Page 15 of Love Bitters

My heart stutters in my chest and for a second, I can’t breathe. Doing my best to avoid a messy breakdown in front of this attractive man, I swallow again, forcing a smile to my lips.

“Thanks for everything, but I’m in a weird thing right now,” I tell him honestly.

He winks. “It’s complicated, right?”

Letting out a deep sigh, I nod and he returns it.

“I get it,” he says, taking a step closer and making me tilt my head back to look him in the face.

Reaching into his back pocket, he whips out a small white business card between two fingers and holds it up between us before saying, “In case things ever get uncomplicated. My cell is on the back. Call me anytime.”

Our eyes meet as I take the card from him with a slightly shaky hand. Then the moment is over as I get one last smile from him before he turns to follow his friend out. Right before he crosses over the threshold, he glances over his shoulder with, “She was wrong, you know. Your mom. There are plenty of us who find a woman like you sexy as hell.”

I’m not sure how long I stand there in stunned silence like an idiot. With a blush still full force across my cheeks, I move to lock the door what could be seconds or even minutes behind him. As I do, a skinny blonde woman walks past, flicking her eyes curiously in my direction. For a moment, I have a strange sense of déjà vu, and I can swear I know her from somewhere. Then it’s gone as the deadbolt slides into place.

Taking a deep breath and holding it in before letting it back out, I can’t help the short laugh that escapes me. In the midst of the madhouse of my life, I get hit on. Any other time in my life, I would’ve jumped at the opportunity that guy presented. Glancing down at the card in my hand, I see his name is Jake. Yeah, I’d have pounced on that man like a box full of donuts.

Great, now I want a box full of glazed goodness. Preferably with a jar of peanut butter to eat with them or on them. Is that a thing? Maybe there’s somewhere that actually sells them filled that way.

Palming my forehead, I marvel at how fast my brain switched from dudes to food. If I wrote my biography right now, that would be the title. Dudes and Food. As if constant hunger and craving of normally grotesque foods wasn’t enough, I have been so damn horny over the past couple weeks. Blame lies solely on those romance books I’ve been reading with Jolene. Well, most of the blame.

Having an almost nonexistent sex life through college, then out of nowhere throwing five super hot guys into the mix with sex drives through the roof, and now I’m back to having nothing but myself. Emotionally, I miss them every single day. There still isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about picking up my phone and shooting out a quick text or speed dialing one of them. Physically, it’s been slowly getting worse and worse. Maybe now it’ll be a little bit easier since I won’t feel so awkward getting myself off lying in my parents’ basement. The couple times I tried, it was almost as if the oppressive judgement from my mother had soaked into the walls and killed every lick of pleasure that tried to give me any kind of release.

All of these thoughts ramble through my brain as I move back over to my seat at the table. Though I’ve retrieved my pen, the cap sits between my teeth and hasn’t touched the paper. My entire life, I’ve known some real airheads. Those people who get sidetracked easily and lose focus on one project after another. Never thought I’d be one, though. Another one of those pesky perks of being pregnant, or so I’ve read. Which is why, instead of finishing my list or even unpacking a few more boxes, I find myself reaching for the phone inside my small purse in front of me.

Thinking Murphy’s name is like spreading wildfire through my brain, consuming everything it touches. I won’t be able to concentrate on anything I need to do, or, hell, even feel content for that matter, until I douse the flames.

This is such a bad idea.

The warning is there, but I don’t listen to that reasonable, smart bitch in my head. No, I watch my fingers as though they have a mind of their own, typing in my passcode and clicking on that little blue and white letter app. Seconds later that feel like longer, it finally loads the home page, and I have to suck in a deep breath and hold it before letting it back out again. This is dangerous ground because if any of them have moved on, it’s going to threaten the small and definitely pretend happy bubble I’ve put around myself. But I’ve got to know. Even if it costs me later.

Not bothering to scroll through the multitude of other people I’m acquaintances with on the app, I jump straight to the ones I want by finding their tiny round pictures and clicking on them. Luckily, it doesn’t seem as though they were pissed enough at me to delete or block my ass.

Five different men and not a single one of them has made any kind of post since before the day I sent them the Dear John text. Sucking my lip through my teeth, I close that app and open another one. This one is a personal favorite of Wes and Ollie. Surely, they haven’t given up on them completely. Evan, Murphy, and Thatcher seem to have fallen off the face of the Earth with nothing new on their pages, but the same can’t be said for the other two. Wes’s page is littered with quotes of sadness and longing. One for every single day since the last time we heard from each other. It makes my chest feel tight like I can’t breathe for a moment.

Oh, my sweet Wes. I miss you too.

Ollie’s is different. There are two new photos of himself and Evan that make my throat ache from holding back tears. They smile at the camera and appear happy. To the trained eye, however, it’s easy enough to see the dark circles underneath my normally happy-go-lucky redhead’s eyes. Or the way Evan’s smile doesn’t reach his. Then there are the shots of our favorite places. As my eyes trace over the first couple, it isn’t until I come to the middle of the page that the water works really start flowing. There amidst a perfectly stacked shelf of books sits my choker necklace I’d left on Evan’s bedside table by accident. I hadn’t done it intentionally but had no desire to ask for it back when I saw how they’d claimed it. As if in some way they were also claiming me too.

I have to stop and close my eyes to keep from breaking down like a blubbering baboon. I made my choice and now have to live with it. At least I can say I’m happy that I don’t see any other women in their lives. I don’t even care if that makes me sound horribly hypocritical and mean. This whole thing could’ve tipped that balance I’ve been trying to maintain on my mental health.

Hating myself a little more now, I close out of the app, switching back to the first. It’s everyone’s go to for wordy feelings or brags. Five minutes and many start overs later, I hit the share button, allowing everyone on my friends list to see that I’ve started a new job and got my own place. I may have added a keyword or two in there that will catch the eye of a certain sexy man or five were they to see it. Knowing that I’m playing with something worse than fire, I consider deleting the post altogether, but decide against it.

Relocking my phone, I shove it away from me, sliding it halfway across the table. What does it say about me that I hope they see it? I hope they read between the lines and come save me from this misery I’ve put myself into. But what of hoping they don’t see it? Then none of us will have to face the ugly truths.

Swiping the back of my hand across my cheek, I wipe away the remnants of my tears. With my nerves already frayed, there’s no chance of taking a nap now. Rather, I make myself useful and get back to unpacking.

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