This is so unlike me. I don't wear short, tight dresses. I don't wear high heels; I don't go to nightclubs. I also don't move 600 miles with two days' notice, accept a job after a phone interview, or put french fries on my sandwiches. And yet, here I am. This is New Juniper. Pittsburgh Juniper. Doesn't-take-shit-or-tolerate-cheaters Juniper.
That morning I found Zack in bed with that woman, I threw on a bathrobe and walked right back out of the house--I didn’t even stop for my shoes. One of my crew teammates, Lisa, lives close by the house I used to share with Zack and I crashed at her place while I made frenzied phone calls. She, as it turned out, has a brother who works for a law firm in Pittsburgh. They do sports law, had just landed a contract with the local NHL players union, and needed to bring on new attorneys pronto.
I had an interview with Tim Stag, the owner, over video chat. He offered me the job and actually smiled when I negotiated extra PTO instead of a higher salary than his initial offer. Like I explained to my Boston rowing team, I'll move just about anywhere that's got a river and a boathouse. But I'm not going to give up the regatta circuit and I need plenty of vacation time if I want to race with a women’s team.
Lisa and her brother, my new colleague Ben, actually reached out to the rowing club in Pittsburgh for me. He doesn't row, but he knows from his sister that crew is a tight community. They hooked me up with a lead on a furnished apartment down the bike path from their boathouse. I didn't even go back to my townhouse to get anything. Fuck it. I can afford new clothes with the salary Stag is paying me. Everything I really cared about was already stored in the boathouse in Cambridge. I just packed it all up, strapped my boat to my roof rack, and drove to my new home without looking back.
For the first time in years I feel like I’m making the best decision for me. Not the safest. Not by a long shot. But this job feels like it’s got growth potential and it felt good to walk away from that cheating slimeball.
There's only one thing left to do to cleanse myself of that entire experience with Zack: I need to fuck someone else.
Zack was my first and only so far. I'm 24 years old. I've always done everything just like I was supposed to do it. Stayed a virgin all through high school. Kept good grades all through undergrad and dated the first guy who asked me out after we met studying at the library. I didn't even sleep with him until we'd been together for a year. I realize now he probably only accepted that because he was probably fucking other women the entire time. Who the hell gets a booty call at 6 in the morning anyway? I try not to think about the logistics of him fucking someone else during my morning row.
Tomorrow, I'll meet my new rowing team and take out my frustrations on the Allegheny River. Tonight, I've decided to get laid. I probably could sleep with any number of guys from the boathouse. But that would get messy and complicated and I'd have to see them again almost daily. I want someone whose name I don't even know. Some cocky, attractive asshole who isn't interested in my number. Sex has never been that great for me anyhow, so I figure anyone will do. I just need for Zack's dirty dick not to be the last one that's been inside me.
I straighten out my too-short skirt, smooth down my short, inverted bob, and walk into the night club. I take a look around until I spot my target. Over by the bar stands a massive man who looks cocky enough that he won’t want to talk to me again after tonight. He must be at least 6'3", without an ounce of fat on his firm body. I can see the muscles of his shoulders filling out his shirt and immediately want to run my fingers along his arms. I don't bother to look away when he sees me staring at him. He's got a messy crop of dark hair, but striking, grey eyes. The way his designer clothes hug his body tells me he appreciates nice things. He'll do just fine, I decide, and walk right up to him.