Page 19 of Just for Fun
“Well…” I let out a long breath of air as I run my hand through my wet hair. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“How the fuck is that a good thing?” Alex snaps at me.
“I was always under the impression that she was just sitting around waiting for you,” I shrug as I speak. “This should give you some comfort that she’s not after you or your money.”
“Comfort?” Alex sounds angry as all hell. “I just saw her last week. We fucked like rabbits. Not even seven days later, she’s out with another man. What fucking comfort?”
My cheeks puff when I take a deep breath in and hold it. I’m not sure how to respond to any of this.
“What did you do after you fucked?” I finally ask. “Send her on her way, I presume?”
By the silence over the line, I will take that as a yes.
“You can’t treat her like a hooker forever, my friend.”
That seems to be the wrong thing to say. “I’ve never treated her like a hooker,” Alex blows up at me. “She always knew the score, and she was okay with it. And fuck you for saying that!”
It takes me a few seconds to realize that he actually hung up on me. I stare at the phone, unsure of what to do. Calling him back doesn’t sound like such a good idea. The dude’s got some anger issues that he needs to let go of at some point in his life.
Deciding that I need to worry about my own life instead of trying to figure out what my friend’s deal is, I throw the phone to the side and stand up. I walk over to my bedroom, suddenly a bit tired. I did pull an all nighter last night, which is nothing unusual. But I normally rest during the day when I feel like it.Now seems like a good time to take a quick nap before I have to meet with Zara.
I drop on the inviting bed and sigh into the soft pillow when I rest my head on it.
“Fuck, this feels so good.”
Just as sleep pulls me under, I think to myself that I should’ve set an alarm to wake me up so I don’t end up being late for my date. But it’s not like I’ll sleep for long, and it’s hours until I have to meet with Zara.
It’s all good.
Famous last words.
SEVEN
Zara
I should have gone hometo change, I realize with a start the moment I step into the restaurant. Everyone around me looks elegant and put together while I feel frumpy in my wrinkled trousers.
When I left home this morning, I had no plans of doing anything after work. In fact, I never have plans for after work because the best part of my day is going back home after so many hours in the office.
Today is different, though. As I was checking myHolidatesmessages during my lunch hour, hoping to find a message from one of the men who blew me off before, I was surprised to see that the one guy who came out of nowhere responded. Upon inspecting the questionnaire he sent back, I had no complaints. While the responses were important to me, even more important was the fact that he put in the effort to fill it out. That’s something none of the other ones were willing to do, and it tellsme that he is a decent person. The only con he had in his column so far was that, based on his zip code, he lived closer than I would’ve liked, but I let go of that.
I asked if he wanted to meet today, but I didn’t have my hopes up about it. His messages threw me for a loop. He sounded… fun. That is not something I’ve ever experienced. I like studious guys who take life seriously. This guy, Kyle, gave all sorts of fun vibes.
That’s how I now find myself in the lobby of the restaurant he suggested, regretting that I didn’t put more effort into my appearance.
“How many in your party?” the friendly hostess asks when I make my way to her little podium.
“Two,” I say with a lot more confidence than I feel.
I watch as she grabs two menus before walking toward a booth. She gives me a sweet smile that I have a hard time returning. I am too nervous about it.
“A server will be with you shortly,” she tells me.
I nod in understanding, then let out a quiet sigh of relief when she doesn’t push any further. Following her departure, I debate for a second which side of the booth I want to sit on. In the end, I decide on the one that will allow me to watch as people come in, hoping that Kyle Kelly looks like the picture he posted on the app, and that I’ll be able to recognize him.
By the time I am finally seated, I feel flushed, and I almost pick up the menu to fan myself with it. Instead, I pull out my cell phone and place it on the table, making sure to check the time. It is five fifty-two, so he technically has eight minutes to get here. Of course, a gentleman would make sure to get here earlier, but I would accept him just being on time. So as long as he walks through that door when the clock turns six, I’m happy.
I fidget with the phone, moving it up and down, then giving it a quick spin. When a waitress shows up, I order some water,then continue to wait. Every so often, I tap on my phone to check the time. Each minute passes painstakingly slow, to the point where I wonder if my phone actually works. It makes me want to wear a watch, like the old school kind, not a smart watch or anything like that.
