Page 16 of Bred By the Wolfman

“Right,” says the woman on the other end. “Sorry. I don’t have that. Once our business is concluded with a renter, it’s up to them to have their mail forwarded.”

I gawp at the phone. “Really? You don’t ask them for a future address?”

“No. Is that all?”

I can’t fucking believe it. I end the call and shove the phone into my pocket as I slide back into my car.

A hard, abrupt dead end.

DEE

Finding a new apartment is more difficult than it sounds. Eventually I do locate a nice place, right at the top of my price range, that’s a little farther outside of Aston than my old spot. It’s not like I have to commute anywhere, so a bright, high-ceilinged loft in a bedroom community sounds perfect for me. Once I’ve packed up everything I own, I call as many friends as I can to help move it all, and buy them pizza at the end of the day. It’s when I do one last check of the empty apartment, vacuuming in some of the corners, that I realize that I’m not just saying goodbye to this dump of a place.

I’m saying goodbye to my old life, too. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but it’s now happening at full speed.

At the last minute, I remember my planters on the balcony, and take them with me.

I spend a lot of time that first week in my new place getting everything unpacked and arranging it just-so. I’ve never had the time or energy for decorating, and I don’t have much to decorate with, but I do make a run to the secondhand store that results in some tacky sculptures, weird paintings and extra furniture. Then I find new homes for my plants on the back porch, and even pick up a shiny new silver watering can.

But once everything is all hung and placed... I realize just how fucking lonely my life is without a job.

I don’t mind the not having a job part. It’s nice not to force myself to go to sleep, or wake up at an ungodly hour in the morning when my alarm goes off. It’s wonderful not to stare longingly up at the clock for my shift to be over. In fact, after a few days, I’m setting an alarm voluntarily so I don’t oversleep and feel groggy all day.

Still, I wish I could teleport my good coworkers right to my house and just... do things together. It’s boring being by myself at my house all the time, even if the new apartment has far better mojo than my last one did. I can’t see Liesel every single day, and my other friends either have kids or work long hours. They make time for me when they can, but it’s not much compared to the hours alone.

It’s not that I’m bored. It’s that everything feels too quiet. As the days go on, the quiet grows deeper and deeper, and I wonder if I might get sucked into it.

I seriously need to get out more. I don’t care if I have to go to a bar and sip virgin cocktails to have a conversation with someone. Hell, even if all I do is watch the game while surrounded by strangers, that’s good enough for me.

Maybe Liesel was right, and I do crave connections. Maybe all of this was a really dumb idea.

It’s a little harder to find a good lounge spot outside of the city, but I do manage to locate a bar and grill nearby that seems more focused on the “bar” part. Perfect. I could use some deep fried food since I’ve been eating healthy salads all the time.

The bar is dim inside, with a few chunky pendant lights hanging above the bartop and tables. It has a homey feel to it, different than the trendy bars in the city where a cocktail costs fifteen bucks. This reminds me more of my hometown, where every bar looks and smells just like this one, and you can order a side of mozzarella sticks to go with your cold beer.

Almost everyone in the bar is human, save for a pair of fish-men over by the jukebox arguing over what to play next.

“What would you like?” the bartender asks the moment I sit, while she’s filling a beer glass.

“A virgin cocktail,” I say. “Any kind.”

She arches her eyebrow, opens her mouth to say something, then closes it and nods. “I can respect that,” she says. “Preferences?”

“None.” She departs to drop off the full beer, then grabs some jars and a pitcher of orange juice out of the fridge. She mixes things together like a mad scientist, then slides an orange and pink drink in front of me.

“Not sure what to call it, but I think it’ll be good.” Then she’s gone to help another customer.

There’s no one sitting next to me, but two seats down on my left is a man in my age range, swishing his beer while he watches the game. I study him, trying to decide if I find him attractive or not. He has an okay face, but nothing to write home about. He’s probably about the same amount of attractive I am. That’s a positive sign.

The cure to loneliness is to hook up, I’m pretty sure of it. Maybe if I can just get some tonight, I’ll stop longing for wolfman cock to such an embarrassing degree.

I lean over to get a better look at the TV. It’s a Broncos game, and the man doesn’t look particularly interested. Good. Just like me.

Eventually he spots me looking at him, and turns his head to make full eye contact. I don’t waver, but I do offer a smile.

“Not that exciting of a game?” I ask, glancing at the television and back.

He shrugs. “I’m just not invested.” He has greenish-brown eyes and short, brown upswept hair. He’s dressed like he came here after work, with a collared shirt and slacks. “Which team are you here for?”

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