17. Paige
17
Paige
Me
If you could be any animal, what would you be?
I copy and paste this question into the other text strings I have with Pickup Line Jason and Boltface from the comfort of the dressing room. I’ve been finding excuses to be in here for the last hour so I can sneak texts off to my guys. Knowing how they each respond will help me decide who I want to go on a date with eventually. Or, more accurately, who I don’t.
Roger Who Cleans
A gorilla.
Me
Why?
Roger Who Cleans
I wouldn’t have to lose my hands or feet.
I roll my neck out and reply.
Me
Very practical of you.
Roger Who Cleans
Only when it comes to opening containers.
I laugh out loud, and then quickly slap a hand to my mouth. Someone went into the other stall beside me, and the last thing I need is a formal complaint on my record. It’s pristine, and I don’t want to mess that up. Even for Roger.
Today he’s made me laugh no less than fifty-two times, which has made the time at work fly. Untangling plastic hangers with a vendetta against me and dusting all of the glassware has never been more interesting when he’s asking about my family, and I’m ranking my favorite Sweetums candy bars.
Pickup Line Jason asked about my family and what clubs I frequent, to which I informed him none of them . And Boltface still hasn’t responded after he sent a picture of a motorcycle. I don’t know if it was his or what the story was there, but I’m starting to think he might be a robot.
But somehow, even though it’s Wednesday—a typical work day—Roger has made time to keep up our conversation.
This is exactly what I hoped would happen with this experiment.
Roger Who Cleans
So even though we’ve never met, do you think people can…fall?
As in, fall in love .
The “L” word has officially entered the conversation.
We haven’t gotten into past relationships, so I have no idea if he’s ever felt this way about someone. And even though I’ve struggled in relationships, I still hold out for this feeling every time. I’ve experienced love, but not to the same degree as the man I’m dating. I guess I’m prone to the unrequited kind.
I’m feeling bold and texting provides a safety net to say things without feeling too embarrassed. I need to go all in if I’m going to get anything out of it.
Me
I believe in love, the falling, the racing heart (but in a good way). I think it could happen for me. I want it to more than ever.
Roger Who Cleans
I want that, too.
Telling him I’m already halfway there isn’t the best plan. I want this to last and scaring him off at the start isn’t a good idea.
Me
Keep this up, and I’ll let you propose this weekend.
Well, that didn’t work.
I can’t help it. I lead with the heart.
Me
Kidding, of course.
Roger Who Cleans
Bummer to hear that. I would have mailed you a ring.
Me
Hahaha.
Roger Who Cleans
It doesn’t bother you that we’ve never seen each other? I could have tattoos all over my face and one across my forehead that reads yo mama .
Me
Lol. Well…do you?
Roger Who Cleans
Not exactly.
Me
So, no face tattoos. But do you have a face? Eyes? Nose? Mouth?
Roger Who Cleans
All of those.
Me
Then I think you’re doing better than you think.
Roger Who Cleans
And do you have all of those?
Me
Confirmed.
Roger Who Cleans
Shoulders?
Me
I have those, too.
He doesn’t respond, and my thumb is anxious to type out a reply. I bounce my crossed leg then immediately stand and pace in front of the mirror.
I could easily go into detail about what I look like. I desperately want to know about his looks and if I’d be as physically attracted to him. But, so far, Pickup Line Jason is the only one who has sent me a picture of himself. It’s not like he has a bad face, but I didn’t feel right about sending him one back. Maybe because Roger never did and there was still a standard to uphold.
He sends one word that I can somehow feel in my toes.
Roger Who Cleans
And…
Me
It sounds like you want more details.
Roger Who Cleans
I’m glad that was obvious. Otherwise, this would be really awkward.
Roger Who Cleans
I’m dying to know if you have any tattoos now, too…
Me
Ha! Okay.
I bite my bottom lip.
Me
No tattoos. You?
Roger Who Cleans
None. I’d like to get one, but I don’t want to just get anything. I want it to be meaningful so every time I look at it, I’m reminded of something.
Stab me in the heart .
Me
I think that’s really sweet.
Me
What else can I expect when we see each other?
A thrill runs through me at the thought of being face-to-face with him in as little as a few days. That has to be a good sign.
Roger Who Cleans
Okay. Yeah. Well, I’m tall…
Pickup Line Jason said no comment when I asked.
Me
How tall? Like I play professional Basketball tall, or I have to watch out for tree branches ?
Roger Who Cleans
The second one. I’m 6’3”.
Me
Tall is good. I’m 5’4” so I can’t reach the top shelf— any top shelf. That’s why I have a step ladder.
Roger Who Cleans
Happy to be of service if you ever need me to reach that platter you keep for special occasions.
Me
Lol! How did you know I’m a platter person?
Roger Who Cleans
Lucky guess.
Me
One of my best friends is super tall, too. I give him a lot of flack because he’s a giant and drives a tiny car, but it might be my favorite thing.
Roger Who Cleans
He sounds like a practical guy, too. I’m sure he gets great gas mileage.
Me
He sure does and reminds me often.
Me
So, are you about to tell me you’re tall, dark, and handsome?
I press my back to the wall as my dressing room neighbor rustles about. I’m too focused on reading what Roger says next to hear the click and slide of hangers.
Roger Who Cleans
Maybe. I have dark hair, but my skin burns easily in the summer, and I have freckles. That might be two strikes.
Me
Freckles are cute.
Roger Who Cleans
But not hot.
Me
I didn’t say that.
Me
You sound like my type .
Thank God he can’t see my face because it’s heating up to the point of no return. The mirror I glance in tells me as much.
Roger Who Cleans
It’s your turn. Tell me about you.
I tap my pointer finger on the edge of my phone and consider what I should say.
Me
I have short red hair…glasses.
Roger Who Cleans
Now, glasses are hot.
I smile at this. There’s something about this man that makes me think it wouldn’t matter to him what I looked like. But there’s a deep desire inside me that he finds me both interesting and attractive.
Me
You already know I need a stool everywhere I go. I’m also more of a rectangle shape…
Roger Who Cleans
Rectangle?
Me
It means I’m…balanced.
Roger Who Cleans
Balanced? How?
I’ve never had to describe my body to someone with words before. Usually the guy I’m with can see for himself. But having to describe myself is more difficult than I thought. I probably shouldn’t have started with shapes, but here we are.
Me
It means my top and bottom halves are of equal proportion…not too big…not too small. You know?
Please don’t make me explain more .
Roger Who Cleans
Oh I know.
A trickle of warmth spreads from the top of my head, through my belly, and down at reading his words on my screen. There’s a confidence in those three words, and hell if it isn’t confirmation enough for me I’m his type.
I know this is just a game— my game—but I think it’s working. Taking a deep breath, my extended belly stretches, and I slowly release, letting my back melt into the plywood behind me.
Me
I think we could have a good time then.
Roger Who Cleans
You had me at red hair and glasses, but rectangles are my favorite shape so…bonus.
My heart is skipping so wildly in my chest you’d think there were elephants stomping around in there. I don’t want to mess up a good thing, but I want to talk to him. I want to hear him.
I bite my lip and wait for the person to exit the changing room, adding more items to the rack outside for me to busy myself with later. Holding the phone to rest on my chin, I breathe deeply and clear my throat. One voice note wouldn’t hurt. It might even help our relationship progress to another level. Everything in me screams yes, do that .
I click the blue button and start talking in a hushed tone so no one hears me. “No upside down triangles for you then?”
The message is sent, and I peer up at the harsh ceiling lights in case a meteor decides to crash through and crush me. I can’t believe I just said that.
Unfortunately, his reply isn’t a voice note.
Roger Who Cleans
I have no idea what that means. All I know is that if you are half as sexy as your voice, you could be an octagon for all I care.
His words are brazen and bold, and they go straight to my low belly, swirling and dipping in an intricate pattern. I rest a hand over my stomach and send another message.
“That’s a new one. I’ve never heard my voice is sexy before.”
Roger Who Cleans
I’m pretty sure I’ll be dreaming about it tonight.
“If we ever go to sleep.” It’s only two in the afternoon, but I’m positive the amount of adrenaline pumping through my body won’t allow me to sleep until the next full moon. It’s good to know I’m not alone.
Roger Who Cleans
Who needs sleep anyway?
My toes curl in my platform Converse sneakers—another thrifting bingo item of mine—and if I don’t move this very second, I’m going to burst. I do a few quick jumping jacks and jog in place with a broad smile on my face which is completely lethal.
Roger Who Cleans
I’ll take any points I can get.
Me
You have a lot.
Roger Who Cleans
Does that mean you kind of like me?
Me
More than kind of .
Me
Are we getting engaged after this?
Roger Who Cleans
No engagement required. I always hate how those blind dating shows end that way.
Me
Right? Like why can’t they just end in a committed relationship instead of engagement? It’s a little…intense.
Me
I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to go on a honeymoon.
Roger Who Cleans
Oh? And what would we do there?
Everything in me is screaming to type back what’s in my head, but a part of me wonders if I’ll scare him off. I don’t want to. But our conversation today has been different. It’s gone from flirty to serious to sultry. And he started it all by asking. Now I just need to figure out how to reply.
Have wild sex.
I delete those three words and try again .
Not wear clothes.
None of these are working. They all sound too cheesy and maybe even a little creepy. But I want to be honest. He should know that I’ve enjoyed texting, somehow building a connection with him through a phone. Now, I’m ready to build our connection in other ways. The ways that don’t involve talking.
I take a deep breath and decide to just reply from the heart. Or pelvic area.
Me
Not talk.
I stare at what I’ve typed out. It’s so bold and in your face; there isn’t another way for him to interpret this. He’s going to read these two words, and it’ll change things. I just hope it pushes us to grow instead of flop. I really like him.
I start chewing my nails as the three dots appear and disappear on the screen a couple times, and I worry I’ve just ruined everything. I’m going to have to change my cell phone number, dye my hair, and get transition lenses like Don, so he’ll never recognize me out in the wild.
But his response finally comes through.
Roger Who Cleans
That sounds like another experiment waiting to happen.
I’m smiling like an absolute fool, covering my mouth while I mock scream.
Me
I think you’re right.
Before I know what’s happening, the measly curtain is being whipped open. “What are you doing? ”
My soul leaves my body as I jump out of my skin with a start. “Delia!”
She looks down her nose at me, eyebrows high on her forehead, waiting for me to say something.
I gulp. “I was talking.”
“To yourself?” she confirms with a lowered brow.
I hold up my phone, and sigh, sagging against the wall again. “To Roger.”
“Oh?” She perks up at this.
I pocket my phone before she asks for evidence of what we were chatting about. The fact my body is still hot all over is reminder enough. “I was just sending him a voice note. First one.”
“Did he respond back?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Only a text.”
She assesses me and tips her chin. “So, how’re the other men?”
I stutter and place a flat palm on the wall behind me. “They…well…I…good?”
It takes me a minute, but I realize she has boots on her hands, which prevent her from crossing them. She must be organizing the shoe section. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m getting to know them.”
“Is Pickup Line Jason still…pickup lining?”
I groan, push off the wall, and drop my head back with an exaggerated, “Yes. He sent me a text an hour ago saying nothing lasts forever. Want to be my nothing ?”
Delia gags. “Dump him.”
Can’t say I haven’t thought of it. “He’s your cousin. And aren’t I supposed to see this through this weekend? ”
“Honey,” Delia starts, “you already know what you’re going to get with that one and it isn’t anything other than cheap words. I’ll need to have a chat with his mom.”
She’s right. I’ve never broken up with anyone over text before, though.
“Once you break it off, we’ll go out and celebrate tonight.”
“Where?” I ask, knowing the three bars downtown I will enter.
“The Fox Hole,” Delia says without meeting my eyes.
I shake my head and wave my arms at her. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m not going there.”
“And why not?” Delia’s shoe hands are on her hips.
“Because the last time I was there, I got kicked out.”
“Now this is a story I have to hear.”
I sigh and rub my forehead. “I’m not going to recount the whole thing. I’ll just say my picture is hanging in the back of the bar, and they might be missing a beer glass.”
“Scandalous,” she whispers. “Let’s go to Twilight Tonic then.”
I can’t help but give her a pinched look. “The one that has all of the Twilight movie characters framed and posted around the bar?”
She taps the side of the dressing room, but it’s more like a thunk since the shoes have a thick sole. “Yeah, that one. And feel free to invite that friend of yours with the pebble for a car.”
“Rhodes?”
“Yes.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Bars aren’t really his scene.”
“I think he’ll come if you’re there.”
Or you , my brain supplies.
Wait a minute. Does Delia like Rhodes? She’s never asked me to invite him before. Not like we’ve hung out a lot of times, but still. What is going on? We’ve had minimal text convos in the last week. Maybe he’s been talking to Delia…
There’s a weird twinge in my spine, forcing me to stand straighter at the thought of him talking to someone in a romantic capacity. But he would have told me. Or maybe he just needs an opportunity to. A night out could help with that. And Delia seems keen on it.
I study the back of Delia’s head as she walks out of my dressing room. Her dark hair with the red streak, her denim mini skirt with fishnets, cropped tank, and direct personality are all awash in a new perspective. How does Rhodes see her? They usually only engage in quick hellos and goodbyes whenever Rhodes drops me off or picks me up. Like today. But I’ve seen them swapping more than one-word responses lately.
Something about this feels like my heart is being squeezed a little tighter, making it hard to pull in a full breath. I don’t know why this is happening exactly. I have no right to hide Rhodes under a rock and demand he be my best friend forever instead of finding someone he connects with, too.
No. Right.
So why do I want to shrink him and hide him in my pocket?