Avoiding Mr. Right

Avoiding Mr. Right

“
Casual Sex
,” I say, twisting the phrase so it sounds like a bad thing. “There. I said it.” I
look across the table and meet my best friend’s dark, knowing gaze. “Happy now?” Unable
to hold her penetrating stare any longer, I reach for my tepid chai latte, grateful
it’s tasty even cold.

“I know you think I’m being a shrewish bitch, Carla. But it’s for your own good.”
Heather picks up her favorite vanilla cappuccino and takes a drink.

“And why is that, exactly?” Regret gnaws at my stomach. Why did I let myself get dragged
into this conversation during my lunch hour? “Sure, you found your great ‘one-and-only’
guy, but I don’t think that’s going to happen with me.”

Heather ignores me and taps her finger on the small sheet of paper on the table between
us. “Next one.”

Geez, this feels like a one-woman intervention, and despite the jokes I could make
over that realization, I’m really
not
enjoying it. The pleading on her compassionate face has me glancing at the slip of
paper once more. “
Friends with Benefits
. Oh, come on, that too? I kind of like that one. Makes it much easier to stay friends
when the guy winds up being dumb, but not bad in bed.”

Heather’s mouth sets in a firm line and I plow ahead to the last item on her unhelpful
“list” of what she sees as my love life faults. “
Avoidance of Intimacy
. Seriously? You think I do all this crap?” A knot of anxiety sits in my throat. “I’m
not a fun-loving chick all the time, you know. I have been searching for the right
guy.” The right guy who’s perfect in the sack and magically disappears before dawn.
“Just haven’t found him yet.”

“Really?” she counters, showing a touch of backbone my once-shy friend didn’t have
a month ago. “And none of them were
worthy
of your time after you slept with them, huh?”

A grimace twists my face and I try to smooth my features. “It’s not like that—I swear.”
Secretly I fear it’s
exactly
like that. And what the hell does that say about me? That I’m a slut? I’m not. I
like sex but I don’t sleep with just anyone like her darned unasked for list of faults
implies. “They weren’t good matches for me.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Why are we discussing this…,” I gesture to the paper between us, “
list
of yours? I’m a careful woman. I always make sure they use a condom. My instincts
are good. I’ve never been in a situation I couldn’t handle. What happened to make
you think I needed—no
wanted
—your input in my love life?”

Heather’s strength deflates and I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy. “It’s because I care
about you, Carla, and want to see you happy. You keep up with this casual approach
to relationships and you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life.”

A snort erupts from me. “Like that’s a bad thing? I’m not afraid of being alone. In
fact, I’m quite all right with it.” I resist the urge, just barely, to throw her words
from a few weeks ago in her face.
She
was the one afraid of winding up alone and eating microwave meals-for-one her whole
life. Not me. Never me.

My goal has always been to find an exciting, independent man—one who’s a great lover
and
wants nothing emotional from me in return. I gaze out the window of our favorite coffee
shop, staring at the pelting rain washing the city streets. Maybe my relaxed attitude
would be better suited in Europe. Seems like the Puritanical ideals of America are
still going strong, no matter how much women struggle with equality. If I were a guy
no one would bat an eye at my desire for a lover with no emotional attachments weighing
us down.

An exciting man who’s good in bed. That’s not too much to ask is it? We’re in “the
city that never sleeps” for crying out loud. There’s got to be a few guys who learned
something
in the sack since college, right? Maybe I can find one who isn’t emotionally scarred
from a long-term relationship
and
where the woman taught him a thing or two. That would be hitting the relationship
lottery in my book.

Don’t forget good looking, great body, successful career, a big dick…

Yeah, a girl can dream, right?

Aware I need to get back to work, I glance at my watch then gather the remains of
my meal. We say our goodbyes and I race into the rain, pulling up the hood on my stylish
raincoat for the three-block trek to the office.

Heather likes to forget—I’m not like her. I’ve always known what I want in my life
and
in my bed. She and Tony met at the exact time she was ready to blossom. My sexuality
bloomed a long time ago and I quickly became disappointed with the unknowledgeable
lovers I invited into my bed. Hell, when the first few trysts were a let down, why
go back for more?

It’s pretty sad, really. They all appeared to be so promising during our initial dates.

Despite Heather’s list making me sound like a “good-time girl,” a phrase I hear a
lot from my mom, I actually practice a lot of decorum when choosing a lover. They
all have ambitious careers, their own apartments, aren’t married, and know how to
treat a lady with manners. I don’t have a set laundry list of physical attributes
the guy has to have, but I do want a man who cares enough about his health and appearance
to not be slovenly or obese.

Unlike Heather, I never sit on the sidelines waiting for life to come to me—I actively
seek adventure and always will. Who says a woman needs a man to be happy? I’m happy
as I am on my own. And I intend to keep it that way—not hung up on a guy like my mom
was with my dad. When he left us, she was devastated and it changed her outlook on
life forever.

Avoiding large puddles and dangerous sidewalk grating, I wish I would’ve changed out
of my heels before dashing off to meet Heather. A short woman like me learns the benefit
of being on equal eye level in the advertising world. Doesn’t hurt that I look great
in them, too.

The awning to my building appears and I gratefully step under it and push back my
hood. I unzip the coat and flap the sides, knocking off moisture before entering.

“Hey, Carla,” a masculine voice calls from the doorway.

I look up to see one of the company accountants holding the door for me. “Thanks,
Andrew.” I step through, avoiding eye contact with him.

He’s tried to make casual conversation with me for months, and I’m always polite but
careful not to lead him on. I mean really, he’s an
accountant
. Could a job be more unexciting? Just stick him in an IT position and buy him a ticket
to the next Trekkie convention in town.

One thing I’ve learned while shopping for an exciting man—I won’t find one in a humdrum
job like his. I’m not saying Andrew is boring, he seems nice enough. But his job sure
as hell is unexciting, which decreases his chances of being a stimulating guy by eighty
percent.

While we walk across the lobby to the elevators, I sense him fidgeting beside me,
perhaps too nervous to talk. I smother a smile at his awkwardness. Honestly, he’s
not bad looking—no beer gut and he dresses okay. Maybe I should hook him up with Katrina
from yoga class. She’s been on the prowl for a decent man.

He clears his throat as we step into the elevator. “Do you have time later to talk
about the Stringer account?”

My ears perk at the mention of my largest client. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

The doors whisk closed and we ascend to our floor. “No, nothing’s wrong. I was looking
over the latest numbers and think I’ve found a way to free up some advertising money
in their budget that isn’t working where it is now. Might help you up-sell them to
a larger ad space in the areas that are working.”

“Sounds good.” I smile, the first genuine one to grace my face since I met Heather
for lunch. “Your cubicle or mine?”

His blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he returns my smile. “Come to mine, I’ll show
you the spreadsheets.”

Hours later I hang up the phone with Jennifer Stringer, the owner of the largest independently
owned fabric distributor in the legendary New York garment district. She was thrilled
with Andrew’s findings and eager to pour fifty thousand more into the current advertising
campaign. We helped to increase her business twenty percent in the last three months.
Satisfaction for a job well done warms me, filling me with a sense of completeness
like no encounter with a man ever has.

A sigh escapes as I relax into my chair. Damn, talk about a long week. It’s Friday
and after five. I stifle the urge to chant
TGIF
and log off my computer, eager to shake the stresses of the week from my shoulders.

IMs flew around the office ten minutes ago and people are gearing up to meet at the
bar down the block for drinks. I freshen my lipstick, straighten my desk, and grab
my bag. Andrew stands the same moment I do and our eyes meet across the cubical walls.
“Are you going tonight?” I ask him.

Interest lights his eyes. “Yup.”

He runs a hand through his short brown hair, the gesture making him appear more confident.
Too bad he’s boring, he’s almost handsome. “Great, I owe you a drink for that tidbit
you shared after lunch.”

A small smile turns up his mouth as he walks down the opposite aisle toward the door.
“Just one? Could have sworn my ‘tidbit’ helped you make your monthly quota a week
early.”

I laugh at his ballsiness. “Maybe I’ll buy you two. But don’t get your hopes up.”

A spark ignites in his blue depths as his gaze travels up and down my length. An awareness
tingles through me and I can’t deny, he looks
different
, somehow. He’s only a few inches taller than I am in heels, which makes him a couple
of inches shy of six-foot. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal corded forearms
with a light dusting of hair. With warm heat banked in his gaze, his average looks
jump a thousand points.

I brush off the sudden interest spiking in my gut. I can’t let an office romance begin
to brew. I told Heather I wasn’t doing any of the things she accused me of. No matter
how much I might wish otherwise, I highly doubt a
co-worker with benefits
is much different than the
friends with benefits
on her sheet.

As a large boisterous group of our co-workers join us in the elevator, I resolve to
steer clear of any temptation offered by Andrew at the bar. No way in the world could
he be a good match for me.