But, I can’t get into it, I’m not feeling the reading vibe. It makes my apartment too quiet. It’s a mystery and the hero happens to be described just like Cole. I set it aside and turn on the television, scrolling through Netflix, hoping it will set me into a binge-watching mood, but it doesn’t work. Even aLove It or List Itmarathon on HGTV can’t keep my attention.
I decide reading or TV watching isn’t going to cut it. I need something to keep my hands busy. Since I missed movie night with Ellie and Josh, where I had planned to paint my nails, I decide that sounds like the best way to be productive. I also apply a hydrating face mask before I paint my nails, because aging, dry skin is no joke. See, I did have things to do tonight. Then I have to sit still while my nails dry, and that’s when my mind starts to wander. I check my phone. Nothing. From Ellie or Sam or anyone else. The feeling of disappointment is unusual. I check my social media, all of them, hoping something will lead me down a time-sucking rabbit hole. It doesn’t work. I just end up stalking Cole, who doesn’t have any social media accounts, except for LinkedIn, so all I find is his work history and school degrees. Everything he already shared with me last night. And his work head shot. He looks hot, in a professional way. It’s better than nothing, but nevertheless unsatisfying. Most of the guys I’ve hooked up with usually have a plethora of thirsty workout selfies on Instagram to peruse. Or the highlight video from their band’s latest gig.
Ugh. I feel restless. Why do I feel restless? I’m a single woman and it’s Saturday night. It shouldn’t be hard to enjoy it. I love down time. Down time is my jam. Two minutes later, I check my phone again. Nothing. I text Ellie to confirm our dinner plans tomorrow, then I text Sam to see what she’s up to. Ellie sends a confirmation with a smartass remark about bringing good wine. Minutes later, Sam replies to my message saying she’s getting drinks at Tavern Uptown with her fashion merchandising friends, and asks if I want to join. I’ve been out with them before, they’re a fun group, but I don’t know if I really want to get dressed and go out. She also asks how my date with Cole was. I spend a good fifteen minutes trying to word and re-word my response, not sure exactly what to say or how to describe our time together, until I finally give up and send her an eggplant emoji. That sums it up, right?
Speaking of eggplants, I’m kicking myself for not buying batteries when Cole and I passed the Target downtown today. I wasn’t thinking about my vibrator then because I had Cole, the real thing. It wasn’t at the forefront of my mind anymore because I didn’t feel like I was going to hump a lamp post or spontaneously combust from lack of penetration. Instead, I had Cole pulling me into random shops and making me laugh.
I just feel off, and I can’t quite pinpoint what I need. Sitting on the couch is not doing it for me. With my nails now dry, I decide to do some push-ups because Cole’s hard body made mine feel soft, and maybe getting my blood pumping will move this funky energy I’ve got. I’m in the middle of my third push-up when I start to wonder how his dinner was, if he grilled a steak out on his balcony, or if he decided on takeout. I’m guessing he didn’t eat a cup of noodles. Push-up five gets me wondering what he’s going to do the rest of the night. The two nights I spent at his house, we were in bed the entire time, so I wonder what a night in with Cole is like. Does he watch sports? Home renovation shows? A special on the history channel? Or maybe he reads? He said he likes suspense thrillers and I wonder if he’s read Dean Koontz’s latest. I just finished it last week. I could text him to see if he wants to borrow it. I’m mid-push-up when it hits me. What the hell am I even talking about? I’m not going to text him. I’m not going to call him and I’m most definitely not going to see him.
It’s Cole. This funky feeling is about Cole. My arms are shaky, and I collapse onto my living room floor, then roll over to stare at the ceiling. I don’t want to think about what he’s doing. This is exactly the distraction I didn’t need. He tricked me into a date so I could get sex; now I know more than just how his dick feels when he thrusts into me, he’s got hobbies and thoughts and jokes. He’s a person, one that I kind of like to hang out with, and that’s annoying. The sexually frustrated, hormonal mess I was just days ago is nothing compared to the emotionally conflicted person I’ve become in a mere twenty-four hours. This is not good.
My fingers feel for my phone on the couch. Once I have my phone, I type out a quick text, then pull myself off the floor to go shower. Apparently, I need a distraction from my distraction.
* * *
By the time I shower, get ready, and call an uber, Tavern Uptown is packed. I can tell this by looking through the window, from outside the bar, in the line I’m waiting in to get in. I text Sam to let her know I’m outside and will be in soon. Everyone around me is chatting with friends or their significant other, or the date they’re with. Three twenty-somethings in front of me debate which filter to use on the selfie they just took. I don’t know if it’s the selfie talk or the young couple making out behind me, but I’m feeling awkward and out of place. A few people leave so the line shifts.
Finally, I make it inside. It’s crowded, and lively. Odd as it sounds, the upbeat dance music and the loud chatter around me make me feel more relaxed. A girl nearly runs me over with two beers in her hand, but I can’t be too mad because I manage to snag the coveted spot at the bar that she just exited. I decide to order a drink before I look for Sam. I’m sipping my cocktail, waiting for my tab when the guy on the stool next to me bumps his elbow into me.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” I wipe up the spillage with the bar napkin under my drink.
“I feel bad. Can I buy you a drink?”
My eyes lift from the soggy napkin to him. He’s cute. Brown hair, brown eyes, a small smattering of facial hair that gives him a rugged bad boy kind of vibe. Ripped jeans and a band t-shirt complete his look. He seems like the type of guy I would normally go for. A perfect night of fun that wouldn’t call me the next day, or withhold sex in order to take me out on a date. He’s more my speed. Fast lane, going nowhere.
I smile and lift my drink. “How about the next one?”
We chat as I finish my drink and let him buy me another. I’m taking a sip of my second drink when Sam finds me at the bar.
“Sam!” My hug is more like a tackle. “There you are!”
“Hey. I didn’t know you were in yet. I thought you’d come find our table.” She looks from me to Dex. That’s his name. Yup, just change one letter and you get the wordsex. He said his real name is Dexter, but that he doesn’t go by it because it doesn’t fit his image. I get it. I’m also getting that he is not the brightest bear in the woods. He’d hurt himself taking a selfie at the gym.
“Hi, I’m Dex.”
In case she missed it, I follow up.
“This is Dex.”
Sam shakes his hand.
“Excuse us a minute,” she says as she pulls me to the side, away from Dex.
“Sure.” Dex doesn’t seem to be too bothered by Sam’s curtness. He’s a pretty chill guy. I actually think he might be high.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m having a drink. Dex bought me a drink.”
“I was surprised you came out. I thought you were still with Cole.”
“No, I jumped that ship.” I mean for it to sound casual, but my flippant comment about Cole makes my stomach twist with regret. “He’s an amazing guy, he’s just not for me.”
“Why? What happened?” Sam presses.
“Nothing. Everything. He’s hot and smart and funny and gives me lots of orgasms. He’s not what I was looking for.” I can’t meet her gaze, so I reach for my drink instead.
