The Boyfriend List (12 page)

“You’re
kidding.”

The
man’s face grew solemn. “For the pretzel and soda.”

“It’s
just a piece of dough.”

“Yeah,
ten dollars worth of dough.”

“What
is it about today?” Reagan exclaimed to herself as she dug into her purse and
pulled out the cash. If she continued at this rate, she might have to start
looking for a job after all.

After
gingerly brushing away a bit of the heavy salt with the corner of her napkin, Reagan
took the first bite and felt immediate relief. Not even a little dry, though
the benefit of mustard wouldn’t hurt, it was perfectly chewy and absolute
heaven. But she needed to feel productive again, so she’d have to take her
snack on the road and start making her way back to the apartment. The homework
she’d been putting off this week in order to accommodate her little mission was
quickly piling up, and Reagan could feel it weighing on her shoulders.
Situating herself so that the soda was in her left hand, and what was left of
the pretzel was in the right, she stepped away from the cart.

Away
from the cart, and right into the path of a man walking his rather large canine
friend. By the time Reagan had realized what she’d done, the leash had been
loosely wrapped around her feet.

“Oops.”
She looked down at her predicament, then up into the eyes of the stranger. An
embarrassed smile quickly shot out from her lips. “Sorry about that.”

Though
she tried to step out, the circle only grew tighter around her ankles as the
friendly animal came closer to sniff out his new companion. It was a cute dog,
but the cuteness was lost on Reagan as it zeroed in on the smell of the pretzel
instead. Instinctively, she pulled the food closer to her body, and the dog
inched up even more.

 
“It’s his favorite treat.” Somehow, the
fact that Reagan was tangled in the leash and his dog was preparing to hijack
her food was a nonissue for the guy. He was smiling down at the creature as he
explained the animal’s odd behavior, but had yet to offer Reagan even the
simplest form of assistance. Heck, she was even getting the vibe that she was
going to have to pay for her freedom with her ten dollar pretzel!

While
Reagan simmered in her annoyance, she glanced over at the vendor, hoping to recruit
him for help in this mess. But found, as she’d half expected she would, that he
was smiling broadly, enjoying the show far too much to help.

Having
nothing else she could think to do, she sighed and played along.

“What’s
his name?”

“Dover.”
The man responded with pride.

“Dover.”
She repeated out loud, then looked him square in the eye as she cooed to him. “Well
Dover, you’re not getting any of my lunch little buddy. No you’re not.” But Dover
merely tilted his head and crooked one ear up into the air as if to say ‘That’s
what you think’.

Just to
be sure there were no hurt feelings between Dover and herself - in case she
wasn’t being delusional and Dover had managed a response - Reagan held her soda
precariously against her chest with her elbow, testing it to be sure it wasn’t
going to spill before bending down until she was at the dog’s level, ready to
give him a pat on the head.

At
least, that had been her intention. But most of Reagan’s intentions weren’t
working out to her benefit this week. She’d miscalculated the animal.
Significantly so.

The
short story: Dover made a direct leap at her pretzel, and Reagan stumbled
backwards. The only place for her to go was down, thanks to the leash around
her ankles that no one had helped her get out of. But never again would anyone
be able to convince Reagan that dogs do not understand English. That little guy
had understood every word she’d said, and had risen to meet the challenge.
Literally.

After
landing squarely on her satchel, successfully crunching everything inside, Reagan
laid sprawled on the pavement, stunned, and almost amused. She wasn’t aware
enough yet of what had transpired to feel angry, but she was extremely aware of
the brown, sticky, syrupy drink that was running down her chest and hands, and
she hated every second of the feeling. In an effort to remedy his mess, or just
quench his thirst from the afternoon snack that had been quickly devoured,
Dover made his way over to her, his wet tongue lapping up what soda hadn’t
soaked into the thread of her clothes. He even provided a big wet kiss to her
cheek in thanks before running off again.

When Reagan
was finally able to sit up, she found both owner and dog were quickly running
in the opposite direction so as not to be associated with the catastrophe that
had just taken place. She reached for her now empty cup and threw it in their
general direction, missing them completely.

“Get
back here you pretzel stealing coward!” She screamed as the anger slowly found
it’s way through, though the demand did little more than draw attention to
herself.
Perfect
, Reagan thought as
several pairs of eyes glanced in her general direction, followed by a few
giggles at her appearance,
just perfect.
And
she laid her head back against the sidewalk in surrender to the universe. “I
give up.” She mumbled to herself.

Thankfully,
the vendor took mercy and instead of playing the innocent by stander this time,
he actually moved toward her to assist with a wad of thin paper napkins in his
hand. Reagan accepted the hand he reached out to her, and apologized for
covering it in soda when she was back on her feet.

“Some
day, huh?” The awkward smile he offered must’ve been an attempt to make her
feel better. But it didn’t work. She was fairly certain that nothing short of
miracle could at this point. Her body was sore, there would certainly be
bruises within the hour, and she felt there was a definite possibility that she
might be bleeding – however slightly - somewhere as well. If not her
body, definitely her ego.

“You
don’t know the half of it.” She bitterly agreed as she rubbed her elbow and
assessed the damage to her satchel. Then she looked toward the napkins he’d
provided, and relented. “Thank you.” Reagan took the stack of thin napkins from
the vendor and began to soak up the liquid from her skin and shirt.

However
unacceptable the situation was, all was repairable, she determined after a
thorough assessment to her possessions and body. Unfortunately, she was now
considering all the dozens of people who would see the giant soda stain over
her wet shirt as she walked through campus back to her apartment. That would be
awesome for her already precarious reputation. But a taxi,
another
taxi, was out of the question. That just wasn’t in the
budget again, and now more than ever she wished she could get her car back
soon.

To
complicate matters even more, the muffled call of her cell phone began to chime
from the inside of her satchel. Still harboring the fear it might not be
working properly, she was in for a pleasant surprise when all functions seemed
to be in working order.

 
“Yeah.”
Was the only greeting she had the energy to muster.

“Hey.”
Petra paused, realizing her friend’s greeting didn’t have its usual cheerful
ring. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.
I’m just…a mess right now.” Reagan admitted as she glanced down at her
appearance. “Literary. Listen Petra, now’s not a good time. I’m kinda in the
middle of something.”

 
“Oh really?”

Guessing
from the suggestiveness of her tone, and knowing
exactly
how Petra’s mind worked, it seemed her friend was expecting
her to divulge some juicy morsels of information. Unfortunately, Reagan would
have nothing scandalous to give her and felt compelled to explain her
circumstances so as to not get her friend’s hopes up. “No. Nothing like that.
It’s just, I saw Brett on the sidewalk and decided to follow him. Then I lost
him in a crowd and stopped for a drink. Then this
stupid dog
,” she yelled down the sidewalk, hoping the dog owner
would still be able to hear her, “wrapped itself around my feet and I fell on
my ass on the street and now my soda’s dripping down my shirt and I’m wet and
it’s cold.”

Petra
said nothing in response when she had finished, but laughed hysterically. To
the point where Reagan had to actually hold the phone away from her ear, or
allow her eardrums to suffer the consequences.

“It’s
not that funny.” The roll of laughter continued. “Petra.” Reagan tried to
interrupt. “It’s not.” But by this time the entire situation seemed so
ridiculous, and Petra’s laughter was so contagious, that she couldn’t help the
little smile of her own that tried to creep out. She let out a final,
liberating sigh and looked down at her messed up state. She supposed it was
pretty funny. A giggle even managed to pop out. Though only for a second.

But
through the laughter, just as they were both becoming composed enough to
continue with normal conversation, Reagan heard an exaggerated whistle from
behind her. It was a suggestive whistle in every possible way, and she was
familiar enough with the tone to know exactly what the implied message was. Yet
- though extremely annoying - she had no idea that it’d been intended for her.
Until, that is, she caught the eye of the vendor, who was motioning with raised
eyebrows that she should look behind her.

She
tried to ignore it as best as she could, but the sound came again, this time a
little longer and a little louder than before. There was no ignoring it now. “Hey
sexy! You need a ride?”

That
did it. There was only so much a girl could take in one day, and this girl had
just about reached her limit. God help her, but this guy was about to get the
brunt of her frustration.

“Hang
on Petra.”

Ready
to sling every nasty word in the dictionary in his general direction, and to
include every other member of the male species in her tirade that looked even
remotely suspicious - because god knows they probably deserved it for some
reason or another - she whirled around to face the curb.

“If
you think for one minute, you sorry son of a…”

But Reagan
stopped abruptly, and all of the phrases she’d formulated only seconds before
simply fell from her mouth when she saw the sleek body of the ’67 Camaro
rolling up to the curb.

“Ian!”
She yelled, practically shrieking his name in surprised excitement. She
couldn’t remember a time when she’d been
that
happy to see familiar vehicle.

“Yeah,
you seem friendly enough now, but a minute ago you would have bitten my head
off. Don’t know if I can trust you.”

“C’mon.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer. “What are you doing here?”

“Stalking
you. What happened?” He pointed to the soda that was still dripping off her
shirt.

“Don’t
ask. I’ll tell you later.”

“Good
enough. Get in, I’ll give you a lift. You can tell me on the way.”

There
was no need to tell her twice. Reagan didn’t care where he was going or when
he’d be returning, the chance to hide the evidence of her horrible day was in
itself enough to have her scooping up her satchel and plopping herself down in
the black leather seat beside him. And while she longed to give him an
appreciative hug, she’d have to refrain until she was a little bit cleaner.
Instead, she blew him a kiss, which he returned with a wink and she tried to
ignore the little flutter it gave her.

As
Ian pulled slowly away into the moving traffic, he nodded toward the phone that
was still clenched in her hand. “Bout to make a call?”

“What?
Oh!” Having completely forgotten the phone was even in her hand, she quickly
put it up to her ear, hoping her friend was still on the other end. “You still
there, Petra?”

“Fortunately
for you.” There was a mild agitation behind the words. “What’s going on?”

 
“Ian’s giving me a lift home.”

“Oh,
you might want to know I invited him to my party.”

“You
just now got around to that?” She replied to Petra, then covered the mouthpiece
and turned to Ian. “She just now got around to inviting you?”

“Who?”
Ian questioned casually, his eyes remaining on the road.

“Petra.
Who else is throwing a monstrosity of a party this weekend?”

Ian
shrugged his shoulders and smiled deviously. “I was coming anyway, invitation
or not.”

“You
would.” She grinned before returning to her call.

“What
are you two talking about?” Petra inquired.

“Nothing.”

“Have
you hooked up with him yet?”

Reagan
froze. She could feel the bright rose flush climbing up her cheeks. Unaware
that Petra had returned to speaking of Brett, Reagan’s mind had naturally and
immediately drifted to her current companion when the question was posed. “I’m
not answering that now.” But she was obviously flustered.

“Oh,
come on.”

She
lowered her voice as much as possible. “No.” She replied firmly.

“
No
you haven’t hooked up, or
no
you’re still not answering my
question.”