Chapter 8 #2
"Now that's something I understand," she said, shaking her head as a smile tugged at her lips. "I understand that and I crave it too. Believe me, I turn off my phone and let Patrick take care of me every single weekend. Most weeknights too."
"Your clients don't call you in the evenings? Or contractors?"
"They do. Doesn't mean they can't wait for me to call them back in the morning," she said, chuckling. "Honestly, yeah. There are days when I fantasize about setting aside all my work and worries and spending my time on posting cute food pics on Instagram."
"What stops you?" I wanted to know because there were moments when the only thing holding me back was a fear of running out of money to feed my dog.
"A few things. First, Patrick and I share a brain at work so I can't abandon him.
He'd have a mental breakdown and no one needs that.
Second, restoring and renovating houses is my favorite thing.
I like it more than anything, even posting food pics.
If I didn't have this career, I wouldn't know what else to do with myself.
And third, I know that I can lean on Patrick.
If I wanted to pull back or change my focus or spend some time tinkering with something new, I know he'd rearrange the firm to make that happen. "
Everything inside me lurched. I wanted a partner who'd rearrange the world for me. That was what I wanted. That was it. That was my thing. Right there.
I couldn't put it in my dating profiles, but goddamn, that was what I wanted.
Andy peered at me, her arms folded over her chest. "What's the deal? What's going on with you? Spill your dirty stories, Santillian."
I leaned back against the wall and crossed my legs. "Dating is draining my soul. That, and the house across the street from me is being renovated after hours. I hear nail guns in my dreams."
"You're too damn nice," she muttered. "I would've introduced myself to those fools and made sure the city inspector tagged along." She rolled her hand at me, urging me to continue. "What else is going on with you? It's not just nail guns."
"There's a guy, but he only wants a fuck buddy situation. He's getting over a breakup."
"Explain to me why you're even entertaining this," Andy said, her eyebrow arched high. The woman could form right angles with her brows when she worked at it.
I started to respond but then hesitated. Why was I entertaining this? It wasn't the dick. It couldn't be the dick. There was more to life than dick just as there was more to life than coffee and baseball and dogs.
Somewhat.
"I like his vibe," I said eventually. "He's different from other guys I've met online. He's not like the rest of the assholes out there. I mean, he's not an asshole at all. He tried to be one for a hot minute but couldn't keep up the act."
"Well, that is to be applauded," Andy replied. "You said there was a breakup?"
I nodded, murmuring in agreement. "A bad one. He's admittedly fucked up."
"And you want to fix him."
"I don't want to fix him," I whisper-yelled.
"You want to fix all the boys," Andy replied.
"In the past, I've tried to fix a boy or two, yes," I conceded. "But I don't want to fix this boy."
"You want to fix his broken heart," she sang, "with your vagina."
I sniffed, playing hard at the indignation. "I have no desire to do that nor has he given me the impression he wants me to do any fixing."
Andy laughed. "No, honey. He wants you for the fucking."
"That's accurate, yes. Like any good man would, he's suggested he's quite talented at it. The fucking."
"Oh, is he now?" she cooed.
I decided to confess everything. "He says he's working with nine inches and he can work with it for at least half an hour."
She bobbed her head. "You have my attention."
"I don't want to get involved in a dead-end situation," I said. "But…I don't know."
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to get laid.
Especially when high-quality equipment is involved.
" She shrugged. "If you want someone to give you permission to get laid, enjoy it, and not worry about fixing him—I'm giving it to you.
It's okay to have a dead-end relationship even when you're trying to find The One.
Sometimes, dead-ends turn into cul-de-sacs and everyone loves a cul-de-sac. They're reliable real estate."
"That's some reliable wisdom." I jerked my chin toward the dresses hanging from the rail. "Should we even bother trying on clothes?"
She shook her head. "I want to see this guy's profile. Let's stalk him before you get him naked."
"I'm getting him naked now," I muttered. "Okay. That progressed rapidly."
"Don't play coy and virginal with me," she chided.
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and swiped it to life. My messenger app flashed with several unread messages from RRRooster441. "Looks like he's in a talkative mood today."
"Hm," she murmured, glancing down at the screen.
Mr. Nine: Are you…MizMaggie, are you holding out for proof?
Mr. Nine: My god. You are. You want to know if the juice is worth the squeeze.
Mr. Nine: OK. Not gonna hold that against you since I made it all about the D.
Mr. Nine: Fuck. I admire it.
Mr. Nine: Here you go.
Mr. Nine: (IMAGE ATTACHED)
We leaned closer and simultaneously gasped when a photo filled the screen.
As far as dick pics went, it was beautifully done.
Clothed, trapped behind trousers, but undeniably hard.
Circumcised too. No harsh lighting or awkward grip on the base.
No ugly feet or ball hair to take away from the heart of the matter.
"I do enjoy when I can identify a man's belief system before he gets his pants off," I said.
"Yeah, you need to get that," she said, pinching her fingers on the screen to zoom in. "That's a good one. It's halfway to his knee."
"Mhmm." Nodding, I toggled back to his message.
Mr. Nine: See? No exaggeration.
Magnolia: Thanks for keeping it classy.
Mr. Nine: That's how I roll, lady.
Magnolia: I like how you roll.
Mr. Nine: Yeah?
Magnolia: Yeah…maybe we could get coffee or something.
Mr. Nine: Come on. Come on!
Magnolia: What? Isn't that what you want?
Mr. Nine: Coffee? No, lady. I don't want coffee.
Magnolia: Oh. Okay.
Magnolia: Listen, I'm not down for a hookup. Sorry, no. I want to have a clothed conversation out in public, preferably with food and drink as a means of distraction and self-defense.
Mr. Nine: Oh my god. You thought I was asking to skip the coffee and go straight to sex.
Mr. Nine: Facepalm.
Mr. Nine: No. I meant I'm good for more than a beverage. Let me buy you a meal. Food on a real plate and a beverage or two. Real knives to stab me with, should it come to that.
Mr. Nine: It won't come to that, I swear.
Mr. Nine: I'm good for a lot more than a dinner and drinks but let's start with the real plates.
"Do it," Andy ordered. "Say yes and tell him you're free on Thursday."
"Why Thursday?"
"Thursday because it gives you two days to prepare and him two days of anticipation, and if it goes well, you can make weekend plans. Friday is too much pressure, Wednesday is tomorrow and that's just too quick, and any other option is too distant. You'll lose momentum if you wait until next week."
"Goddamn," I muttered. "You are gifted."
She shook her head. "Exceedingly strategic." She glanced at my phone. "Thursday. Book it."
Magnolia: How does Thursday sound?
Mr. Nine: Like I'll be seeing you.
Magnolia: Yeah. You will.
Magnolia: For coffee.
Magnolia: Or something like that.
Mr. Nine: Oh, really?
Mr. Nine: You're back on that bullshit?
Magnolia: That's noble of you.
Mr. Nine: I'm walking into a meeting but you can believe we're not finished with this topic.
"Oh, look," Andy cooed. "He gets fired up when you're bratty."
"I'm not bratty," I murmured. "I simply believe coffee is the safer route than a full dinner date setup."
She dropped her chin onto her fist, asking, "Because you don't like having sex on a full stomach? I mean, I get it, but just order a salad."
"Right," I said, nodding. "Because food babies and fuck buddies don't mix."