The Two-Night One-Night Stand (16 page)

“No you didn’t.” Jayne sips her latte to try and stifle her laughter at my expense.

“No, I did. I said something like ‘I’m a slut for you’ or something along those lines.” I close my eyes in horror at the memory. “And that was probably one of the more tame things I said that night.”

“Oh, okay, wow, maybe you are a slut.” Jayne puts her latte down and doesn’t try to hide her laughter this time.

“Shut up.” I grab her bear claw, take a large bite, and start talking with my mouth full. “At least he was just my rebound.”

“I don’t know.” She squints, tapping a pondering finger on her chin. “I don’t think he is your rebound.”

“What? Of course he is. You’re the one who freaking said it.” I use my hand, slicing out the words in three chops. “Tyler. Rebound. Mr. Right.”

“Maybe I was wrong.” She shrugs and holds out her hand. “Let me see something. Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Just give it to me.”

I hand over my phone and watch as she somehow knows my code and starts snooping through my phone. She swipes like crazy, the phone stays planted in her hand.

“No more pictures of Tyler?” she asks with a raised brow.

“I erased them.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, a few days ago.”

“You mean like right after your second night with Matthew? Interesting.”

“Yeah, but Tyler’s engaged. It’s over. I deleted his pics. Why is that interesting?”

“Just because you held on to them for a year and then finally deleted all the pictures of Tyler but left three pictures of you and Matthew with swapped faces.” Her nose crinkles up in disgust. “I hope your kids don’t look like this.” I snatch my phone back from her hand. “Just admit it, Holly, you like him.”

“Okay, yeah, I think I like him.” I raise my hands in frustration. “But admitting I like him isn’t the problem. The problem is undoing our two nights of shame. The problem is that I wish I could have met him under different circumstances. Without lies and promiscuity.”

“Oh, grow the fuck up, Holly. People meet and have sex all the time.”

“Yeah, but they don’t date and fall in love and get married.”

“Sometimes they do.”

“Maybe in very rare instances, but a nice guy like Matthew isn’t looking to settle down with a hoochie. And not only that, but what about the weird way we met? I mean, let’s just say we beat all the odds and fall in love and get married. What story would we tell our grandchildren when they ask how grandma and grandpa met?”

Jayne reaches for my cell and presses away. She holds up one of the pictures of me and Matthew with swapped faces. “I think your grandchildren would have bigger issues than how you two met.” She covers her face with the phone and speaks in a childlike voice from behind it. “Grandma, why are we so fucked-up looking?”

She’s so stupid, I have to laugh. “Fuck you. Our grandchildren would be beautiful, you bitch.”

“I’m sure they will be. But in order for that to happen, you need to go on a date with him.” She taps her hand to her head and gives me the duh face.

“Ugh, I can’t. It’s too late for that. My sluttiness ruined everything.” I sigh and slump down in my seat. “And who knows, I’ll probably never see him again anyway.”

“First of all, we’re millennials. Our generation is known for being a little slutty. Get over it. Secondly, in the last two months you’ve run into him three times. I’m sure another run-in is going to happen.” She plays with her earring, twisting while she thinks. “Go back to the bar, that pizza place, or worst-case scenario, hurt yourself and go back to the ER.”

“I’m not hurting myself.” I roll my eyes. “But I guess the pizza place is always a possibility.” Ever since our second night together I had been avoiding the pizza place, but maybe I should go back, hope for another chance encounter just to see…. “This is crazy. You’re supposed to help me move on, not get me scheming on ways to see him again.”

“Holly, this conversation is getting exhausting. Get dressed in something hot, do your hair and makeup, and go get a fucking slice of pizza every night until you see him again. If you don’t, I’ll break your arm and take you to the hospital myself. Okay? Have we solved this? Do you think we can now move on and actually talk about me and my shit for like a minute?”

She’s right. Enough. I’ve been rude and obsessive and need to turn my attention to my friend, not monopolize the entire conversation. “I’m sorry, yes, tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Paul and I had the dog conversation again,” Jayne begins. Oh, great. I hold back my groan. “I looked up a cocker spaniel last night,” she blabs, and I nod. Jayne and Paul have the “dog conversation” at least once a week, which then leads to me and Jayne having the dog conversation once a week. A cocker spaniel, a golden retriever… just pick one. God, and she thinks I’m exhausting. “I mean, a golden retriever will shed but it’s such a loving dog, ya know?” I keep nodding and tune out. Luckily for the dog conversation, all I need to do is a lot of nodding.

While Jayne rambles on with this new topic of conversation, I slip into thinking back to our last one. Was I stupid for freaking out and running away after the snowstorm? Was there really any possibility that Matthew and I could try dating and it might actually work? Even if I went to the pizza place, there is no guarantee that I’d run into him again.
Okay, stop
. This is crazy to even be thinking about.

“Are you listening to me?” Jayne snaps a finger in front of me, causing me to jump.

“Yes, I’m listening.” Partially. Kind of. Sorta.

“What did I just say?”

“Um. That a bichon frise is hypoallergenic.” I’m only guessing here but I’ve heard this conversation so many times, and I think I just heard her say something about hypoallergenic so there’s a good chance I’m right.

“So, what do you think? Will you come with me later to look at the bichon? I don’t want to go alone and Paul has to work.”

Look at that. I was right.

“Yes, I’ll go with you.” I bite down on my thumbnail. “But then will you come with me for a slice of pizza afterwards?”

SHE’S CRAZY.

She didn’t seem crazy.

All girls are fucking crazy. Therefore, she’s crazy.

I can’t get her out my head. She’s amazing. Sex with her was insane.

Yeah, well, crazy chicks are the best at it.

Stop calling her crazy. She’s not.

Listen, forget her. Move on. We don’t need her. Now, go click on porn-clubz. Let’s see if they have any more of that naughty librarian shit up.

No.

No to the librarian? Okay, then naughty professor, sorority sisters, horny housewives… whatever. I’m cool.

No, as in—no, I’m not going to forget her.

Dude. Relax. Know what we need? Guy night. Open up a beer, get out the laptop, grab a box of tissues, we’ll do our thing, and you’ll be good to go.

Peen, stop. We can’t do this anymore.

Do what?

This.

Matthew, what’s going on? You’re scaring me. What are you saying?

I’ve been thinking and I think it’s best if we don’t talk anymore.

Wh… what? Why? What did I do?

It’s not you, Peen. It’s me.

What the fuck, Matty? Are you breaking up with me?

No, it’s not like that. We’re still gonna see each other. Things just need to change. That’s all.

Change how? I don’t understand.

I like Holly.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, me too. Is that all this is about? I won’t say she’s crazy anymore. I promise. She’s great. A perfectly sane girl.

Peen, I’m ready for a relationship and I don’t think I can move forward and start something serious if I’m still taking advice from you.

So just like that, we’re over?

We’re not over. I’m always gonna need you and you will always be a big part of me. But from now on I need to be the one who does all my thinking. I need to make my own decisions. I need to be the one who communicates to
you
, not the other way around.

So what you’re saying is, we’re still partners but from now on I just need to be a silent one.

Yes.

Okay. Wow. I did not see this coming.

Sorry.

I’m gonna miss talking to you.

Me too, buddy.

But I think I get it.

Thanks for understanding.

Bye, Matthew.

Good-bye, Peen.

Go get her.

Two zits. I lean in closer to the mirror and inspect. A third bump under my skin looks like it may join this horrendous breakout on my chin any second now. Acne is supposed to stop when your teen years end, so why in the hell am I breaking out now? I lean in further and the waistband of my jeans cuts into my gut, to the point where I actually need to undo my top button.

Pizza.

Too much freaking pizza. For three weeks straight I’ve been dressing up, hair, makeup, heels, and heading to Romeo’s hoping for another run-in with Matthew. I even started bringing my laptop, working from one of the back booths, so I could linger without looking overly suspicious. But so far all my pizza plan has accomplished is two and a half pimples, three extra pounds, and no romantic reconnection with the sexy man I so stupidly walked out on after the snowstorm.

It’s funny how sometimes you don’t realize what a huge mistake you’re making until you walk away and it’s too late. In the millions of times that I’ve replayed it in my head, I desperately wish I could go back and change the way things ended with us.

Instead of being a defensive bitch, I should have said, “This was a great night, we should hang out again.” Or I could have even waited; there was a chance he was going to ask me out. I don’t know why the hell I jumped all over the I’m-a-whore theory. He gave me no reason to think that. He was nothing but a perfect gentleman. It was me who jumped on him, not the other way around. And as Jayne pointed out, guys don’t usually spend that much time and effort pleasing a girl in the manner he did if they’re just looking to use and move on.

Ugh, I’m so stupid. I dig my fingernails into one of the pimples, squeezing it for a quick fix, and use a tissue to blot up the mess. I glare at myself in the mirror, scowling in disgust. But, no, what did I say? I was all like—uh-duh, this just a two-night one-night stand. I’m such a freaking idiot. And Jayne’s right, that does sound annoying. I move to the second zit and use my fingernails to annihilate that one as well.