Valerie had respected my space the rest of the weekend but by the end of work Monday, she’s pulled the details from me. “Yes, Jeff gave me his number but I don’t intend to use it.”
As we walk to our cars, she yanks my phone out of my hands.
I don’t attempt to get it from her because I’ll probably just end up knocking it to the concrete.
When she hands the phone back, I roll my eyes at the message.
She texted Monica: Should I go out with sexy money bags?
“I don’t want a relationship.”
“You can say that all you want, but I saw the way you looked at him, and I also saw the way he looked at you. What would it hurt to go on some low-key dates? He seemed cool with you needing a few accommodations?”
A ding notifies us that Monica texted back: No!
“Ha! She’s on my side.” I tilt my phone so Valerie can see as I stop beside my car, reflexively scanning the street. The black car with the potential creeper guy isn’t around. Maybe I’d overreacted.
Another ding draws my attention back to the phone.
Monica: Send Daddy my v-card. I’ve got your back Tabitha.
I laugh.
Valerie grabs the phone. “This is what I’m talking about. He’s got resources and wants to use them on you. The only V-Card this guy’s interested in is yours, and not the one with your contact info…well he wants that too. He didn’t so much as glance at another woman the whole evening.”
“Too bad for him I’m not a virgin.”
She winks at me. “I heard you get to reset your status after a seven-year hiatus.”
“I don’t want to know if you really believe that. Plus, am I supposed to accept that the first night I go to the bar with you, a totally rich dude notices me and wants to sweep me off my feet. There’s a catch. There’s always a catch if it’s that easy.”
“Tabitha, don’t underrate yourself, you are a catch. Not everybody needs a running through the streets naked, sliding into their grave with their hair on fire or whatever that saying is, kind of life. Some people just want to hang out with someone they enjoy. He probably has people hired to do everything. Wouldn’t that be the ideal life—a kept woman? It’s your dream job.”
“Except the part where I’d have to go out on the town and be socially present and all that. Besides, I like my job.”
“Before you decide what he expects of you, go on a date. You’ve been happier today than I’ve seen you in a long time.” She stares at me expectantly.
“What?”
“Call him.”
“Not right now.”
“Please.”
“Are you some kind of perv who gets off on other people’s personal lives?”
“I do like to meddle. Humor me. Plus, you’re the one who asked him to scratch you and feed you treats.”
“That was really stupid.” I cringe that she remembered the comment.
“You were having fun, and he was willing to take you up on it. At least text him.”
“I’ll think about it.” After years of chronic fatigue, my life’s becoming more and more isolated. What do I have to lose? A date with a rich guy isn’t the worst possible option.
When I’m home alone, I pull up Jeff’s number and slump onto my couch. What am I going to do? Ask Valerie to come over and fix my hair and makeup again? Talk about the old bait-and-switch…at some point, I’ll have to admit that’s not me.
I set my phone down.
Flirting was fun but could I ever be enough? Not just for someone like him but for anyone?
He hadn’t reacted poorly to anything I’d said but I’m not the fancy type even though I enjoyed the temporary glam. I could call him, explain that my pretty wrapping paper and fancy bow may have oversold the product, that I’m more of a brown paper bag type of person.
I’ll be honest. Worst case, we’re over. Best case…I squeeze my thighs together to relieve the ache…I could have a night of bliss. Not a rowdy, bra hanging from the ceiling fan kind of bliss, just some good old-fashioned sex.
I tap his name and call.
After a few rings, he answers, “This is Jeff.”
The full impact of his deep voice grips my core. I’m transported back to the moment he’d kissed my fingers, sending electricity through my body, and when he had caressed my arm when he said he’d scratch me wherever I liked. I force myself to concentrate on the call.
“Hi Jeff, this is Tabitha.” My name rolls off my lips before I remember the nickname.
“Tabby,” he says, his voice diving even lower and sexier. “I’m glad you called.”
“Me too,” My chest is light on top of the nerves and I’m glad I’m taking a chance.
“Would it be rude of me to skip the small talk and go straight to setting up a date?” he asks.
This is happening. I start to talk but can’t force the words out.
“We can do small talk if you’d rather. You looked ravishing the other night.” His compliment only makes this harder, emphasizing that he likes something I’m not.
“Thank you but that’s what we need to talk about. I borrowed that dress. I don’t normally wear makeup and I have the straightest, flattest hair in the world except when Valerie uses her special hair stuff and gives it a hint of life.”
“If it’s any help, I don’t plan on asking you out for makeup or hair styling tips, but if you’d like to own dresses like that, I’d be happy to buy them for you.”
Valerie’s comment about being a kept woman plays through my mind. I should get through a date before I worry about such nonsense.
I go for broke. “I’m more of a comfy PJs, curling up on the couch kind of person.”
“You really do enjoy staying home.” There’s no hint of judgment in his tone.
“Enjoy isn’t exactly the right word. I’m limited by my exhaustion levels. When I say that I can’t do much, I mean taking a walk through the park would be it for the evening.”
“Then how about we go to the movies? There’s a theater with recliners so you can kick back just like you’re at home.”
“Only if I have a tub of extra buttery popcorn.” I’m smiling at the prospect of doing something normal with someone who’s not making it weird.
“That’s an absolute. What kind of movies do you enjoy?”
“With the amount of time I spend watching them, I like everything.”
“All right, do you want to pick?”
“Surprise me.” I tell him, and we spend the next hour getting to know each other.
If the rest of my week had gone like that phone call, I would have had a perfect week.
Then Friday afternoon, the call comes. The abnormal pause serves as the indicator Creeper Guy is on the line.
“It’s your fault.” His voice haunts me. What on earth is my fault?
A shiver runs up my spine and I pretend not to recognize him. “Please state your emergency.”
“You.”
I’d been advised to keep him on the call as long as possible since our system had trouble tracking him. “Can I get your location?”
“You will.”
I pause. If he wants to talk, maybe we can finally trace the call and at least get a phone number or anything the cops might be able to go on.
“What’s your—”
The call drops and my anxiety rises. The cops have analyzed the calls, voice-compared them to calls I took that had bad outcomes, and nothing’s matched.
When our shifts are over, Valerie and I walk out together. She’d been busy when Creeper Guy called. She says, “I hope you have fun tonight.’
“That makes two of us.” An evening relaxing with my date will hopefully provide stress relief.
“You don’t quite sound like it.”
“Creeper Guy called again today. He said I would find out his location. There was a second where I actually thought he was going to tell me.”
“What do you think that means?”
“He’s going to be calling more? Showing up? I don’t know.” I attempt to shrug it off but his tone held a dark optimism.
Valerie slowly scans the street.
“I already looked. I don’t see the car. It would be too weird if it was him. I don’t know why I even thought that.”
“Better safe than sorry. If you see him anywhere, call the cops.”
“I will, I promise. But let’s not dwell on it. I’m going on a date.”
“It’s so cute that he’s taking you to the movies. It’s perfect and you get to see if his ass looks as nice in a pair of jeans as slacks. Or you’ll find out if he’s so stuffy he shows up for the movie theater in a suit.
