I’ve never paid much attention to other people’s reputations. People like to talk, and everything said isn’t always true. I know some pretty nasty shit has been said about me. Some may be true, most not. I’d been warned to stay away from Rich. People say he is bad news. And honestly, he looks like bad news. He has a mean face. It only seems warm when he smiles. He isn’t my type. He wants me, so that doesn’t work. What a laugh, right? I might as well tattoo daddy issues on my forehead. I want what I can’t have. I didn’t want Connor while I had him, not the way I do now. I’ve spent night after night obsessing over him. Sometimes I think I just need to go on a date with someone new. Make out with someone new. Drown myself in bad habits and cheap sweat. I think I may know exactly who to test that theory out on.

Rich was one of those guys you always saw on the fringes. I’d see him at a party with mutual friends. At the bar. Sometimes the guys would drag me to a Friday night football game at their old high school. Rich was always there. And he always flirted with me.

His voice was deep. He liked to call me “Mama”. It drove me insane, but no one had ever called me that. It was ridiculous and annoying, but behind every eye roll was a smile. He told me every time he saw me that I would eventually go on a date with him. I always told him he didn’t have a chance in hell. He, of course, was friends with Connor. I reminded him of this. His response didn’t get much of an argument from me.

“Are you and Connor dating?”

“No,” I said. I was sitting in the parking lot of the bar, with my car door open. Waiting for a drunk Blane to pay his tab.

“Then what does it matter?” His large hand was on my doorframe. His dark eyes were peering at me and I was avoiding them, avoiding the tingling of my flesh.

Rich had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen on a man. It lit up his face and lit up anyone he aimed it at. He had a mop of curly brown hair on his head and his eyes were like the sky on a moonless night.

“It matters because he’s your friend, okay. It just matters.” I hated being around drunk people when I was sober. I had no intention of going out that night. I was curled up in bed watching a Friends marathon when Blane texted me needing a ride. His booty call had stood him up.

“Well, if it doesn’t matter to me and it doesn’t matter to him, then I wouldn’t sweat it.”

“It doesn’t matter to him?” I whipped my head, locking eyes with him. How did he know it didn’t matter to Connor if he took me out?

“Well, no.” Rich knelt down and leaned onto his heels. He had never been so close to me. I always danced away from him at the bar, at people’s houses. I didn’t want to feel the sliver of attraction I had to him. So I kept my distance. The scent of his cologne filled my tiny hatchback. He was sucking on a mint. “He’s dating someone. Pretty sure.”

I hated the way he said it. So casually. As if it wouldn’t gut me. Why offer that reminder? I didn’t know if Connor was still with Tracey, due to my social media blackout, but I assumed. Maybe Rich and Connor weren’t close friends at all. I had never seen them together. I just knew of their friendship through the grapevine.

I looked at the clock in my car. 12:30 a.m. I was about to drive off and leave Blane behind. I didn’t have time for this shit. I was wearing the shorts I often went to bed in, an old band t-shirt, and flip-flops. My long hair was in a haphazard bun. Rich drummed his fingers on the frame of my car, staring at my profile.

"So, are you in, Betty?” The first night he met me he called me Betty. When I asked him why, he said I reminded him of Betty Boop. Pale skin, dark hair, tits, and ass. I shoved him and avoided him the rest of the night. Now I kind of liked the nickname.

When he yelled it from across the bar, I turned my head. It was natural.

Movement in my rearview mirror caught my eye and I watched as Blane exited the bar. “Sure,” I tossed the word out as I reached for my door. Rich stood and let me close it. He tapped on my window so I rolled it down. “Blane has my number." He was smiling. Victory finally in sight. The man in question opened my passenger door and dropped his tall form inside my tiny car.

“Hey, Blane buddy, your girl Gwen has finally agreed to let me take her out. You got my number still?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Be sure that she gets it.” He rapped his knuckles twice on the top of my car and walked into the night. When I turned to Blane, he was grinning ear to ear.

“What?” I spat.

“He’s a moron.”

“I know,” I agreed, turning back, staring into the parking lot. “Give me his number.”