8
Lola
My phone pings, startling me from a groggy sleep. I groan and shove my head under the pillow, but it pings again. And again. And then three more times. And I’m not getting any more sleep. I yank it from the charger and glare at the screen.
There’s a text from Daire. But that isn’t all. There’s a whole boatload of notifications from Tap Left. Which is weird, considering I’ve only been getting them sporadically up until now.
I open the first, and even in the best of circumstances, this is not what I want to see at seven am.
A dick pic. A real-life dick pic. There isn’t even a caption or anything remotely clever to go along with it, and I wonder how many other poor girls have received this same greeting today. I block that guy quick smart and then move onto the next.
This one, at least, was a little more creative. He says he likes my tits. Want 2 meet? I don’t know how he can like my tits since he can’t see them in my profile picture, but I double check it just to be sure before blocking him too.
Guy number three is a self-proclaimed free spirit who is looking for a female to watch. To watch what he doesn’t say, but I don’t have any inkling to find out.
And by guy four, my finger is already hovering over the block button, locked and loaded. Only guy four actually wrote me a message. A real message.
His handle is ThatGuy, and his profile says he’s 33 and does anyone even read this stuff? His photo is of him and his dog, and I have to admit he’s cute. He looks like a beefier version of Paul Walker with an artsy filter from a fancy phone. ThatGuy asks me if it’s just him or is everyone on here batshit crazy?
I laugh and write him back.
LolaB:
Definitely not you. I was just asking myself the same thing.
When I click out of the app, I hesitate before checking Daire’s message. Last night was… a mistake. But it was also more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced before. Once I lit the match, I couldn’t put out the fire. I thought about him the entire way home. And again when I brushed my teeth. And when I climbed into bed, I touched myself thinking of him inside of me. The monster has grown roots because even sleep and the sobering reality of morning hasn’t cured me of this want.
I don’t want there to be any weirdness. And I’m convinced he’s going to regret it. There will be definite weirdness.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I should just message him and tell him he doesn’t need to worry. It was a onetime thing. That’s probably what he’s texting me about now. He’s probably trying to blow me off. He probably isn’t thinking about me at all, except for how to extract himself from this mess.
I squeeze my eyes shut and open the little envelope on the screen. And the world doesn’t implode.
Daire:
What are you wearing?
That’s it. That’s all it says. And I’m so…. confused. Is he flirting with me? Is he actually thinking of going through with this crazy charade? Does he really want more? I will drive myself crazy if I sit here and think about it. So I text him back a quick response.
Lola:
My cat pajamas.
Another ping, and he texts back at the same time as ThatGuy.
Daire:
Oh, baby. You know what I like.
I don’t know how to respond to that, and I’m certain he’s being sarcastic, so I don’t. I check Tap Left.
ThatGuy:
Phew. I was beginning to abandon all hope there for a minute. Since you’re sane (so you say) and I’m partially sane myself, I think we should probably be friends. It’s good to have allies in this strange new land, don’t you think?
LolaB:
That sounds logical. But fair warning. The first hint of crazy and you get the boot.
ThatGuy:
Sounds like a fair shake.
Another text from Daire.
Come to my office today. Noon.
That’s it. Just a command. Like I’m a delivery service, and he can order me up whenever he wants. My fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitant.
Opening myself up to Daire would be considered emotionally irresponsible. This is exactly the thing I told myself I wouldn’t do again. And now my heart and my brain are at war. Logic tells me to stop this and to stop it now. But my heart is screaming for another fix.
I start to reason with myself the way that addicts usually do. After last night, I know that my time with him is limited. And maybe, just maybe, if we keep doing this, I will finally purge him from my system once and for all. The longer it goes on, the more likely it is the inevitable will happen. The thrill will wear off. The shiny new thing I thought that I wanted won’t seem so appealing when Daire’s worst qualities begin to sink in. And when that happens, we can just go back to the way things were before.
Only, it sounds a lot easier said than done. I told him things wouldn’t get weird. But how can they not?
This isn’t some guy I met in a bar. It’s Daire. We have too much history between us, too many unresolved feelings and painful memories. We’re both too proud to admit that we resent the other. And when you mix guilt and blame and anger with intimacy, it can only end in disaster.
But the truth is I don’t think there’s even a question. I’m caught up in it now, for better or worse. I’ve tapped into a long-repressed craving, and I want more. I want to ride this storm out and hope that in the end, I’m strong enough to withstand it.
Another ping and I check my phone.
ThatGuy:
How about a deal?
LolaB:
What sort of deal? It doesn’t involve any human sacrifice, does it?
ThatGuy:
You’re funny. And cute. #winning
LolaB:
Butter me up all you want. Still not agreeing until I hear the terms.
ThatGuy:
Smart girl. Okay here it is, I’m going to be upfront with you. I’m a busy guy. The next few weeks are a bit crazy for me since I’ll be working overseas. But here’s my proposal.
We exchange messages (as friends do, you already agreed to that part, no backing out now) for the next three weeks. When I’ve wrapped up this project- and proven that I’m not nearly as insane as the other dudes on here- we meet.
What do you say?
I bury my face beneath my pillow and take shelter in the darkness while I try to process my thoughts. I like this guy. He has a carefree personality and the conversation is easy, and yet I feel torn.
Three weeks.
That means three weeks to get Daire out of my system. Realistically, I know there needs to be boundaries. A firm end date will keep me grounded before I spin too far out of control. It’s the right thing to do, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
LolaB:
Okay. Yes. Let’s plan on that. But what I said still stands. Act crazy, you get the boot.
ThatGuy:
Lola… I promise to be nothing but a perfect gentleman.
Wink, wink.