3. Matt
3
MATT
H er mahogany curls bounce as she leaves the coffee shop in a fury. I’d never call a woman a bitch, but she’s definitely acting similar to one.
She told me to forget anything happened. Impossible. So, I did the next best thing: pretended I forgot.
If it were up to me, I’d have taken her home that night, worshipped her body as she deserves, and taken her to breakfast the next morning. Then, I would have made plans for another date—because you don’t run into women like her every day.
It was her choice.
So, what’s up with acting like I’m the one who chose this? She made it abundantly clear we were one and done. She also made it abundantly clear today—what we shared was nothing special.
“Where did Natalie go?” Anne asks as she returns from the bathroom, her freckled face scrunching with confusion. Her red hair is bunched up into a messy bun held together by a pencil, the physics of which I’ll never understand.
“Don’t know. She told me to tell you she had to leave,” I shrug, “So, what were you saying?” I motion for her to get on with the conversation, hoping to focus on something else instead of the gorgeous tornado that is her friend.
“Right! You know hockey is one of the most popular programs we offer, so we were wondering...” she chews her bottom lip, “if you’d be interested in taking on another group.” Anne works for the BYC, an organization I’ve volunteered for about a year now as a hockey coach for kids. It started as a result of being bored sitting in the office all day but turned into much more.
“Sure.”
“Really?” Her face brightens.
“Yeah. You know I love hockey and those kids are amazing. I just have to secure a spot in the rink’s schedule.”
“Of course. Thank you, the kids are going to be thrilled!”
Hockey was a part of my life for as long as I can remember. It started in kindergarten, continued all through high school, and I got my college scholarship from it. I wasn’t drafted, but I could have still landed on a team as a free agent, maybe make it into professional hockey, but it wasn’t what I wanted. Nope, hockey was a hobby to me, not a career or a goal.
My goal was to finish college debt free, get a good-earning job, buy a house, and start a family. Not particularly ambitious, I know. But they are the only goals I care about. I never wanted to be a CEO or a professional athlete. Nope. I want to get a ‘world’s best dad mug’ on Christmas morning from a smiling, toothless kid while my wife cuddles beside me.
“How’s your nephew?” Anne asks me, genuinely excited to hear the answer.
Working together for the BYC, we became really good friends. We’re similar in a lot of ways, both hopeless romantics, waiting for their soulmate. Unfortunately, there’s no chemistry between us, so we can’t help make each other’s dreams come true.
“He’s great! Getting more adorable by the second.” I take out my phone and show her the newest pictures my sister Sarah sent me.
A few weeks ago, she gave birth to the most perfect little boy, Benjamin. They live in Sacramento, so I don’t get to see him often, but I flew there the second I heard he was born.
She ‘awws’ and ‘coos’ at the photos with longing in her eyes. A longing I recognize.
So far, I’ve reached a part of my goal. Hockey paid for college, I work as a lawyer in a firm that pays well, and last year, I bought the perfect family home just outside Seattle. In summation, the white picket fence is here. I’m only missing the wife and the kids.
That part is something I’m stuck on. Being thirty-one, I thought I’d already be married and a father, but it doesn’t work that way. Even with twenty-nine first dates last year, the furthest I got was six dates before I realized it wasn’t what I wanted.
“How was your date last week?” she asks, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.
“Umm...it was good. But nothing special, to be honest.” Ever since the night with a certain, angry brunette, the dates have gone exponentially worse.
“Not ‘the one’?”
“Definitely not the one. And it’s weird because I pick girls who have the same goals as me. We should have plenty in common right off the bat, but there’s nothing there. No chemistry.” I had high hopes for dating apps. The girls I date should be perfect for me, according to their bios, but each date is a slow death by boredom.
“Maybe that’s where you’re wrong. You know the saying ‘opposites attract’? Maybe you should be looking for something different?” An image flashes through my mind. Dark eyes stare at me in the muddled reflection, pouty lips parted, perfect tits bouncing as I’m thrusting inside of her.
“Yeah, maybe.” Been there, done that. Hurt me more than random, boring dates.
“How about you? Any plans tonight?” I change the topic.
“Yes, actually. Natalie, Rina, and I will go for some drinks. You? Another hot date?” She giggles.
“Nope, not tonight. Though, it’s a good idea to call up some friends and go for some drinks. I could use it.”
“Oh, you should join us! And bring your friends, the more the merrier. I’ll text you where we’re going.”
“Umm . . . Sure.”
I tell myself she didn’t give me enough time to think of an excuse, already getting up to leave. I tell myself she hasn’t left me any room to decline the offer politely, and it would be rude to do so.
I tell myself all that, if only not to acknowledge the fact I want to see Natalie again.
Even the anger I felt today, talking to her, is more emotion than I felt with the twenty-nine dates combined.