Page 5 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

“Dang. You all love your pumpkin spice.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Ingrid laughs and opens up more tabs. “Your hospital ID gets you a discount at the gym in town, and you can use the campus library, cafeteria, and fitness center.”

“I can? But I’m not officially enrolled yet. I mean, I’ve been accepted as a transfer student, but I have deferred enrollment until next semester.” I need to work here for six months before the tuition reimbursement is activated, and I’m not risking a huge bill because I get laid off after five months and three weeks.

“You don’t have to be. The university and the hospital are in partnership. We need each other. They send nursing and medical students here to intern, and we get use of the facilities. Quid pro quo.” She winks at me, and I risk winking back.

She’s one fine looking woman, all extra thick curves and long, light caramel brown hair that makes you want to wrap your fist in it while you’re behind her and...

Oooh. I can’t think like that. She works here. I work here. Nope. Not going down that rabbit hole.

She’d look so good with a little bunny tail on that big round—

“Behind The Pine Loft Coffee Shop on Pinecrest.”

Crap. I zoned. “Uh. Sorry, what did you say was behind there?”

“The Night Market! It’s a fun place to go, like an open-air mall, but everything is handmade or secondhand. Or local. It’s just fun. Trust me.”

Again, I want to ask her to show me around, particularly when she rises and retrieves her teal tote bag from beside her rolling office chair, hips swaying.

Be an enlightened, civilized man. What is wrong with you, Kevin?

Lonely. Horny. Free? Hours away from my parents, who are driving down to North Carolina tomorrow and won’t be in my business for at least three glorious days...

“I think I’ll hit that gym.” I need to do something to get my energy out. “Night, Ingrid!” I head back to grab my book bag out of the staff lockers.

Not being around my parents constantly has been a nice change of pace. Having my own apartment with nary a roommate or roomate’s inexplicably-suddenly-there-ex has been a joy.

But it’s been a hectic week without a lot of fun. Ingrid’s suggestions are all great for responsible Kev.

Kev who hasn’t gotten any in three months is feeling like it’s time to do something about that.

Job? Check.

Apartment? Check.

Girlfriend? Nope.

I dated off and on through college, and more often than not,Iended things because I realized it wasn’t going to work out.

Let’s be real. Steady guys who have their shit together attract crazy women who don’t—and vice versa. I grew up with a double dose of crazy, two hyperactive pinballs in human form. I feel like I should send cards and flowers to the women who had the misfortune to date Calvin and Carter during their high school years.

Responsible Kev is writing the end of the “Have My Shit Together” playbook, and I want a woman on the same page so we can write a new chapter together. (Damn, that’s good. I have to remember that. I’m going to use that at my wedding.)

I’m looking to buy, not to shop, as my dad would say. I’m tired of going one month, or three months, or even six months with a girl and realizing that we’re in a groove, but our grooves never match up. I just want to find something thatfits.I’m looking for mellow. Easy. Two people who slot together just right.

I close my eyes and lean against the locker.

I shouldn't think about things “slotting together.” I meant it metaphorically, like her vibe matches mine...

But part of my anatomy is thinking about two bodies slotting together in the literal sense.

A part of me (a not-too-shabby part, by all accounts) says that I have one more round of “shopping” left in me. Like, what’s the fun of having my own place if I never bring a woman over to hook up?

Nope. Nope, nope. This is a small town. Don’t shit where you eat. Go to the gym. Hit the pool. Hit the heavy bag.

“Bye, Kevin! Have a great night! Call if you need anything.” Ingrid waves as she exits, and I emerge with my bag in hand.

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