I went through the motions at work, trying to ignore the lack of buzzing in my back pocket. That night, sitting next to Bren on the couch and pretending to watch the Christmas movie she’d put on, a knot began to form in my stomach.
A third day passed, still with no word.
I couldn’t have read him wrong, right? I mean, he hadn’t tried to sleep with me, so what would have been the point of him messing with me if that was what it was?
No. I felt positive he’d been sincere.
A few more days passed. I went through the motions of holiday shopping and decorating our little apartment. Played the third wheel at the movies with Bren and Chase. The pit in my stomach grew, but my pride kept me from reaching out to Billy first.
Finally, one week after we’d met, just before I was about to break and message him myself, he texted me.
Two words.
BILLY:I’m sorry.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
A million thoughts ran through my head. He was sorry? Sorry for what? Not texting? Leading me on? Our whole night? Something else?
I waited for another text that would provide clarification, but none came.
He’d been right there with me. I hadn’t hallucinated him at Musicbox. Or Denny’s. Discussing his art, listening to me talk about my mom. And at the end of the night, he’d wanted to kiss me. Hell, I was sure he’d wanted to pull me into the back seat.
I’m sorry.
Apparently, I wasn’t worthy of details. I waited an hour, but as the minutes ticked by, it became obvious no further messages were coming.
I thought about texting back. Insisting he explain. Ripping him a new one for playing with me. But I didn’t run hot like that. When it came to someone screwing me over, I ran very, very cold.
I thought there’d been meaning behind meeting Billy, how he’d made me feel things I never had before. And, clearly, itwassignificant. Just not in the way I’d envisioned.
Whelp, lesson learned. I should have just taken backward baseball cap home for a forgettable lay and a see-ya-never.
Billy had backed away from me initially in the club, held himself in check during our conversation, told me flat-out things were complicated, and didn’t go for more than a cheek graze even though our chemistry was lethal. I’d known something was off. What a stupid, stupid mistake I’d made.
Letting him in.
He could take his lame-assI’m sorryand shove it.
Starting a new job in retailless than a month before Christmas demanded my full attention. I channeled my rage at Billy into relentless focus on my work and a desire to be the best damn buyer Kolya’s had ever had. For the first few months, I’d be shadowing the store’s current buyer and vowed to learn everything I could. Luckily, Krissy was a lovely woman, eager to take me under her wing.
On my third day, she told me as gently as possible that I’d need to elevate my personal style to be taken seriously at work. “It’s fine to be a little different, but you want people to think of you as bold, not quirky. Betsey Johnson can get away with pigtails in old age, just like Anna Wintour can wear sunglasses indoors. But until you make a name for yourself in the industry, it’s important to only stand out in the best ways, at least at first.”
The advice came at an excellent time. My goth-meets-thrift-store college wardrobe and makeup had grown tiresome. I’dnever be a loud colors or cheerleader type, but my deep skepticism and world-weariness didn’t need to manifest in an all-black wardrobe and thick eyeliner. I could keep my combat boots, as long as they were clean and polished, and pair them with sheath dresses and wide-legged slacks. Krissy advised me to lean into my boyish frame, clucking her envy that I possessed a body type that lent itself to boat necks and pleated pants. She espoused the value of tailoring and having quality staple pieces as the foundation of my wardrobe, no matter my budget.
The first two weeks on the job were a whirlwind of absorbing new information and experiences. My feet ached from being on the ladder, working on store displays. The pads on my thumbs went numb from pinpricks. I arrived home exhausted every night. Cereal became my go-to dinner.
Bren was my champion, offering to pick up the slack with the house chores so I could focus on my new gig, and she kept the pantry stocked with my favorite drinks and snacks.
I knew I was lucky to have such a supportive best friend, which was why I felt bad about retreating to my bedroom whenever Chase came over. But watching him make cow eyes at her as she fought their inevitable coupling was not something I needed to witness.
Not when I was trying to keep my mind off a particular someone.
I’d been able to put my night with Billy from my mind. Mostly. But I found it harder late in the evenings when it was quiet and dark. I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt, and more than that, it stung that Billy had gotten to me and made me feel something more than a passing attraction. Since I’d started dating as a teenager, I’d avoided that, and he’d broken me down in one night.
Thankfully, those thoughts disappeared with the sun. The mornings kept coming. Keeping busy helped me avoid thinking about Billy during the daytime.
An effective strategy.
