Tell Me It's Real (10 page)

“You’re talking about going to the movies or to the prom with some girl,” he said. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. We can go to the movies, I guess. Sometimes I get headaches, though, sitting in the dark like that for a while. I can take some Tylenol before. That might help if you really want to go to the movies.” He rubbed the back of his head with one of his big hands. “I don’t know about prom, though. I’m probably too old to go. Why are you going with some girl?”

“You… you’re….” I sputtered. “You’re impossible!”

“No, impossible is understanding you sometimes. You always talk like this?”

“I talk just fine,” I said.

He grinned. “You are pretty fine,” he agreed.

“Did you make a bet with your friends?” I said as I ground my teeth together.

“About what?”

“To ask me out.”

He shook his head. “Why would I bet them? I knew I was going to when I first saw you. I don’t need anybody trying to bet me about it. I would have done it regardless. I’m
doing
it now.”

“But Darren….”

“You know Darren?”

“I know
of
him.”

“He’s a great guy.”

“Yeah, if you like bitchy barracudas with ridiculous egos.”

“What’s that?”

“What?”

“Barracudas.”

“An evil fish with big teeth that eats your face off.”

“Oh. So do you want to go to dinner with me?”

I took a step back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Was he a little upset by that, or was it my imagination? “Why not?”

“I’m not…. You’re…. Look, it just wouldn’t work out, okay? You seem like a sweet”—
and oh so fine and nice and funny and I want to have a hard-core bone sesh with you and live forever in our Dream Castle
—“guy, but you’re not really my type.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m
everyone’s
type,” he said. He winked and flexed his arms a bit.

My mouth went dry, but it was suddenly easier to take another step away. “And that’s the problem,” I told him quietly. “I have to get back to work.” I started to walk away, only to be stopped by a hand gripping my arm. I turned to find him watching me intently.

“You may as well just give up now,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to go on a date with me. It’s just easier if you say yes now.”

“Cocky fucking bastard.”

“Nah, I just see that you want to, but for some reason you’re saying no.”

“Maybe because I
don’t
want to. You ever think of that?” I was such a liar.

He shrugged. “Maybe. But you do. And you will.” And then, before I could stop him, he pulled me forward into a tight hug, my chin pressed against his shoulder, his lips near my ear. It was so unfair how fucking good he smelled. My stomach flip-flopped a little as he whispered in my ear. “You may as well just say yes. I saved your life, and that means you belong to me now. I’m totally going to Freddie Prinze Junior you so hard later.” Then he let me go and walked toward the door.

“That’s not what that means!” I shouted after him, causing people to stare at me like
I
was the ridiculous one. “You
don’t
get to make it sound dirty and hot!”

He didn’t even look back.

Bicycles Are For Tree-Hugging Hippie Heterosexuals

“
Y
OU
said
what
?” Sandy asked me furiously when I returned from lunch.

Shit. I hadn’t meant to say a damn thing. “I said no.”

He looked at me like I was the stupidest person alive, which, to be fair, I probably was. I’d turned and run out of the restaurant with my tail between my legs, trying to protect my fragile ego.

“Are you out of your fucking
mind
?” he hissed at me. He looked absolutely livid.

“If you think he’s so awesome, why don’t
you
ask him out,” I retorted.

“Because he doesn’t want to make babies with
me
, you stupid idiot!
He asked you out and you said no.
I taught you better than that!”

“Go away.”

“Oh, Paul. It probably would have been better for your sake had you not told me that.”

That didn’t sound ominous or anything. “What do you mean?” I asked warily.

Sandy glared at me. “It’s become
painfully
obvious that you can no longer handle your own affairs. So from this point on, I’m going to do everything
for
you. You’re going out with Vince.”

“Knock it off.”

“No. You had your chance to do this your way. It’s not working. You’re making things worse. Now I’m taking over.”

“Sandy, I mean it.”

“First order of business: What are you going to wear on your first date?”

“I will punch you in the balls, so help me God—”

“If he’s taking you somewhere nice, then you should wear those gray slacks that make your butt look hot.”

“By hot, you mean fat. Besides, I’m not
going—
”

“If it’s going to be someplace casual, then you could probably go with jeans and that leather jacket I bought you for Christmas that you never wear.”

“I wore it that one time at that thing we went to! Then someone asked what kind of motorcycle I rode and I told them I didn’t have one, but I’d always wanted a Vespa—”

“And then we’ll obviously need to figure out some kind of first-date etiquette. Do you hug him? Do you give him a rim job? Do you ride him? I don’t want you to be out of your comfort zone. Or seem like a whore.”

“
Ride
him? Did you smoke
meth
on your way back from lunch? You are out of your damn
mind
—”

“We’ll figure it out. Now, do you want me to RSVP with him for you, or are you going to tell him yes?”

“We’re through. I no longer want to be friends with you. My love for you has died like a dusty flower in the desert with no rain. I hate you.”

“I’ll give you until Wednesday.”

“Fuck you.”

“Until five o’clock on Wednesday. If you don’t do it, I’ll give him your phone number and tell him where you live.”

I looked at him, scandalized. “You wouldn’t
dare
.”

“Bitch, please,” he said with a smirk. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Sandy, I’m warning you.”

“Oh, like I’m scared of you.”

“You should be,” I tried to say menacingly.

“That almost worked, but then I remembered how when we were eight, you cried because your mom wouldn’t buy you the My Little Pony that had the little jewel thing on its ass.”

I gasped. “Morning Star? He was so
pretty
.”

“I can’t believe there are male My Little Ponies. You, my friend, are a homo.”

“Says the drag queen.”

“Wednesday, Paul. Five o’clock.”

“I will fuck you up, Sandy.”

My work phone rang. “This is Paul.” Oh, crap. “Mrs. Jackson. Mrs.
Jackson. Mrs. Jackson
.”

Sandy smirked at me.

Balls.

I
DECIDED
that for the rest of the day, I would ignore Sandy completely and pretend that Vince didn’t exist. So, naturally, they were all I saw.

Word of Vince spread quickly through the small office, with all the little gossip whores whispering back and forth about how hot he was, and that rumor had it he was gay. I wanted to tell them of
course
he was gay, that no self-respecting man could look like him and
not
be gay, but that would mean acknowledging his existence, so I kept my mouth shut.

It didn’t help that every time I saw him he was surrounded by adoring fans who seemed to be fawning all over him already. It didn’t help that I couldn’t stop myself from scowling as Brittany Ward, the female office slut, kept giggling and pushing her grossly huge breasts against his arm like sexual harassment wasn’t a real problem in the American workplace. It didn’t help that I couldn’t stop myself from grinding my teeth when Tad Cook, the male office slut, kept giggling and finding some way to touch Vince on the arms, stroking his biceps. I figured it must come with having your name be something as pretentious as
Tad
, because, really? Who names their kid
Tad
?

But as much as I wished the ground would open up and swallow both of them whole into an underground river of lava, what made it worse was the fact that I even
cared if the office sluts were trying to mark their territory. I pretended to ignore the grin on Vince’s face. For all I knew, maybe he was bisexual and he’d have both Brittany and Tad at the same time (which did nothing to help my overactive imagination, and I quickly had to curtail those thoughts because even though I hated their stupid faces, the idea was still kind of hot. Except for the part with the vagina).

So I spent the rest of Monday in alternating states of anger, jealousy, disdain, horniness, and awkwardness, so much so that by the time five o’clock hit, I was ready to spread myself out like a buffet for Vince or murder him and hide his body underneath the floorboards in my house.

It was about that time I realized I might have been obsessing a bit much, and since I didn’t want to end up boiling a rabbit in his house and screaming, “
Why won’t you love me
?” as my mascara ran down my face, I decided to just push it all away and forget Vince completely.

“Won’t even worry about it,” I told Wheels that night as we sat on the couch watching
Man v. Food
, trying to make the all-important decision on whether I’d rather do the host Adam Richman, or eat the four-pound bacon cheeseburger he was currently stuffing in his face. I decided I’d do both at the same time and felt better.

Wheels huffed as he raised his eyes to mine, his head never leaving my thigh.

“Don’t give me that look,” I scolded him. Then Adam Richman swallowed a piece of bacon whole, and I finally understood the meaning of food porn. “I don’t need you giving me any crap, either.”

He sighed and growled a little growl at that back of his throat.

“You don’t understand,” I told him, scratching his ear. “What would he even see in a guy like me? I’m not going to be anyone’s project. Even if he’s not Freddie Prinze Junioring me, you
know
eventually he’s gonna be all like, ‘Hey, let’s go to the gym and work out for six hours and totally get our cardio on.’”

Wheels barked.

“Right? That’s why it’ll never work out. I don’t
want
to get my cardio on. I can’t think of anything more awful than that aside from having a vasectomy while awake with no anesthesia. And even if I
did
want to go out with him—which I don’t—soon, he’d get bored anyway and then we’d argue and break up and be all sad. Then we’d have to see each other
every day
because we
work
together, and by that time, he’d probably have Tad spread over his fucking desk making him squeal like a little bitch. God, I hate that fucking name!”

Wheels raised his head and gave a little howl.

“Amen!” I agreed. “Preach it, sister. So, it’s decided, then. It’s easier this way.”

I swore Wheels rolled his eyes then, letting me know
nothing
is ever that easy, and even if it was, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to settle for easy. That life was too short to
settle
for easy and that maybe, just
maybe
, I should step out of my comfort zone for once in my fucking life.

Then I realized that this was my two-legged dog and that he probably didn’t mean a damn thing at all. Either that, or he was psychic and could see that my downfall would occur the very next day and it would involve a pair of bike shorts.

God, I’m such a sucker for bike shorts.

W
HEN
my alarm went off the next morning, I woke with renewed determination. I let Wheels out, listening to his cart squeak as he went about his business. In the shower, when I wasn’t singing at the top of my lungs, I practiced my speech to both Vince and Sandy, as they were almost the same.
I’m very flattered that you want to take me out/help me out. But I’ve decided that I don’t need that right now/don’t want your help. I’m asking that you respect that/fuck off before I cut you. So, while we can be friends, I think we should just keep it at that/never talk about this again, you stupid queen.

The coffee was gurgling as I finished getting dressed, and I let Wheels back in the house. I poured the coffee in my travel mug, grabbed a granola bar (don’t worry, it was one of those ones that are supposed to be healthy, but is really just covered in chocolate), and went out to face the day.

On my way to work, I sang along to Kelly Clarkson’s “Miss Independent,” completely agreeing with the music’s timeless lesson, even if I looked like a raging fruit as I danced in my car. “That’s right!” I shouted at the traffic light, waiting for it to change to green. “I don’t need no fuckin’ man tellin’ me what to do!”

I forgot that my window was down until the woman in the car next to me shouted back, “Me either! Don’t need no fuckin’ man!”

I would have been beyond embarrassed, but I was feeling way too fucking good, so I shared a kindred moment with the woman, both of us grinning at each other like fools. I cranked up the stereo and we sang as loud as we possibly could until we missed that the light had turned green and the guy in the truck behind us began to honk and scream out his window, “Move your gay asses!”

I thought about flipping him off because I
was
Miss Independent, but then I saw he was in a Ford F350 and I was driving a Prius, and I liked my face shaped the way it was, so I just waved as sarcastically as I could. And if you think one cannot wave sarcastically, then you’d be wrong.

So there I was! Feeling good! Feeling
fine
! I pulled into work and I was going to make it after all! I’d made it thirty years, and I was gonna make it
another
thirty years! I parallel parked on the street better than I’d ever done before, and I was gonna fucking
rock
this motherfucking Tuesday! I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and grinned the biggest fucking grin. “Today is
your
day,” I told myself. “Make it shine!”