“Nothing. I saw him numerous times in passing and he hasn’t acted strange at all. Not one bit.” I spread my hands out. “Completely normal.”
She frowns as we walk.
“He’s playing games,” Daniel chimes in. “It’s blatantly obvious.”
“I doubt it,” I pant. “And what happened to you on Saturday night, you didn’t come home?”
Daniel shrugs as he walks on. “A bit of this and a bit of that.”
“What does that mean?” Rebecca puffs. “Can we slow down? I’m about to go into cardiac arrest.”
“Did you go home with that couple?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Did you sleep with the guy or the girl?” Rebecca asks.
“A gentleman never tells.”
Rebecca and I exchange exasperated looks. “We need details,” I huff.
“Well, you’re not getting them,” Daniel fires back. “I had a wonderful night, is all you need to know.”
“So, you slept with them both,” I improvise.
“Who was better?” Rebecca says.
“Shut the hell up, I am not having this conversation,” he fires back to Rebecca. “Talk to your friend about grabbing her boss’s boner in a club and dousing it with ice.”
I put my hands over my eyes. I can’t actually believe I did that. “Stop talking about it!”
“Seriously, goals for sure,” Rebecca says, and we walk for a while. “So what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “We only have one week left of work before Christmas shutdown.”
“That’s bad timing,” he replies.
“Why?”
“Well, the heat will die down, won’t it? He will have slept with someone else by the new year for sure.”
“If he hasn’t already.” I sigh.
“True,” Rebecca agrees.
“Like I care, anyway.” I continue to walk along as my mind begins to wander . . . Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.
It’s late and I hear a notification ping; I smile and get out of bed.
Edgar.
Hi Pinkie,
Sorry, I didn’t see your message until just now, I was working all weekend.
I roll my eyes. Liar.
That’s okay, I thought you must have had a hot and heavy weekend with your crush. How are you?
I see the dots as he types.
No hot and heavy this end. How was your date?
I frown. No hot and heavy . . . at all? Or no hot and heavy with your crush? I’m going to lie about my date.
Date was great, I’m a little smitten.
I smile as I wait for his reply.
Lucky you.
I frown and write:
So, you didn’t see your crush at all?
I did, we kissed.
I smile goofily, and reply:
And?
And nothing, she wants to play games and I’m not into it. I’ve lost interest.
My mouth falls open in horror. What the fuck?
I type:
Attention span of a goldfish!
I delete.
You scuzzbucket . . .
I delete.
I exhale heavily. God, this is stupid. I sit back, deflated.
I eventually reply.
How was your kiss?
I see the dots as he types.
Incredible. I’ve thought of nothing else since.
I smile softly. Me too.
Well maybe you should ask her out on a date or something?
Maybe . . .
How was your day?
Okay. I worked and then had a PT session. Looking forward to going home for Christmas.
I frown. I already know where his home is but I’ll play along as if I don’t.
Where’s home?
Where I grew up, near my parents.
I smile sadly; it must be hard to live away from everyone. Another message bounces in.
Are you going home for Christmas?
My shoulders slump. I write:
It’s just me and my brother and sister now.
Christmas is a sad time of the year for me.
I’m sorry.
Me too.
Well, if it makes you feel any better, my mother makes me and my brothers wear knitted sweaters with reindeers on them.
I giggle as I imagine the big powerful Miles brothers in knitted Christmas sweaters to please their mum. I type a smiley face.
?
I exhale as I wait for his next message.
Why are you smitten?
Maybe I’m smitten with the idea of being smitten.
Aren’t we all?
He’s so swoony in messages. Too bad he’s an asshole player who loses interest really fucking quickly in real life. I type:
Maybe you’ll meet your extraordinary girl over Christmas?
Maybe. Or maybe I’ll spend my life having meaningless sex with people?
I frown and type:
Is that a bad thing?
No.
But what?
I want more.
More of what?
If I knew I would have found it.
I lie down in bed—I should tell him it’s me. He’s starting to tell me personal stuff and he’s going to be pissed if he ever finds out that he’s confiding in me. But for some reason I feel like he’s flat and I want to comfort him.
You’ll know when you meet her.
Will I?
I smile sadly.
Of course you will.
Will you?
I don’t think I even want to love anyone. It hurts too much when you lose them.
Silence for a few minutes. Eventually a reply bounces in.
Who hurt you?
My parents.
How?
They died.
I unexpectedly tear up and I quickly sign off so I can get offline before he replies. I don’t want to get into this; I don’t know why I even brought it up.