Three months later.
I never thought my life could be like this. The truth is that even though I’m a divorced man, I never thought I’d be divorced. When Amelia and I got married, I genuinely thought we’d stay together forever. There were dreams of happy endings and forever-mores in my eyes.
But dreams are for boys and reality is for men. Those dreams went up in smoke as Amelia became more and more distant. I tried my hardest to make it work: I suggested therapy, which she rejected; I surprised her with flowers, which she routinely forgot to put in a vase; and I cooked her meals, which she ate without any comment. None of it made a difference.
By the time the divorce papers were signed my marriage was long gone. We’d been leading separate lives for years by then, and frankly, the papers were just the final step.
After that went down, I figured I’d been entering a period of singledom for a while. It was going to painful for sure. I’ve read articles about how everyone seems to be on five different dating sites now, with airbrushed pictures and needlessly upbeat profiles. I’ve heard from friends how you can text with a potential date for three months and never end up meeting. I’ve also heard that some of those profiles are fake; allegedly the dating sites pay models to be on their sites. It’s not technically against the Terms of Service because the models might be single and looking in real life. Yet, they’re getting paid to respond to messages, when in reality, they’re probably paid by the word.
As a result, I was resigned to years and years of fruitless games of cat-and-mouse. I’m too young to die alone, and yet I certainly wasn’t looking forward to setting up my dating profiles and going on lots of hopeless encounters.
Enter Margot.
She’s absolutely gorgeous, with not a mean bone in her body. She’s curvy, sassy, and sweet, and best of all? She’s my neighbor. She lives right down the street from me.
I’m the luckiest man alive because who knew such a gem was in my vicinity? Most times you have to kiss a lot of frogs before meeting a prince, but shortly after my divorce papers were signed, Margot showed up. It was like Fate was on my side.
So we’ve settled into a loving, warm relationship. We see each other most nights; either she comes over to my place, or I go over to hers. Tonight, Margot’s at my house and we’re cuddling on the couch while watching a movie.
“Shhh, this is the best part!” she whispers, her eyes watching the screen avidly. “Eric Northman is so hot!”
I roll my eyes.
“Do you really like Viking-types?” I drawl. “Does it really make sense that he’s a Viking who’s also a vampire?”
Margot turns to me with a sassy look.
“For your information, Alexander Skarsgard, who plays Eric Northman, was voted the Hottest Man in Sweden for five years in a row,” she says archly. “So he’s truly a Viking.”
I let out a snort, pulling her close.
“Yeah, but doesn’t Sweden have something like five million people, total? Please, honey. That’s like winning the local Miss Spudtown beauty contest. Anyone can win when there’s no competition.”
She smiles at me with a teasing look in her eye.
“So you’re saying you could win the local Miss Spudtown competition?” she asks.
I nod furiously.
“Hell yeah! I definitely could. If there were Mr. Spudtown competition, I’d be all over it.”
She looks thoughtful.
“Not just all over it, but you’d win the grand prize right?”
I nod again.
“Definitely. All the judges would vote for me. I mean, who can turn down this kind of all-powerful, overwhelming masculinity?” I jest, lifting my arm and curling it to make my bicep bulge. “I’m practically Popeye these days. Get me some spinach.”
She lets out whoops of giggles, almost falling over on the couch.
“Okay, maybe you’re better looking than Alexander Skarsgard,” she concedes. “I’m only saying that because I prefer black hair over blonde. But since you’re so confident, Dane, then maybe you could help out at our town’s next fundraiser.”
Oh shit. I know what’s coming next.
“You know they’re having that auction,” Margot begins slyly, shooting me a coy look. “You’d be perfect for it.”
I pretend ignorance.
“Sure, I could throw in a prize. What are they looking for? A fruit basket? A towel set? An all-expenses paid trip for two to Thailand?”
Margot laughs.
“No! I mean, yes, but you have something even better to offer.”
Uh oh. It’s coming. I wiggle my eyebrows at her.
“What? I’m not giving them my house.”
She giggles again, her brown curls shaking.
“Well, you could offer doggie dates,” she says. “You’re so good with Buster, and I heard this guy in the next town over did it. What he does is he and his dog take out another dog on a “date,” and then he writes a short essay about their “doggie date.” People pay a lot of money for this,” she says when I shake my head. “You’d be helping our town so much.”
I hold up my hands.
“Margot, I do love Buster, and I’m indebted to him for bringing us together. But this “doggie date” thing is a no-go. First of all, I’m not into dating, dogs or not. Second, I hate picking up poop and with two dogs, there’d be double the amount. Third, I don’t want to write an essay after going out on a doggie date. That’s just adding insult to injury. Who really wants to sit at their computer and do more work, after coming home from a date that they never wanted to go on?”
Margot looks crestfallen.
“But it’d be for a good cause. You know, the guy who did it raised three thousand dollars in a year just by doing these doggie dates, and you’re so handsome that you’d get lots of bids,” she wheedles.
I shake my head.
“You’re trying to butter me up, and I’m not falling for it, honey. I’ll donate three thousand dollars to the charity instead. How about that?”
But Margot doesn’t look happy.
“No, because it’s not the same. Money talks, but action speaks even louder. You know the town’s only holding this benefit so that the local elementary school can get a new auditorium. I mean, they’d appreciate the donation, but they need items to auction too otherwise this event will be a dud. I think this doggie date thing could really work.”
I stare at her.
“But honey, why don’t you do the doggie date yourself? I’m sure people would pay good money for their dogs to go on a date with you and Buster.”
She perks up.
“I could,” she begins slowly.
“You should,” I add, urging her on.
But then Margot offers me a compromise.
“How about we do it together, Dane? We’ll say doggie dates offered by Margot, Dane and Buster. Starting bid, fifty dollars with a one thousand word essay afterwards.”
I’m still reluctant because the truth is that I don’t really want to go on doggie dates. But I’m motivated by my girlfriend’s giving heart, not to mention her insistence.
“Okay,” I say grudgingly. “But the starting bid has to be at least one hundred dollars, and I’m not writing that essay.”
She giggles.
“A thousand words is nothing, Dane. It amounts to maybe two paragraphs, tops.”
I shake my head.
“That’s the deal, sweetheart. I cannot pick up a pen and write about my date with two dogs. I just can’t. It would wreck my masculinity and people would begin to mistake me for a beta male.”
Margot giggles before placing a sweet kiss on my cheek.
“Then I’ll do that part,” she whispers in my ear. “Thank you, Dane,” she adds. “The dogs of our town appreciate it. As does the elementary school.”
I seize her lips with my own, devouring that soft plushness. How in the world did this just happen? I’ve just agreed to go on these so-called “doggie dates” with my girlfriend, her crazy golden retriever, and a strange mutt who could be infected with rabies. But because it’s with Margot, I’m looking forward to it. It makes me happy to see her happy, and I growl against her lips.
How did this become my life? Previously, I was a man in an unhappy marriage, living like roommates with my ice queen wife. Now, I’m happily settled in with a curvy girl, and couldn’t be more happy. Margot has helped me remember what it feels like to be alive, and I’m grateful to her for it.
But now our kiss is becoming heated. I slide my hand around her waist, pulling that curvy form tight to me when suddenly, there’s a harsh rap on the front door.
“Ignore it,” I breathe against her lips. “Whoever it is will go away.”
Margot sighs a bit and kisses me more. But then the harsh raps start again, accompanied by the insistent ding of the bell. Fuck! Who the hell would be so immature? I bet it’s some twelve-year-old ne’er-do-well who’s going to run off my porch laughing when I finally open the door. Well, he’s got a second think coming.
Breaking away from my girl, I rise to my full height with a murderous expression before stalking to the hall closet and yanking out an aluminum baseball bat.
“Fuck ‘em,” I grunt, stalking over to the door. “I’m going to beat the shit out of whoever this is.”
“Dane, it’s not so bad,” begins Margot from the couch, her face still flushed from our kisses. But when I open the door, both my girlfriend and I stop to stare, our mouths falling open. Because it’s my ex-wife, Amelia on the doorstep, with her blonde hair in waves about her shoulders and a panicked look on her face.
“Dane,” she says without any greeting. “Good thing I found you because I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.”