Dirty Love Romance

4

Cadie

After leaving the studio, I sit in the food court at the mall, drinking a blended coffee and looking at Ram’s pictures on Instagram. He has an incredible body, but the pictures I’m drawn to are the close-ups of his face. There’s one picture in particular I gravitate to more than the others. It’s of him on the beach. He’d just gotten out of the water, his wet hair a crown of golden curls around his face. His bright blue eyes sparkle like sea glass, and that smile … it leaves me breathless. It literally makes me weak in the knees looking at him.

It’s no wonder he has over fifty thousand—mostly women and gay men—following his page. The women leaving comments have no class. They are absolutely shameless in their approach and don’t hold anything back. There are marriage proposals, people asking him to get them pregnant, and basically just word-fucking him. Some of these comments are just … wow. Where do they come up with this stuff, prison? I keep scrolling; afraid I’ll get herpes just reading it.

I imagine it would be intimidating for a girl if he actually wanted to settle down and date someone. No woman wants to be with a guy who gets this much attention. But I guess a guy who gets that kind of attention probably doesn’t do a lot of serious dating.

I put down my phone and when I look up, my ex Evan and his new girlfriend are standing in front of the store directly across from the food court. I immediately jump out of my chair and duck behind a table full of teenage girls. I don’t think he saw me. The girls at the table look at me like I’m crazy. Some even look scared.

“That’s my ex with his new girlfriend. He cheated on me with her,” I tell them in a hushed voice even though he’s far enough away not to hear, and even if he weren’t, the chatter of the food court would drown out my voice.

They glance at Evan, then rally around me as a human shield. I let out a sigh of a relief.

“What a jerk,” one of the girls says.

“What’s he doing?” I ask.

These girls are all too happy to back me up. They thrive on the challenge. “Just standing there looking at baby stuff in the window.”

“Baby stuff?” I say.

“Yeah, the woman he’s with is like, a million years pregnant.”

“What?” I hiss.

Rage boils inside of me. Pregnant? I peek around the girls to get a look for myself, and there she is, his girlfriend and her round belly. Gina didn’t say anything about her being pregnant! Then again, she also said she didn’t get a good look at his new girlfriend either.

I get a glimpse of the new woman. She’s pretty and dresses more conservatively than I do. Her blonde hair is in a bob, and her makeup is done in nude, unassuming colors. She’s shorter than I am, more petite. Evan always did say my height and long limbs intimidated him, and that being with a taller woman made him feel less masculine. I brushed it off as a normal insecurity, but maybe that was important to him. His poor, fragile male ego. Fuck him.

She’s very put-together, probably a secretary, or office assistant. I bet her name is Susan, or Laura, something old fashioned that’s coming back in style. Shit, what if she saw the pictures I sent to Evan’s work phone while I was wasted? What if they had a good laugh at his pathetic ex? FUCK. I’m thinking way too much about this. I glance at her round belly. Not a million years pregnant, but at least five months. Evan is such a bastard. I wonder if she knew about me. It’s hard to believe she was dating a man for a year and didn’t know he was living with someone else. He probably told her we were just sharing a place until the lease was up, or something equally douchy. I hate them both.

They finally leave and I stand up, my legs weak and barely able to hold my weight. “Thanks, ladies,” I say and buy them all a round of blended mochas for their help.

My hands are still shaking as I leave. I call Gina and tell her what I saw. She tells me to call Ram Bed Shaker to get my mind off of it. The thought crossed my mind as well. I’m just so embarrassed by how I acted around him when I was drunk.

Once I’m off the phone with Gina, I decide to text Ram. Not for sex—I’m too wound up for that right now, and I don’t like the idea of sleeping with one man to forget about another—but for a distraction. I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf. It looks fun and relaxing, riding waves, being in the ocean, the weightlessness of it.

Eventually, after rolling the idea around in my head for a while, I text Ram and ask him for lessons. I chew my thumbnail as I wait for his response. He’s probably booked up for the summer. I imagine he’s in high demand. Then, like the neurotic person I am, I start to panic. What if he thinks I’m an idiot after I got drunk and texted him—scratch that, of course he does. How could he not? Maybe he won’t want anything to do with me now. He’ll probably see my text and roll his eyes, think to himself, Oh, God, not this lunatic again.

Though he was acting kind of flirty with me in front of the studio this morning, but that could just be his personality with all women. What if he doesn’t text back? I’m going to feel like such a desperate moron.

Just as I’m about to lose my mind, I get a text.

Ram: Can you meet me at Clover Beach in an hour?

My heart slams into my ribs, my nerves instantly on edge. Why am I so nervous? All I want is to take surf lessons, and I know my nerves have nothing to do with the actual surfing part—I’m very athletic and I’m an excellent swimmer. I spent my summers in high school as a lifeguard on Clover Beach.

Me: I’ll be there.

Since I’m already at the mall, I decide it’s time for a new bikini. While I’m not setting out to sleep with Ram, I do want to look good for him. He turns me on, I’m not going to lie, and the way he flirts with me makes me feel good about myself. I desperately need that right now. And I definitely want to make a different impression on him. I don’t want to only be thought of as the drunk girl he had to babysit. There’s nothing sexy about that.

After searching several different stores, I finally find the perfect bathing suit. It’s white and fits like a glove. There’s not much to it, but that’s the point. This will look amazing against my skin, and it’s cut so that it shows off all the right bumps and curves. I smile. This will do just fine.