❁ Junie ❁

My bus ride home allows me time to consider whether I should wash my hands or allow the tingly feelings to remain forever. The hoodie-wearing hitchhiker-looking hottie makes me feel happy in all the right ways and places.

I’ve dated three men in my rather eventful life. The first was Ken. His name wasn’t actually Ken. I think it was Chad, but he had super white teeth and super tanned skin and super gelled blond hair. He looked like a Ken doll, and that was all I could think about during our date while he chattered and flirted and laughed at his jokes.

By dessert, I was certain I was unknowingly starring in a sequel to the movie Mannequin. The entire night was the opposite of romantic.

The second guy was a banker named Palmer who worked with dividends, stocks, and other things I choose not to understand. I don’t remember what he looked like except he wiped his mouth a lot in between talking about his job and why banks were great and why he hoped to work in banking until the day he died. When he kissed me at the end of the night, I remembered thinking he smelled like old dollar bills.

Finally, there was Lando who was named after the sexy Billy Dee Williams character from Star Wars. Like his namesake, my Lando was a smooth talker. He seduced me straight into bed without even freezing Han to make me submit.

Also, like his namesake, he wasn’t trustworthy and ended up smooth talking lots of other girls into dropping their panties. In the end, I thought I loved him, but I was mostly seduced by his amazing chest hairs. When he spoke, I focused on his fur peeking from his V-neck shirts. When I dumped him, I cried for two days straight. Well, mostly I ate a lot of candy and watched TV in between occasional tears. Mostly, I missed playing with his chest hairs.

Now there’s Asher, who is sexier than any man I’ve met before, and he digs me. Too bad once we go on our date, I’ll realize he sucks. Or worse, his bad taste will make him think I suck. All the tingly goodness will fade away and leave me where I started.

Which is okay since I’m sort of in love with my current life.

I arrive home, thinking about the inevitable end to what began less than an hour ago. Couch Potato glances at me when I enter the house, but his gaze quickly returns to the view from the double windows in the living half of my living room/kitchen combo.

“I talked to Hitchhiker,” I tell the cat while hanging up my bag and skating to the sink to wash my hands. “He’s sexier up close.”

CP shows no reaction, but he’s always been too chill for my dramas.

I’m as relaxed as the cat by the time Mallory lets herself into my place. Looking up from a crime show, I smile at my best friend. Her recently bleached blonde hair is cut in a pixie style that perfectly frames her bright, round face. Tall and curvy, she’s a wonderful contrast to my shorter and less curvy self.

“Guess who asked me out to dinner?” I mumble with a mouth full of pretzels.

“Joel?”

Scowling, I send a few daggers in Mallory’s direction. She knows my coworker’s interest in me is a sore topic.

“Don’t even kid,” I say while she looks through my fridge.

“Who then?”

“Asher Ferrer.”

“Fancy. Is he taking you somewhere swanky?”

“Nope. We’re going to Willie’s.”

“I’m assuming that’s your idea.”

“Oh, yeah. Because it turns out Mr. Ferrer works at the Gold Mart waving around the big finger.”

Mallory glances back at me and grins. “Times are tough for everyone.”

“No doubt.”

She sits on the other end of my blue velvet couch and rests her feet on the blue coffee table I painted last summer.

“How did you meet him?”

“He’s Hitchhiker from Flamingo Exit.”

“No way. I thought you said that guy looked homeless.”

“I never said that. I said he looked like a vagabond.”

“Isn’t that another word for homeless?”

“Is it? I thought it meant he was a nomad free-spirit type.”

“Whatever. So he finally asked you out,” Mallory says, retrieving her phone. “I forget what Ferrer looks like.”

“He told me his name was Theo.”

“So maybe you’re wrong about who he is. You didn’t know what vagabond meant.”

I yank out my phone and look up the word. “Ah-ha. Look.”

“You look,” Mallory says, taking my phone while handing me hers. “Is that him?”

I study image results from her Google search. One of them is from after Asher sold his first big, amazeballs app and made his first bundle of cash. Leaving a meeting, he gives the photographer a glorious frown. A lesser person—like myself—would have flipped off the intrusive shutterbug. Asher keeps his respectable mask on, but his nearly black eyes reveal how much he hates the guy. Good for him.

“That’s Theo who waves a sign at traffic.”

Mallory hands back my phone. “Fine, vagabond doesn’t necessarily mean homeless.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“Are you sure about Moneybags? Liars often hide lies.”

“That they do.”

“He could kill you, and who would even know?”

“You would.”

“Who would believe me?”

Smirking, I toss a pretzel at her. “If you’re worried, I can make a video stating I’m going on a date with Asher and where we’re going and how he told me his name was Theo. That way, if I disappear or end up dead, you can take it to the police.”

“He brought thousands of jobs to this town. I wouldn’t be surprised if he owns the police department. They’d most definitely bury the case and let him get away with torturing and murdering you.”

“Why am I tortured now?” I grumble.

“Can’t imagine he’d take the time to murder you if he didn’t want to do something freaky first.”

“No, probably not,” I say, chewing a pretzel. “Okay, then take the video to the press instead of the police. Let the media force the cops to act and keep you safe from retribution.”

“You know,” Mallory says, reaching over to pet CP, “rather than going through these precautions to avoid torture and death, why not stand him up?”

Waving in her face the phone with Asher’s picture on it, I say, “Hello? I’m not standing up this delicious man even if things don’t end well. People die all the time. I can’t stop living my life just because I might end up in a ditch.”

“You’re so shallow,” she says, looking at the picture. “Much like your grave will be.”

I laugh at her earnest expression. “I’ll have to remember to call him Theo.”

“Why not call him out on his lie?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask, winking goofily at her.

“I bet he’d be even more handsome if he was awkward and apologetic.”

“You’re right. That’ll be my plan for our second date.”

Mallory’s dark eyes light up, and she asks, “What if he doesn’t want a second date?”

“Why wouldn’t he? Men tend to keep a woman around until she puts out.”

“And you know that how?”

“I watch TV, silly goose.”

Mallory glances at my flat screen before squinting at the show I’m watching.

“Why would anyone trust someone they met on Craig’s List?” she asks the universe rather than me.

Ignoring her question, I say, “I hope to enjoy three dates before Asher gets on my nerves. Or I get on his. Or one of us murders the other.”

“You won’t kill him. You lack weapons, training, and upper body strength.”

“Not to mention I have no killer instinct.”

“I doubt the perp at Flamingo Exit would agree.”

“Yeah, but that was a once-in-a-lifetime moment.”

“Asher Ferrer doesn’t know that.”

“And he still wants to date me, so I’m fairly certain he won’t murder me. After all, why choose a tough victim?”

“For the same reason people trust weirdoes they meet on Craig’s List,” Mallory says, standing up and then retrieving her Hot Pocket out of the microwave. “The world makes no sense.”

Despite her grumpy stance, my asexual friend will beg for all the juicy details after the date. With no interest in dating herself, Mallory relies on my exploits for entertainment.

I suspect Asher will provide many enjoyable minutiae to share. If not, I’ll skate away from him as I’ve done with the few men who’ve come before.