door closed and say something in a creepy accent. “She no here no more, she die.” Then Preston would be forced to leave and get his measurements done elsewhere, anywhere. I don’t even care. I’ll give references, or better yet, I’ll have my own personal seamstress call him.
The doorbell rings again. I take a deep breath, open it, and came face to face with my past.
“Bobby?”
I didn’t see that coming. He wasn’t in the calendar. Not once did I see him in the calendar. What’s he doing here? He couldn’t be one of the male models. Yeah, that would be ironic. He pushes his fingers through his curly still sandy brown hair and gives me the smile, dimples and all. Nope, I know he’s not in the calendar. I wouldn’t have bought it had I known or seen him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask a little too rude for someone I hadn’t seen in over five years.
His smile fades as his eyes scan me up and down.
“I thought this was where Jane said to come for the measurements?”
“For the male models,” I say slowly. The poor guy, maybe he’s confused, not that he couldn’t be a male model.
“Yeah, um, I got that part. I’m Mr. October, Nampa Fire Department? All of us are doing the shoot?”
“I thought you were going to be a pastor?” I manage to say with heavy sarcasm as I widen the door for him to enter. What a weird twist of events.
“Yeah, about that,” he looks sheepish almost.
What had happened to my Swedish fish loving ex-boyfriend who thought I was materialistic?
“It wasn’t really for me. I quit after my first year in seminary and decided to become a fireman. In a way, it’s still like being a pastor. You know, saving people from the fiery pits, just not the spiritual ones.” He winks and shrugs his massive shoulders. Fire fighting had been good to his body; that much was obvious. But I didn’t remember having seen him as Mr. October. However, I didn’t want to admit to him I’d actually seen part of the calendar, so I’d have to wait until it came in the mail.
Nodding, I grab my measurement tape. “Okay, so if you could just take your shirt off now.”
He looks at me as if I just ask him if he could please eat my cat, and pales as I wait for him to do what I ask. Sighing, I explain, “To get the measurements for the muscle T-shirts. I can’t do that with your bulky sweater on. So if you’d be so kind as to take it off, I’ll make this experience as painless as possible. It's okay. I'm a professional.”
He hesitates slightly before taking off his shirt, revealing chiseled abs and a nice spray on tan. Trust me, I know. I begin measuring and notice that, not only is he extremely close to me, but his body is radiating heat, too much heat. Wanting to look up and see what his problem is, my brain kicks into gear and reminds me it wouldn’t be wise. Wait a second, is that a Rolex watch? What in the world! And he called me materialistic. I snort out loud in disgust.
“Is something wrong?” He asks politely.
“Nope. You’re good,” I reply still maintaining my no eye contact rule. “You can put your shirt back on now. Give me a moment to take the rest of the measurements and you can go.”
He puts his shirt back on and I allow myself to let go of the breath I had, apparently, been holding. It’s not that I’m attracted to him. I mean, he’s good looking, but he still broken my heart, and something about him just seemed off. All girls want the guy who dumped them to come crawling back, and I’m not saying I wouldn’t welcome it. But I’m still recovering from the shock of it all. Wait, this means he and Preston work together. Odd.
The knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I know who it is on the other side. "Hang on a sec, that's my last model, I think." I indicate a chair for Bobby and stride slowly to open my door.
“Hey, little miss note writer, miss me?” Preston grins and brushes past me without an invitation. Well, this should be fun and totally not tense at all, nope. He doesn’t notice Bobby sitting there. In Preston’s defense, Bobby was strangely quiet.
“Are you going to back out of the trip, panda bear?” He’s trying to break me. I can feel it, and I won’t go down without a fight.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I fully intend to go on the trip without you. My cat’s going instead.” I put my nose in the air and cross my arms.
“Oh, wow. If that doesn’t scream desperate spinster, I don’t know what does.” His face is so smug I want to throw Mrs. Butterworth at him, claws first. I tried to tell her in my mind to attack him, but instead she walks right up to him and purrs! How dare she! Shouldn’t she be able to sense my anger? Plus, this is her territory, and he’s a mean man.
He picks her up and strokes her face, not at all thrown off by the odd way she looks. “How many cats do you have, Amanda?”
I roll my eyes and walk back to where Bobby is silently gaping. His face is twisted with some sort of hostility, and I can’t tell if it’s directed at me or at Preston.
“We’re almost done here,” I call back to Preston, but he doesn’t seem the least bit fazed. He just shrugs and continues petting Mrs. Butterworth. He either doesn’t notice Bobby glaring at him, or he doesn’t care. In Preston’s defense, it wouldn’t be a fair fight anyway. He could destroy Bobby. He would be declared the winner based on his height alone..
My list had missed that part, Bobby is vertically challenged, and I know I have no room to talk. In reality, he made me feel better about my lack of height. I accepted myself, because he accepted himself and he isn’t that short. If I were to guess, I’d say he’s around five-nine. But in comparison to Preston’s six foot four inch stature, Bobby looks like a child.
Bobby shakes his head, obviously annoyed at the interruption and lets me finish. He takes off without saying thank you and slammed the door behind him.
“Geez, you’re welcome,” I mumble under my breath.
“Don’t worry about Bobby. He’s always like that,” Preston says as he began taking off his shirt.
“What are you doing?” I shriek in annoyance, not able to take my eyes off his chest.
“Um, don’t you have to fit us for the muscle T-shirts?” His face is mildly amused. I, however, am not. He totally throws me off with his confidence.
“Yes, you're right. Sorry I—“ Instead of finishing my sentence, I shake my head and begin measuring. It;s different having to see him this close up. His abs are real and he doesn’t need the spray tan to make them look better or more defined. They’re perfect. Upon closer inspection, I can see they too deserve their own fan page on Facebook. I want to touch them, to make sure I’m not seeing things.
It
isn’t until I hear Preston clear his throat that I realize I’ve been holding the measuring tape across his abs without measuring. But I’m staring open mouthed at his six pack as if I expect it to speak to me. He chuckles to himself, and I let the measuring tape snap his bare skin, and then apologize when he yelps. He deserves much worse.
“Okay,” I say coldly. “You can put your shirt back on now. We’re almost done.” I try not to watch him put the shirt back on but fail. If your last boyfriend had been Derek, and you had no one but a cat to keep you company, you’d be staring as well. Especially, if the man in your house looks like he’s shooting a commercial for—Well, it wouldn’t matter because, as I look at him now, I realize I’m so buying.
I shake my head as I watch the shirt pull down over his tight chest and try to think about Grandma Ned, but it doesn’t work. Summoning my self-control, I think about Grandma Ned and how she got so mad that one time she caught me watching TV during Christmas break. Yes, that was a bad time. I believe her choice word was “heathen”. If Grandma Ned were here, she’d call me much worse.
“Are you done yet?” I plead, voice cracking.
“I’m not the one doing the measuring, seamstress lady.”
Oh, he did not just call me that. I feign a smile through clenched teeth, while I secretly hope the gym isn’t crowded so I can go running later this afternoon. If I don’t, I’ll spontaneously combust with all this tension.
Preston waits for me to finish with the last measurements. I escort him to the door in hopes he’ll leave quickly, before I either kill him or steal his virtue. Just as he crosses over the door frame, he turns to face me and says, “I think you’re afraid to go on a trip with me. You like me, admit it.”
I smile sweetly while leaning in. His eyes take on a smoldering look of anticipation. Then, as I close the distance, I slam the door in his face.
Every Girl Does It Page 4