“He told Richard and me that it’s weird to have men attend one and that it should only be for women,” I explained.
Jake laughed. “Oh, yeah? He was the first to call to ask about the results of the gender reveal and wouldn’t give the phone to Mom until we told him first, even with her begging in the background for Dad to put it on speakerphone.”
As the three continued to talk and bicker back and forth, I pulled my phone out and was disappointed to see that Crystal hadn’t texted me yet. I knew she had received the sports car by now because I had gotten a text earlier from Frank telling me the car had been delivered, and the bank draft had gone through. It would have been nice if she had texted to confirm that we were on for dinner, but since she didn’t decline my invitation, I assume that she was game.
I decided not to tell them yet about hooking up with Crystal last night since there was still too much up in the air. However, I was a bit surprised neither Jake nor Richard had asked more about the accident or started ribbing me about being a careless driver — again. And I didn’t want to push my luck, so I avoided mentioning Crystal or the accident.
If I stuck around long enough, they would remember, and the conversation would turn from an interesting discussion on work and fatherhood to just a bunch of nosey busy-body men wanting to hear all the juicy stuff about my evening with Crystal. Besides, I still had some work to finish before the end of the day.
So I said my goodbyes and headed for home.
As I rounded the corner and pulled through the gates into my driveway, my phone vibrated in the cupholder. I glanced down to see that it was from Crystal and grinned as I opened the screen to see a photo of her beside the red car.
That was before reading the following text.
Crystal: I would love to go out for dinner. But I need to tell you something first.
Me: What’s that?
Crystal: I love the car, it’s awesome! Thank you!
Me: Eager to take a ride in it with you.
Crystal: Well, there is something I have to tell you first.
Me: What?
Crystal: I can’t keep the car.
9
Crystal
Iglanced at my watch and paced back and forth in my apartment, wondering if Gavin was still planning to take me out for dinner this evening. After I had texted him about giving back the car, he hadn’t returned my text. So, I had called him, and he had quickly answered, and said, “We’ll talk later,” before disconnecting the call.
Right now, I couldn’t decide whether I was more worried about the car situation or going out on an actual date with Gavin. He was so far out of my league.
Gavin spent his days working for the Truman family, making God knows how much money while I taught yoga to women and worried about my bills the minute I went home to my micro-apartment.
I knew that most men like him pegged me as the hippy-type, and they were right in their assumptions. I never wanted a tremendous amount of money, just enough so that I wasn’t indebted to anyone.
I realized that if the relationship went further than just a hookup and one dinner, I’d have to loosen my purse strings and buy some better clothes. I was wearing the only dress I had that might pass as being a designer brand, and it had been purchased at a consignment shop. Hopefully, Gavin wouldn’t notice how worn it looked.
Every few minutes, I glanced out onto the street and down at my surprise car.
There was no doubt I’d look ridiculous driving it with my boho-chic clothes and long, flowing hair. Women in that kind of car had massive wedding ring sets and wore clothes from Saks Fifth Avenue, not the second-hand store on the corner. I kept peering out the window, hoping Gavin wouldn’t show up.
I should have canceled the date, called the dealership to come get the car — and never spoken to him again.
The only thing that kept me focused was the memory of his dreamy, kind eyes, the tickle of his beard against my cheek, and our mind-blowing sex.
Now that I had been with a guy who listened patiently to me and knew how to do it just like I liked it, I could never see myself being with anyone other than the guy who gave me what I had experienced on my living room floor last night. The orgasm had caused my eyes to roll into the back of my head, and at one point, I almost blacked out from the pure ecstasy.
The whole ordeal made me think about some of the other guys I had dated with dismay. All of them had been hippy types, the ones who only shopped at Whole Foods and pretended to care about the earth when it was always a facade to get me into bed. One guy had insisted that I go down on him, but he scoffed when I asked him to do the same. He said that it wasn’t ‘natural’ for a man to put his mouth down there.
When I pointed out his hypocrisy, he just smiled and said that it was a man’s world.
So much for male hippies being feminists.
