Page 82 of Pity Parade

I stare at him in alarm. “There are laws.”

Winking, he tells me, “There’s also a nude beach a couple of miles down the road.”

I have never seen the appeal of a nude beach. I mean, who wants to see anyone, let alone a slew of strangers, flopping around on the beach. Not only that, but think of the amount of sand that gets lodged in unseemly places. No, thank you.

Oblivious to my apparent revulsion, Nick keeps talking as I slowly back out of the water. “It’s so freeing to feel the water everywhere.”

Then go home and take a bath, buddy. “What about sunburn?” I ask.

He releases an odd primal sound before declaring, “My whole body is conditioned to the sun.”

Any interest I thought I might have in Nick is over. Done. A resounding “not in this lifetime.” I can’t eat with this man. I don’t think I could physically keep my food down.

Turning around toward my stuff, I snatch up my dress and hurriedly put it back on. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Nick sounds like a stereotypical surfer from the movies.

“I suddenly have a horrible headache,” I tell him. Cementing my lie, I add, “I’ve been fighting it all week.”

“Dude, I’m sorry. Do you want me to cook dinner?”

No, dude, I don’t. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a raincheck,” I tell him.

“Bummer. I don’t have another night free for over a week.” Then, with a wicked glint in his eye, he adds, “Unless you want to come to a nude barbecue with me next weekend?”

“I think I might throw up.” I hurry to lie, “Sometimes that happens with these headaches.”

As Nick begins to exit the water, I cover my eyes and feign rubbing my temples. I can’t imagine his suit has gotten more conservative when wet. Walking toward me, he bends down to pick up his shorts. “That sucks.”

Once he’s dressed again, I lead the way back up the pier. Who am I kidding, I practically run. Luckily, there’s no sign of Heath once we get to my deck. He’s the last person I need to see right now. How dare he be all casual and sweet after leaving town for over a week? Of course, that isn’t his greatest offense.

Trent did his best during our lunch to defend Heath’s comment about my once being a man, but no matter how you color it, it’s totally unforgivable. You don’t gossip about people like that, certainly not when you’re claiming to be that person’s friend.

If there’s one thing I know for sure, Heath Fox is not my friend and if he’s back in Elk Lake for good, then I’m moving back into town.

I practically shove Nick out my front door which is where I find the bouquet of flowers from Heath. They’re beautiful, but nowhere near spectacular enough for me to consider pardoning him. In fact, he could send me a field of tulips from Holland, and I still wouldn’t forgive him.

I read the card, and scoff. No, we can’t talk, Mr. Fox. He’s a day late and a dollar short Forget that. He’s bankrupt. Nick feels the need to comment, “Those are beautiful flowers.”

I don’t have any politeness left in me. I’m so disappointed in the men of my species, I could cry. In fact, I’m so disillusioned, I’m willing to take my chances and let Tom try to sue me for ten million dollars. I don’t have that kind of money, so good luck to him getting it. “Goodbye, Nick.”

Nick walks to his car uncertainly, like he expects me to call him back. I don’t. Instead, I put the vase of roses back on the ground and then one by one I take the stems out and snap the buds off them, before grinding them under my flip-flop. Then I put the stems back in the water. When I’m done with my task, I place the vase of naked stems on Heath’s doorstep before ripping his business card in half and leaving it next to the mangled arrangement.

I don’t know what moron told men that flowers were the only needed form of apology, but whoever it was deserves a kick in the head. To all the men in the world, flowers are nice. They’re lovely, but they’re not a substitute for actual contrition.

If you’ve done a woman wrong, roses come after begging for forgiveness and promising to get your act together. This is then followed by proving you’re making good on your lip service.

I should write a book for singles outlining the most basic courtship etiquette. Going back into my house I amuse myself itemizing a list of dos and don’ts.

Do:

Return calls within twenty-four hours.

Ask as many questions as you answer.

---