Was I softer? Emotionally dependent on a man? Or was this how things were supposed to be? Loving, caring? Would that turn into marriage? Worshipping? Having to answer to someone?
“No. The bridal shower for Reema is this weekend. Lots of preparation.”
“Ah, that’s right. Rohan is having his bachelor party,” he said.
“What are you guys doing?”
“Strip club, naturally,” he responded with a serious face that broke my heart. He was going to let some woman grind on him? He’d let someone else rub their boobs in his face? The thought of him touching someone else, of someone else having the privilege of getting that close to him—that was not going to happen.
I opened my mouth, fully prepared to snap back with an, “Oh, hell no.”
But he chuckled. “Kidding. Can you imagine poor Rohan in a strip club? He’d freeze up in a corner.”
My lips lifted in a shaky smile. How was I supposed to handle this? I’d never cared about a man like this.
“All right. Have a good night. I’ll text you later?” he said.
“Sure. Have fun with your brand-new nephew. Josh is the perfect addition to your family.”
It was Friday and there were still another few days left until the big announcement, making every minute at work keeping the secret to myself agonizing.
And then there was…the job. Not just any job, but THE JOB FOR ME. The dream company that I had applied to months ago was now considering me for a management position instead of the lab position that they’d originally offered.
The phone and video interviews had gone so well on Wednesday that they’d brought me out to the site in Dallas for the final interview yesterday. It went extremely well. Which meant they might offer, and I’d have to leave behind my friends. It was hard to make real friends, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
But this job also meant leaving behind Jay. I was not about to turn down a job that I desperately wanted for a man. Even a man like Jay…a man whom I might be falling for…a man who scared me with all the possibilities of normalcy that came with a healthy relationship.
For all the blunt attributes I’d developed over the years, they sure knew how to fail me now.
Wendy swung through the door, her hair flowing and her makeup on point.
“Where are you going all pretty?” I asked.
“We’re going to a bar.”
“Um. Sure?”
She frowned and peered over her shoulder. “Look, I know what’s going down.”
I jumped to my feet and pulled her into my office, checking behind her to make sure no one overheard. “How did you find out?”
“Well, I’d caught a few comments here and there through the door.”
“Eavesdropping?”
“Coming to give you coffee or messages or the files you’d asked for. Not intentionally. And I had my suspicions with the way you’ve been acting, especially every time Sam came around. I wasn’t sure until now, to be honest.”
“Oh…confirmed it myself. Rookie mistake,” I groaned.
She took my hand and squeezed before letting go. “I’m about to be out of a job. Unemployed. Miserable. Scrambling to pay rent. I need an evening of getting hammered.”
“Uh, you know? Bars are expensive. Maybe we should hit up a liquor store? My treat.” I offered a probably not very convincing smile, hoping she’d take the bait. The idea of going to a bar unhinged me. Having guys hit on me would be an annoying flashback to the old me that I didn’t want to get near again.
“Please? It won’t cost us anything…I mean…with you as my wing girl?”
“You’re using me?” I smirked, amused.
“You get so many free drinks. Teach me your ways.”
I laughed. “I’m sorry, Wendy. I have so much to deal with right now…and bars aren’t my scene anymore.”
“What about the super nice ones at the fancy hotels?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please? Please? Please? I don’t feel like going out alone or getting slammed at home and doing something stupid like emailing an all-caps letter encompassing pure rage to Sam and all the higher-ups.”
I rubbed my forehead but couldn’t find any valid excuse to deny Wendy. She, like so many others come Monday, would be in a world of financial hurt. Besides, it wasn’t as if I would accept any drinks from men. I mean…how full of myself was I to think anyone would offer me anything?
“Okay. But I’m not drinking…” I warned.
“There’s no fun in that!”
Yet, after work, we grabbed our jackets and purses and drove downtown to one of my old favorite hot spots. The ambiance was chill and laid back, and patrons dressed in business attire drank off the day in the glimmering bar.
Wendy had changed out of work clothes and into a cute little green dress and heels before we burst through the gold-rimmed double doors.
We sat at the counter and perused a menu of items that we had no intention of paying for.
“No matter what’s going on in your head, if you pretend to be confident and act like the only woman in the room, then you’ve done the job,” I said calmly.
“I can pretend.”
“Now arch that back and look like you’re living your best life. The guys will come around. They almost always go for the classy, got-your-crap-together-and-don’t-need-them vibe.”
“So much to learn. So little time. Uh, one of these drinks is half of my weekly lunch budget,” Wendy muttered.
“It won’t take long.” I tapped my fingernail against my cheek and smiled at the two men down the bar who watched us. With that single look, the game began.
This started out as Wendy’s thing, but showing her my techniques, as basic as they were, lured me back to a place where I didn’t want to be. But it was also a comfort zone.
“I miss this, being out with you,” Wendy said smugly as she nudged arms with a handsome man in a suit.
“Me, too,” I lied.
“Want to go upstairs?” a man asked me, one of several.
I clenched my jaw every time. “No. I’m neither available nor interested.”
“But I just bought—”
I held a finger to his lips. “Shh. There’s no sign on the door that says you can buy sex with a few drinks.”
He scoffed. “That’s usually how this works.”
“Well, next time ask before you buy the drinks.”
He shook his head and muttered some obscenities.
Hours passed, cocktails and drinks were downed, appetizers were eaten. The food tasted more like acid than high-quality dining. The drinks turned bitter and foul in my stomach.
But I kept on. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I didn’t want to make a scene or leave Wendy alone. Maybe I had to stand by to make sure she’d be okay. I didn’t miss this at all, and I abhorred the touching. I was one minute away from retracting all the drinks and footing the several-hundred-dollar tab on my own when I realized the reason behind my sudden shift in this old lifestyle.
It was the past. I wasn’t interested anymore. It wasn’t therapeutic or fun or unwinding.
“Are you there?” Wendy asked me, her speech slurred. “What are you thinking about?”