Page 20 of Love Me Like It's Real
Sometimes the only thing someone needs is to forget they’re so different, the whole world is against them, and just feel like their sexuality or gender expression or skin color is the least of their problems, if it even is one. I’ve wished way more than once to escape into those worlds for real. People seem happier there. Even if it sometimes feels like a soap opera. Sometimes it’s also a romcom and who wouldn’t love that kind of world where men own up to their mistakes, apologize and do everything to make their other half happy.
By the time I feel sleep claiming me I’ve already forgotten about the mysterious stranger I met tonight, a fantastic development. That lasts about…seven and a half hours, while I’m asleep. Because the minute I wake up I’m reminded of him again.
Not because I’m obsessed or in love. God, no. I might love escaping into fictional worlds but I know I’m not living in one. No. I’m reminded of him because the moment I wake, I check theMaplewood Mattersblog where all the local news stories are posted and find him right there, on the top post.
“Speed-date with Mr. Trouble,” reads the headline.
I have it on good authority the troublesome Jack Hayworth, a self-proclaimed dating expert, was seen last night at The Striped Maple but if you think it’s because he’s had a change of heart and ready to meet the one, you’d be sorely mistaken…”
Apparently, Jack Hayworth has a reputation and it’s not the greatest, considering he does that every year. Something about him and love don’t click which makes sense with all the crap he was spouting last night. Although, I’ll admit some of it didn’t sound like crap at all.
I finish reading the article but even when I get up to wake the girls and start making their breakfast I’m still trying to figure out the point of the article. It’s not exactly mean-spirited but it isn’t breaking news either. If anything, it puts the poor guy in the spotlight for no apparent reason. Which only means one thing.
This is some next-level small-town gossip and any one of us can wind up in there for doing nothing so the last thing I need to do is rock the boat and get myself plastered all overMaplewood Matters.
Just one more reason why I can’t go around town sleeping with handsome strangers just for the fun of it, even if I want to. And I don’t. Or didn’t, until last night.
Maybe it’s the booze.
The girls start screaming and make me flinch, my head suddenly bursting with a throbbing pain at the temples.
Yep. Definitely the booze.
“Hey, hey, you two! What’s wrong?” I turn to them and they stop immediately, Boneless Bunny hanging between them with limbs hanging on by a thread.
“She started it!” Elsa points to her sister and Arya frowns.
“I did not. She’s trying to kill Boneless Bunny.”
The throbbing threatens to turn into a full-blown headache and I snatch the bunny from between them and set him up on top of the fridge.
“There. Happy? Now no one gets to play with Boneless Bunny.”
“Who said I want to play with him?” Elsa mutters.
I glare at her. “You, missy, need to be nicer to your sister or there’ll be consequences.”
Elsa folds her arms and huffs. “Like what? Not having to talk to her for a month? Sign me up.”
I gasp.
“Elsa Fanella Felix!” I wag my finger at her.
Relax.
Her middle name isn’t really Fanella. It’s just something I’ve learned to do to lighten up the scolding so they don’t grow up to hate me. I’m not sure if it’ll work but ah well, by the time they realize that I won’t care if they hate me anyway.
“Apologize to your sister. What happened to you two? You were thick as thieves yesterday.”
“That was yesterday,” Elsa huffs and picks up her juice when Arya pushes Elsa.
I bury my face in my hands and gather up all the courage to deal with this ridiculousness before I go back to regular programming. And what a surprise. We’re late again.
“You two better behave or I’m going to rehome you and adopt a cat, okay?” I tell them before I open the car door and let them loose on someone else for a few hours.
Before I return to the driver’s seat I lean against the car and catch my breath as well as steady myself.
How much did I drink last night? It couldn’t have been more than three glasses. No, definitely three glasses. One before Jack, one during Jack, one after Jack.
