The alarm clock yanked me awake with a rude, annoying buzz as it always did, only this morning I wanted to throw it across the room. Knowing I would have to buy a replacement was the only thing that stopped me from putting thought into action. And then the reason for my sour mood hit me like a sledgehammer.
I had a date.
I lay back down and groaned. Putting an arm over my eyes, I prayed the previous night’s events would turn out to be nothing more than wishful thinking projected into my dreams. After all, in dreams you can do anything. Even agree to go on a date with a total stranger. A gorgeous, how-soon-can-I-see-you-stripped-down-to-your-boxers stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. How could I have not gotten his name? Had I told him mine? I couldn’t be sure, but I didn’t think so. And it wasn’t a dream. I had a date.
In the cold light of morning, all of Laycee’s words about grabbing happiness where I could find it became the most idiotic claptrap I’d ever heard. I really didn’t give a shit about watching TV reruns or microwave dinners. And who cared if half my bed was empty? At least I wouldn’t have to worry about someone hogging the blankets. My lack of a boyfriend was my problem, not hers. And besides, I didn’t really think it was a problem. Not yet anyway.
So why had I agreed to go out with the Viking? Because of a physical attraction that was off the charts? Puhleeze! That type of thing only happens in romance novels . . . doesn’t it? I wanted to lay the blame for my impetuous decision on either alcohol or drugs, but as I hadn’t had enough of the former and didn’t do the latter, I was left with only one viable excuse. I’d had a brain seizure. One that allowed me to appear as a normal, functioning adult, when in reality I had been anything but. Yeah, the old gray matter misfiring on all levels. I groaned, and the Viking’s face suddenly popped up front and center behind my eyelids, making my thigh muscles jump.
You know who I am.
I sat bolt upright. What the fuck? I had no idea where this particular voice was coming from, but it was no manifestation of mine. I had even less of a clue what it meant. I didn’t know who the Viking was. I’d never seen him before last night. Hell—I’d never even fantasized about someone like him! But there was no denying the bizarre sense of déjà vu I’d felt when he’d smiled at me. Had we met before? He hadn’t actually denied it when I’d asked him. Hadn’t confirmed it either. So where did that leave me? Oh yeah. I had a date.
Throwing back the covers, I got out of bed and padded across the hall to the bathroom. Beneath the needle spray of a hot shower, my inner bitch woke up and offered me a solution. Who says you have to show up? Who indeed? I’d never been to Rosie’s before, so even if the Viking went looking for me, which I very much doubted, he’d be out of luck. No one there could tell him who I was. Last night didn’t need to be a disaster after all.
Stepping out of the shower, I dried off and tried to ignore my sudden pangs of guilt about intentionally standing someone up, something I’d never done before. I consoled myself with the thought that, wherever he was right now, the Viking was most likely waking up in the same frame of mind as I. Feeling a little better, I brushed my teeth and got ready for work.
It was supposed to be my day off, but I had agreed to cover for my co-worker Angela that morning. Greenley Heights is a fair-sized city and a good thirty-minute drive for me, a little longer if the Department of Transportation is out repaving potholes, a seemingly never-ending project. Nowhere near the size of Chicago or Los Angeles, it’s still big enough to boast a couple of decent malls, a modern hospital, and a ten-screen multiplex movie theater. And the bookstore where Angela and I work.
I like my job because it affords me the opportunity to interact with my fellow human beings, and I get first dibs on new publications. I’m an avid reader, hence my dismay at the literary habits of guys I’ve dated in the past. Unfortunately the rumor mill says the folks at one of the big chains, Barnes and Noble or Books-A-Million, are looking in our direction. I’m not sure what will happen if they decide to open up a store nearby. I’m doubtful we could offer much in the way of competition. But that was the least of my worries as I got in the POS and pulled out of my driveway.
Angela brought me a berry smoothie topped with loads of whipped cream when she came in at noon. I listened sympathetically as she ranted about what an ass her ex was, an all-too-familiar subject these days. I considered getting her take on my almost date, but decided at the last minute not to. She was in full all-men-are-scum mode, and any advice she might give was hardly going to be fair and impartial. Besides, as I’d already decided not to go, it seemed redundant even to ask.
I changed my mind on the drive home.
Most people have a conscience that looks out for them. I have my inner bitch, who has an opinion about everything. Only sometimes it’s difficult to know if she’s on my side or not. I’d just cleared the city limits when she piped up, totally uninvited, and began giving me her two cents’ worth about my recent behavior.
You actually agreed to go out with some guy you met in the parking lot of a seedy bar?
Yeah, I did.
I know you’ve been in a drought lately, man-wise, but don’t you think that’s kind of dumb . . . especially for you?
My inner bitch was right. It ranked as foolish behavior, and I didn’t do foolish, but then she stepped over the line and pricked my vanity by asking the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.
Why would he want to go out with you in the first place?
No idea whatsoever. God knows it wasn’t due to my razor-sharp wit or scintillating conversation. I countered by saying the why didn’t matter because I wasn’t going out with him anyway. But wouldn’t you know, she just had to get in one last dig.
Just as well, because guys who look like him don’t go out with girls like you.
Like I said, sometimes I can’t tell whose side she’s on, and unfortunately I let her snotty, supercilious tone get under my skin.
Just because I didn’t have impossibly gorgeous men asking me out on a regular basis was no reason to suppose it couldn’t happen, right? I might not be a head-turner the way Laycee is, but I’m no wallflower either. I’ve received enough attention from the opposite sex to know that guys find me attractive, and besides, I hadn’t done the asking. He had. It wasn’t like I tricked him into it or anything.
What does it matter? You’ve decided not to go . . . haven’t you?
Of course I had. Except, well, maybe it would be kind of shitty of me to just not show up. The decent thing to do would be to meet him, admit we’d made a mistake, apologize, and go our separate ways. No doubt he would be as relieved as I was, if he actually showed up. I couldn’t be held responsible for his behavior, but if he was a no-show, then it would prove I was right about not going out with him after all. Which kinda sorta made sense in a weird way if you thought about it.
I washed my hair and took a soak in the tub, staying in the water long enough for my fingers to prune. Back in my bedroom, I stared good and hard at my reflection in the mirrored closet door. I’m sensible enough to see myself for what I am, which means I’m not that bad to look at. A C-cup may be a little on the generous side, and I wish my legs weren’t quite so long, but thankfully, I’ve never relied on my looks to keep a guy interested. That’s the job of my brain and my sarcastic tongue.
But now, for some reason, my brief interaction with the Viking had me fixated on my appearance. I reminded myself there wasn’t a female on the planet who, if you stripped her down, was satisfied with the way she looked. Unless she’d paid a lot of money for it, and even that was no guarantee.
Turning away from the mirror, I told myself I wasn’t going on a date, but breaking one, so it really didn’t matter what I looked like. I very nearly ditched the jeans and red blouse I’d picked out in favor of baggy, gray sweats. But then good sense intervened. Personal pride dictated I look my best. Or as close as I could come to it.