Page 8 of Puppy Love

I let out a short, uncomfortable laugh. This is still salvageable, right? I mean, we can finish this elsewhere. I look back at Cam, ready to suggest we get out of here. Her wide eyes are still glued to the door, her lashes rapidly fluttering.

“Hey, do you—”

But before I can finish my sentence, Cam-Camille-Camilla twists the silver lock, throws open the door, and sprints out of the bar as fast as someone in fleece slippers has ever run before.

I didn’t even get a chance to pull down my shirt. The woman on the other side of the door stares at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw. I quickly tug it down and give her a sheepish smile.

I guess the margarita was cursed after all.

three

A.D.D.

Cam

I’ve known I was bisexual since I was nine years old. 3 Everyone makes their Barbies scissor; it doesn’t mean you’re gay. But naming your Barbies after yourself and your fourth-grade best friend…

Still, even with that rather young realization and my father’s full support, I’ve never actually been with a woman. Well, not until last night.

When I finally put in my two weeks’ notice for The Dog Shop, Dr. Burton was ecstatic. Adjustment Disorder makes things like that difficult, and as if that isn’t bad enough on its own, I happened to get the trifecta.

“Adjustment Disorder with Depression and Anxiety,” Dr. Burton called it. Changes can be scary for me, so he constantly encourages my friends and I to try new things together.

“Try these shrimp tacos, Cam! They’re really good!”

“We should watch the extended edition of this instead.”

“They were out of vanilla, so I got you caramel.”

I think everyone was completely shocked when I actually accepted Avery’s offer. Myself included. But even though I cried the entire therapy session afterward, I realized what a relief it was to move on from such a hostile environment. That got me thinking that maybe I was ready to move on from other hostile things.

Like Cody.

From the start, my friends hated him. And Hayden and Adrian don’t just hate anybody. Even Avery told me he was a tool, but I always take his opinion with a microscopic grain of salt. Of course, by the time I realized they were right, I had already attached myself to Cody’s hip, so it took four years and one traumatic walking-in-on-him-in-our-bed-with-another-woman for me to actually let him go. And last night, I was really ready to completely move on.

Move on and try something new.

Dr. Burton suggested a more casual approach to the situation. Because of the co-dependency in Cody and I’s relationship (his words not mine), he thought it might be better that I look for a no-strings-attached type of situation. A one-night stand.

Obviously, that’s not really an experience that you share with your friends, so Adrian and Hayden helped me devise a plan. The A.D.D. plan.

The A.D.D. plan consists of three obligatory criteria for my first one-night stand with a woman, and my first one-night stand since Cody.

Attraction: You must be attracted to your one-night stand. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Distance: Your one-night stand has to be a complete stranger. That way, you can’t get attached to them, because you’ll never see them again.

Which brings us to the last one.

Deal breaker: Your hookup must come with a deal breaker.

This one is important. Maybe the most important. If there isn’t something you dislike about your hookup, it’s a one-way ticket to Relationship Town. And I’m supposed to stay far, far away from that place.

So, in my nicest, but still thrifted, emerald green dress and a pair of black kitten heels that squeezed my feet in a way that made me wish I were dead, I went to Monsey’s Bar & Grill. I know the more typical route would be Tinder or Hinge, but I’ve seen enough Dateline to know how that ends. Plus, Monsey’s is my go-to, and I was trying enough new things as it was.

I should have known the entire situation was going to be a disaster when the moment I stepped out of the car, my heel snapped. Still, I could hear Hayden’s voice in my head, telling me he believed in me, and Adrian hyping me up about what a “hot piece of ass” I was. So, I improvised. I grabbed the only other pair of shoes in my car, my favorite shark-shaped slippers that I run all my quick errands in. You know, picking up takeout, grabbing snacks at the corner store, those types of things. Then, I put them on.

I guess I also put on rose-colored glasses, because the universe sent me yet another warning sign I completely ignored.

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