Right, I am so out of the loop. Is this how you communicate today with potential lovers? All in hashtags? What happened to old-fashioned flirting? You know, some playful face-to-face banter and a hey-how-about-a-nightcap-at-my-apartment type of wink at the end?
“So, tell me, Vicky, what would you type to describe how much of an asshole Haden is?”
She places her index finger on the corner of her mouth, then as if a light bulb goes off in her head, she says, “Worst day ever #RuinedBlouse #Jerk.”
I smile instantly. “You summed it up perfectly.”
Three
Whoever invented the saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ had obviously never been knee-deep in manuscripts requiring immediate attention. Thursday rolled around quickly, and being the busiest day in the office, one person is always nominated to do the lunch run. With deadlines hovering over my head like a gray cloud, I quickly passed the buck to someone else.
Deep into the second chapter of an erotic thriller, I feel the presence of someone beside me. The charcoal gray pants are a dead giveaway, and inadvertently, I groan, granting myself some patience to deal with him today. Why the hell won’t he leave me alone? I’ve met my share of annoying human beings, but Haden Cooper takes the cake.
“I’m taking orders,” he huffs in annoyance.
I give him my full attention and decide to have a little fun with him. After all, he did ruin a blouse that even the dry cleaners declared to be a write-off. Yes, I will have fun. Serves him right for being such a jerk.
“At my beck and call? Well, I’ll have the roast chicken on rye, lettuce, tomato, and no mayo. I repeat… no mayo.”
He stares back at me without writing down my order.
“You might want to write it down.”
“I have a good memory.”
A loose laugh escapes me. “That’s funny, I bet Trina down on ten would beg to differ.”
His eyes twitch, caught in an awkward moment. I want to see what pathetic excuse he has for this.
“Who?”
“Really, Haden? I don’t know how men can just screw around with strangers and not even take a moment to remember someone’s name,” I rant.
He leans on my desk and rubs the slight stubble on his chin. “You seem awfully interested in my sex life, Presley Malone. Is there something I’m missing here?”
“What?” I shoot back, almost a little too nervous. “Please, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. No, make it a twenty-foot pole with an extension. God, you’re so insensitive. You don’t care about anyone’s feelings and have zero respect in the workplace.”
“Anything else?”
“You’re a jerk.”
He leans into me, invading my personal space. “Her name is Trina Flower. I didn’t call her back because after the one time we had sex, she cried and said she loved me. There’s nothing wrong with sleeping around if it’s mutually agreed. Maybe you need to try it sometime.” He raises the finger that once held my engagement ring. “And since there’s no longer a ring on this finger, maybe that’s just what you need.”
The fucking nerve! To blatantly come out and suggest such a thing. The vein in my forehead is surely going to burst, and my hands are itching to smack that smirk off his face.
“How dare you say that? You don’t know me, and I’m certainly glad you don’t. Don’t you have lunch to collect?”
He stands up straight, and I relish in the thought of him leaving me alone, the whole conversation disappearing along with him. Why does everyone assume that because Jason and I broke up, we would drown ourselves in meaningless sex with strangers? I am not that person. Before Jason came along, I had slept with three men, and each time I had been dating them for at least seven weeks before I jumped into the sack. It is my rule, and I strongly believe it gives me sufficient time to get to know the person I will be intimate with. And anyway, the mere thought of another man touching me right now makes my skin crawl. I still have a tan line on my finger from where my engagement ring once sat.
Surely, there has to be some rule to follow for breakups. For example, one year of a relationship equals one month before dating, two years equals two months, and so if that is the correct equation, five months is officially my back-on-the-market-and-ready-to-date timeline. I know if I run this past Vicky, she will give me a lecture about how my hymen could grow back, and I would be re-virginized or some bullshit like that.
An hour later, the Jerk returns, throwing a brown paper bag onto my desk before walking away. I pull it toward me as he laughs along with Dee at her desk. Not wanting to eavesdrop because I don’t give a shit, I open my sandwich and see mayonnaise spread all over it. I stomp my feet under my desk. I am allergic to mayonnaise. Scooping my sandwich into my hand, I follow his voice until I am standing at Dee’s desk, interrupting their flirtatious encounter once again.
“I said no mayo.” I shove the sandwich in front of his chest.
Haden pushes it back toward me. “Sorry, princess, I’ve got the memory of a goldfish apparently. I’m sure you can handle a little mayo. The extra calories won’t harm your precious diet.”
“It’s not about being on a diet. God, Haden, you’re a jerk, you know that?”