Page 84 of Puck Yes
Xander’s jaw drops.
Simone beams.
“You always talked about the importance ofnot settling, so I didn’t,” I add.Take that.
Xander’s eyes flash withclout. Yup, he’s imagining how it’d look to have a bona fide pro athlete at his wedding. Simone grins too. “How wonderful,” she says.
He turns to her, squeezes her hand. “So fantastic.” He clears his throat, then adds, “And did you know the team captain owns a restaurant?”
Um, yeah. But what does that have to do with anything? “I’m aware.”
“Stefan Christiansen,” he says—yes, he fucked me this morning to remind me you never deserved me—then turns to Simone. “We should invite him too.”
What a couple of star fuckers.
* * *
When I leave the shop, I steal a final glance over my shoulder at the pair as they walk into the San Francisco day, Xander clutching Salinger like it’s his baby. Shaking my head, I return to my building, a cloud of dark thoughts chasing me as I click to my texts. I’m desperate for a reality check, so I open the thread with Trina and Aubrey.
Ivy: Question: What did I ever see in Xander?
Aubrey’s three bubbles dance.
Aubrey: You liked that he wasn’t a tech bro.
Ivy: Wow. That’s so compelling.
Trina: And he liked to bake bread.
Ivy: I mean, I love bread, but was I THAT impressed with someone just…baking?
Aubrey: Also, he went thrifting with you. You liked that too.
I groan, remembering the things he would say as we shopped.You can wear this dress when you hit your first 10K. Then get this top for when you go viral.Once, when I’d shared news of a writing job I’d been offered, he’d said,Take the assignment. It’s going to open doors for you.It’s all so apparent in retrospect—he was trying to change me with hisdo this, do thatencouragement. When he gave it, I felt like he was doling out important advice. Like he was a boyfriend who’d legit taken an interest in my career and my life. But now, looking back, I can see that he was always trying to mold me. I just wanted to write about something I loved. I wasn’t trying to make gobs of money or rule the online world. But I’d been fooled by his fake cheerleading as we hunted for secondhand clothes.
I suppose it’s no surprise I missed the signs. When I was growing up, it’s not like I ever saw a man be truly good to a woman. By the time I was eight or nine, I was looking out for my little sister, keeping her busy when my dad would yell, and then hoping every night and every morning that my mom would kick my dad out of the house.
Annoyed, I put my phone away and drag myself into my building, head upstairs, and shed my shoes as I greet Roxy, who jumps up when she sees me then barks until I give her a daily sock.
Placated, she snags it in her little teeth and scurries off, butt waggling, to deposit it in her secret sock collection in my bedroom.
Well, she thinks it’s secret. I’ve figured her out.
Seconds later, she returns to me, chattering in Dog that it’s time for a walk since it’s always time for a walk. I fasten on herburgers or bacon or bustbandana, then grab her harness and oblige, but I’m still feeling foolish as I go.
On the one hand, Hayes and Stefan aren’t anything at all like Xander. On the other hand, Ididlike Xander once upon a time.
What if I can’t pick men? What if my taste this time around turns out to be as off as my taste in Xander clearly was? I sigh, disgruntled, until our walk brings Roxy and me to Better With Pockets. Lately, she’s been making puppy-dog eyes with the owner’s dog. When Beatrix’s greyhound mix, Karl, spots my girl from inside the boutique, he trots past the new frocks and out to the sidewalk, stretching his long, sleek frame into a most inviting downward dog. Roxy sashays over to Karl, wagging her lush tail. Karl is easily ten years younger, which puts Roxy squarely in the cougar camp, while Karl’s the pool boy.
I never heard back from my email to Beatrix with some ideas for her social, but that’s okay. Everyone hates email and most people hate turning other people down. As the dogsLady and the Trampover a bowl of H2O, Beatrix joins us on the street, snapping a pic of the pups. Beatrix’s pixie cut is tousled and silvery today, a fun contrast to her olive complexion.
“Love the new hair color,” I say.
She touches her locks, as if just remembering the shade. “Thanks. I nearly forgot what color I did last night.” When the dogs stop lapping, she shows me the shot. “Shop Dog and The Flirt. I should post it on the store’s social…” She waves a hand. “If I remember.”
Hmm. She sounds beleaguered. “Roxy and I would be very honored,” I say, then I woman-up and remind her I can help. “And if I can help with your social media marketing, DM me.”
Her eyes brighten. “Actually, I keep meaning to follow up with you, but I hate email.”