Cowboy Baby Daddy

“That would have been nice,” she says, “but that’s not why I’ve been giving you such a hard time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really think I’m dumb enough to think that stalking you is going to make you want to be with me? That has never fucking worked and it never will. Anyone who says differently is lying to themselves.”

“Then why—”

“I wanted you to be sure,” she says. “I could tell that morning after we technically became a thing. Every time we talked about your roommate, you got this look in your eye. It’s the same look I had a long time ago and there’s not another one like it.”

“I don’t understand,” I tell her. “What were you trying to accomplish?”

“I was just planting seeds,” she says. “While I know that look, I also know you. I know that you wouldn’t just get out of your own way and let something happen—even being in love—without a little help, so I helped.”

“You’re talking Greek,” I tell her. “I don’t understand how any of that was supposed to help my relationship with Leila.”

“Oh, don’t be such an idiot,” she says. “Even tonight’s about that. Do you really think I’m so deluded that I’d try to jump you when you’re clearly heartbroken? That would just be me taking advantage of you, and you’d end up resenting me for it. That last part is kind of why I’m telling you all this: I don’t want you to resent me for anything.”

“But you did try to jump me,” I tell her.

“You made the first five moves,” she says, “but I knew you’d stop it before it got that far. I didn’t count on your body saying no before you did, but that’s just the way it goes, I guess.”

“What am I supposed to do, though?” I ask. “I don’t know where she lives. She wouldn’t tell me. She won’t answer my calls, and anyway, I just spent the whole night with you—a lot of it with both of us naked, and—”

“Yeah, but notice anything?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

She squeezes my still flaccid member and says, “Most of the time, all it takes for a guy to get hard is a pleasing view or a little friction, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been giving you both for about the last 10 minutes, and not so much as a semi.”

She lets go of me and starts getting dressed.

“I’m having a little trouble believing you’ve been doing all this just so I’d end up with Leila,” I tell her.

“It’s not just that,” she says. “I wanted to see if it was real or just a phase. I wasn’t lying when I told you that I wasn’t so keen on giving up on my fuck buddy, but you’re in a different place right now. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to keep pretending like there’s still something between us.”

My head is hurting, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or because what she’s saying actually makes a weird kind of sense. It’s definitely a Wrigley kind of sense.

“So, what do I do, though?” I ask again. “It’s not like I can just call her up and tell her the good news that I tried to get with someone else, but couldn’t get hard, so that must mean we’re meant for each other.”

“I think you know that the two of you are meant for each other,” she says. “But yeah, I probably wouldn’t mention how you came to that particular conclusion. I get that the two of you aren’t really together right now, but I can see that disclosure backfiring. You know where she works, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says. “Send a letter to her at work. Don’t do anything over the top—you don’t want to embarrass her, but you need to let her know that you haven’t forgotten about her, that you still want to find a way to make things work if you can. After that, I don’t know, but I bet you’ll get a response.”

Well, this has easily been the strangest night of my life, but at the same time, I can’t help but think it could be one of the most important.

“You know what?”

“What?” Wrigley asks.

“You’re right. Thank you for whatever voodoo you’ve bee

n doing to help me see that, but I can’t just give up on her and me. I need to know if there’s some way we can make this work.”

Wrigley tells me that it might be better for me to call her again when it’s not 4 in the morning, but the phone’s already in my hand. I turn on the screen, ready to late-night drunk-dial Leila when I see the notification at the top of the screen.

“You have one voice message.”