15. Hammer Toes and Bs
15
Hadley
“Oh, God.”
I bury my face in my pillow to muffle the loud groan while my fist pounds against the mattress beside me. I’m mortified. Humiliated. And more than a little sad.
I had such high hopes for this evening. I don’t know exactly what I expected, but I never in a million years thought Foster would accuse me of trying to use him. To have sex with him just to get rid of my virginity.
My initial anger faded quickly, and I’m kind of regretting running out of there before we could talk things through. I should’ve stayed and made him see the truth. That I like him and want to take things to the next step.
And that I would’ve been a lot more aggressive a lot sooner if I wasn’t still a virgin. That little fact has been holding me back, not driving me forward.
I roll over and sit up in a rush. That’s it.
I should just have sex with someone. A stranger who has no idea that I’ve never done it before. Someone I don’t care about and would have no problem using the way Foster accused me of trying to use him.
Reaching over, I grab my phone from the nightstand where I’d dropped it earlier. Pulling up the app store, I search the most popular dating apps. I pick one at random and download it. As I’m setting up an account, there’s a small voice in my head telling me I’m being irrational. That this is a terrible idea spurred by Foster’s rejection of my advances.
I ignore that voice, my thumbs stabbing at the screen as I create a bio and upload a decent photo of myself. I’m tired of waiting. Waiting has gotten me nowhere.
I’m going to take life by the balls and make it happen.
My eyes blink open as my mouth spreads wide in a long yawn. I lift my head from the pillow and look around, noting the soft light filtering in through my bedroom window. A quick glance at the clock on my nightstand confirms it’s late morning, and I sit up, stretching my arms over my head.
I’m still wearing my blue sundress, and I’m sure I have raccoon eyes from sleeping in makeup. I spy my phone on the mattress next to where I fell asleep and flinch inwardly. I’m already regretting my rash actions last night. What was I thinking, setting up an online dating profile just to find someone with whom to lose my virginity?
Did I think I’d actually be able to just sleep with some random guy I met online?
A sardonic laugh barks out of me. “Yeah, right.”
I shake my head and climb out of bed. Shower first, then I’ll deal with closing the account.
By the time I finish showering, I’ve changed my mind. I may not use the app to hook up with someone for a booty call, but what if I could actually meet someone? A guy with common interests and values, someone I could start a real relationship with where things would progress naturally?
Things are obviously going nowhere with Foster, and after last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if he found somewhere else to stay until his house is finished. Hell, it would probably be easier on us both if he did.
I ignore the feeling of dread that rises through me at the thought. I need to let go of girlish dreams. Foster isn’t a knight in shining armor who’s come to sweep me off my feet for some happily ever after. Sure, he’s a good guy. He’s just not into me.
I have to be okay with that.
I get dressed in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a baggy t-shirt. I don’t want Foster to think I’m still trying to entice him. I just want to move on and pretend like last night never happened.
If he’s still even here.
I head down the stairs, keeping my ears pricked for any sign of where he might be. His bedroom door was open when I came out, so I know he’s not in there. When I don’t hear anything, I jog the rest of the way down and head into the kitchen for coffee.
My eyes zero in on a sheet of paper on the counter, a note written on it in slanted, masculine handwriting.
Hadley,
Sorry I missed you this morning. I’m headed to Nebraska for the game, but I’d like to see you on Sunday night when I get back. We need to talk.
Until then,
Foster
He wants to talk? I sigh and drop the note back to the counter before heading toward the coffee maker. He’s probably going to give me a speech about how we’re just friends and shouldn’t mess with that dynamic. Roxy did the same thing to Miles for a long time, but just because they ended up together and happy doesn’t mean it’ll happen for Foster and me.
And didn’t I just decide that I was okay with it? Of course, that’s when I planned to find someone online to sleep with.
“Speaking of which…” I mumble, pulling my phone from my pocket as I wait for my cup of coffee to brew.
Unlocking the screen, my eyes widen when I see I have a notification from the dating app. I matched with someone, and he’s sent me a message. I shift my weight from foot to foot, unsure what I should do.
Maybe I should just delete the app without looking. It was a stupid idea, anyway. I’ve heard the horror stories. Hell, Roxy had a terrible date with some douchebag who only wanted to hook up while she was trying to keep her distance from Miles. These apps are known for being popular with fuck boys and assholes.
I bite my lip as my grip tightens on the device. It won’t hurt to look, right? What if this guy is my soulmate?
I scoff at the ridiculous thought even as I pull up the app. There’s no harm in looking, right? I don’t have to respond, or anything. I’ll just take a peek.
“Oh,” I breathe when his profile page pops up on the screen.
He’s handsome in a classic boy-next-door kind of way. Blond hair, green eyes, a square chin… Very handsome.
“Jonathan Bleacher,” I read aloud. “Thirty-five, never been married, a podiatrist in Branston.”
After I read his whole bio and look through the pictures he’s posted of himself, I open the private message tab to see what he wrote.
Jonathan: Hi, Hadley. I’m Jon. How are you, today?
My lips twist as I read the message a second time. It’s very generic sounding. Could Jon be a bot? Some kind of scammer looking to steal my money?
Ha. Jokes on him. I don’t have any.
I startle as the phone vibrates in my hand, and a new message pops up beneath the first.
Jonathan: Jesus, that was lame, wasn’t it? No wonder I’m still single.
A laugh bursts out of me, and I find myself replying before I can think too much about it.
Me: Maybe a little.
Jonathan: At least you’re honest. You never know with strangers on the internet.
Me: True that.
Me: Oh, God. Talk about lame. Pretend I never said that.
Jonathan: *laughing emoji*
Jonathan: Wait. Do cool people still use emojis? Because I am. Cool, I mean. *Sunglass-wearing emoji*
Me: Cool people definitely use emojis. *smiling emoji*
Jonathan: Phew. So, anyway, your profile says you own a B&B in Sublime? That’s so awesome.
Me: Yes, I love it.
Jonathan: And I thought owning my own practice was cool. You’re way out of my league. *winky face emoji*
Me: I am pretty awesome. *laughing emoji*
Jonathan: I don’t know what the proper timeline is for this kind of thing, but I’d love to go out with you sometime. Maybe we could meet for dinner or something.
I stare at the screen, my mind racing. It seems so sudden, his asking me out, but that’s what these apps are for, right? To meet new people and try to find a connection? Steeling my spine, I tap out a response.
Me: I’d like that.
Jonathan: Great! I’m headed to a podiatrist convention today, but I’d love to meet up when I get back Sunday. Do you know Armstrong’s in Branston?
Me: I do.
Jonathan: 8 o’clock?
Me: It’s a date!
The last few days have dragged by. I’ve missed having Foster around, but at the same time, I’m glad he’s not here. I stashed his note in a drawer in the kitchen, but out of sight does not automatically equate out of mind. I can’t stop thinking about it and about what he wants to talk to me about.
Of course, I won’t be here when he gets home, later, will I? I have a date with Jonathan. And even though I’m excited about the date, I can’t help feeling guilty about not being here when Foster gets home.
I keep telling myself I have nothing to feel guilty about. He made his feelings for me crystal clear. And now I have a chance to connect with someone who might want more than friendship. Someone I might even be able to fall for. Build a life with.
I texted the girls after I made the date with Jonathan, and after a few cursory questions about Foster that I staunchly evaded, they seemed happy for me. Encouraging, like the good friends they are.
As I pull into the parking lot at Armstrong’s at seven-fifty, I push all thoughts of them and Foster out of my mind. My nerves ratchet up a few notches, and I find myself wishing Roxy still worked here. She quit her waitressing job after she got her bakery in Sublime up and running, but if she still worked here, she’d be a lifeline I could use to escape this date if things go bad.
“Stop,” I say aloud, shifting the car into park and flipping down the visor to check my reflection in the attached mirror.
Jonathan is a nice guy, and this is going to go great. We’ve chatted a little in the days since we made this date, and I haven’t noticed any red flags I need to worry about. With my resolve restored, I climb from the car and head inside.
I step up to the hostess station, but as she asks me if I have a reservation, I spot Jonathan at a nearby table, waving in my direction. As the hostess leads me over to him, Jonathan stands and holds my chair for me with a wide smile.
That’s a good start, and I smile at him when he retakes his seat. He’s the same guy from his photos, but I can tell the images were manipulated, a little. His jaw isn’t quite as square, his green eyes duller than in the photos. His cheeks and chin are a bit pockmarked like he might’ve had severe acne when he was a teenager.
Overall, though, he’s still attractive, and I won’t hold his doctored photos against him. Our waiter stops by and takes our drink orders, and once he walks away, I feel my nervousness spike. I’ve never really dated before, and I have no idea how to do this.
“So, tell me about your work,” I say when the silence between us borders on discomfort.
“It’s fascinating,” he says, and I’m happy to see him relax a bit with the ice-breaker.
He begins to talk about his practice and doesn’t stop talking when the waiter comes back with our drinks. He pauses briefly when we place our food orders, then picks the subject back up with a new voracity.
For a full hour, I listen to him talk about hammer toes and bunions. He talks about puss-inducing nail infections over salad. My fettuccini turns in my stomach as he describes the removal of plantar warts on the sole of the foot.
On and on he goes, like he’s afraid to let silence settle between us again. I force a smile and nod like I’m interested in his expertise, and my polite response eggs him on. By the time the waiter appears with dessert menus, I’m exhausted and more than a little nauseous.
“No dessert for me,” I say before Jonathan can order something for us.
He looks disappointed, but before he can try to convince me to extend the evening, my phone chimes. I offer him a quiet apology as I check it. There’s a text from Roxy asking how the date is going, and my lips turn down into a frown.
“Everything okay?” Jonathan asks.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go. My friend sprained her ankle, and she needs me to meet her at urgent care.”
I might go straight to hell for that lie, but I refuse to take it back. This isn’t going to work. Besides his questionable choice of dinner conversation, Jonathan didn’t let me get a word in edgewise all night. He didn’t ask me any questions or show any interest in who I am as a person, at all.
Maybe he was just nervous. I can understand that. But there is no spark at all between us, and I have no desire to go out with him again. So, I need to get the hell out of here before he asks me out on another date.
“Should I come? I could take a look at it for her,” he offers, rising from his chair as I stand.
“Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m sure the doctors at the clinic will take care of her. She just needs me to…stop by her house to grab her insurance card.”
I’m a terrible liar, and it shows. Jonathan’s face falls, and I clear my throat before shoving a hand in his direction.
“Thanks for dinner.”
He takes my hand and pumps it slowly. “Maybe we can do it ag––”
“Bye,” I say, cutting him off, then turn and practically sprint from the restaurant.
Guilt wars with relief inside me as I hurry to my car. I was rude, but it had to be done. I’ll message him later to let him know I’m not interested in dating, then I’ll delete that stupid fucking app from my phone.
This whole night was a mistake.
I’m in a funk as I drive back to Sublime, but my melancholy dissolves when I pull into the driveway. My heart pounds as heavy breaths puff out of me, one after another. I need to get myself under control before I get out of the car, but I can’t just sit here until that happens, either.
Because Foster McKenna is sitting on my porch steps.
And he’s obviously waiting for me.