It couldn’t be …
Could it?
Looking in my rearview, I watch as a black Rover follows close behind, driven by none other than Dr. Dirty himself. I hit the accelerator and just barely make it through the yellow light at the intersection to get to the onramp and lose him.
Speeding— yes, speeding— down the highway, outrunning not only the thought of him, because he’s clearly not behind me, but the thought of him is still sitting shotgun, my phone rings again.
Annoyed, I hit the “accept” button on the steering wheel. “I’m so over this game with you.”
“Oh, boy. You exchange numbers on a dating app again?”
I sigh when I hear the voice of my work bestie, our school counselor, Tonya.
After my ex and I separated, I slid down the rabbit hole that is “online dating,” innocently … at first.
I did what most women motivated to rise above their situation do. I worked as many minimum wage part-time jobs as I could, while attending college part-time to gain my master’s, leaving little time to fill a void that desperately settles in our hearts as we lie in bed at night alone, wondering when our fairy tale will come true.
With a schedule so busy that it seemed a chore to even begin socializing, and a heart that was still on the mend from the all-powerful three punches driven by the fist of the universe, I resorted to online dating. I wouldn’t say I was … desperate, but there were times I thought maybe I was acting as if I was. Reality was: it eased my loneliness.
That third punch, though, it nearly did me in. It was a professional football player-sized hit to my self-esteem. My boyfriend, turned husband, cheated on me with my then best friend, so that attention become addicting.
As Tonya has pointed out, I’m not alone. Honest hearts often believe everyone else’s hearts beat the same truths. Tender hearts beat to shit sometimes seek a soft place to rest.
A hello beautiful to a cracked ego is like aloe to the soul. A goodnight, sexy replaces the peck on the cheek by a lover, or the body that warmed your bed begins snoring so loud you legit have to nearly smother yourself with a pillow just to fall asleep. It gives you the false sense of not being alone and less lonely in the uncharted territory of singles-ville. An afternoon I can’t wait to meet you causes a smile to brighten your face. A you have the most beautiful eyes brings back the sparkle you have long missed.
I had no idea what the hell I was doing, but I learned quickly … well, sort of.
“Residual effects,” I say, peering in the rearview mirror.
“How are we going to keep you busy and off that app for the rest of the summer?”
Like most psychologists, Tonya thinks once an addict, always an addict. However, I was never really addicted. The swiping was more a boredom buster. Then the conversation, and yeah, well, the pics and the videos caught my curiosity until they didn’t.
I tell her the entire story, suspicions and all, about the fine doctor, and she bursts out laughing at my embarrassment.
“You’re an asshole.” I try to be stern, but I can’t help laughing, too.
And laughter truly is the best medicine.
Tuesday
“Is it this guy?” Tonya asks, holding up my phone, app open.
After placing the last of the rolled-up poster in the cardboard container, I look over my shoulder as she sits in my desk chair, feet on my desk, showing me approximately the one hundredth picture from the account she reopened to “research” the possibility of Dr. Dirty being one of the dick pic peddlers.
The picture is of a man, whose towel is strategically placed to showcase his abs and V.
“I think you have an addiction.” I roll my eyes and turn back to tackle the task at hand.
She laughs. “Me? There are ninety-nine plus likes—”
“Don’t touch those, or it’ll charge my account, and I will”— I turn and point a magic wand at her— “turn you into an even crazier cat lady.”
“Hey.” She feigns hurt then smiles. “I resemble that remark.”
“How about you resemble my best friend, set down the phone, and help me finish this up?”
Wednesday
After two days, we are finally finished.
Standing outside my classroom door, number 234, the unwelcome feeling of loss comes over me.
Sensing my anxiety, Tonya puts her hand on mine. “It’ll all be back together soon.”
I force a smile and nod.
“Now, you have an appointment—”
I laugh. “Oh, no, I don’t.”
“You have to—”
“I cancelled it. It’s a fracture that will heal. A bruised butt that will feel better soon. I don’t need a boot.”
Closing the door behind me, I exhale slowly. In a world full of worries and a million reasons to be anxious, I have found respite in the moments spent inside of room 234, a place where magic truly happens.
Still sensing my anxiety, and with good cause, since she’s seen it at its worst, causes her further worry. “You could come spend the night with me. Let me make you dinner.”
Next week will be busy getting everything back together. Until then, I already know what I will busy myself with.
“I have plans.” I wag my eyebrows.
She rolls her eyes. “Jamie?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
“If you ever raise a hand to me again, Jamie Fraser, I will cut your heart out and have it for breakfast. Do you understand me?” I repeat the words from my second favorite sexy scene in the entire Outlander series as I flick on my adult magic wand and hold it against the thin material of my sleep shorts.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, quickly pulling it away.
In my defense, it’s been months since I’ve felt the need to release. I blame Dr. Nail-It-or-Screw-It for reminding me that I’ve spent that long without a Jamie fix.
I blindly hit the button, turning the speed down so I can ease into it, while simultaneously rewinding the scene.
A knock on the door has me jumping off the couch, popcorn, magic wand, and the tumbler— aka, adult sippy cup, full of wine— goes flying.
Don’t judge. It’s my kind of date night.
Another knock and I hop to the door, unlock the dead bolt, open the door, and peek out through the crack. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Not one word.
But Claire, well, she takes the opportunity to cry out Jamie’s name.
Mortified, my eyes and mouth snap shut simultaneously and stay that way.
“Ms. Bloom, ye missed yer appointment.”
Opening one eye, I defend myself, “I cancelled.”
“Ye haven’t returned the messages left by my office staff.”
“I’m fine with the crutches.”
“Ms. Bloom, will ye stop being such a stubborn arse and—”
I shut the door but not all the way and yell behind me, “If I take the boot will you leave already?” hoping to cover up the moans and sexy type noises of Jamie and Claire. Then I turn it off as Jamie is literally pounding away at Claire.
I turn when I hear the door shut. Then, glancing around, I see popcorn all over and the spill proof cup dripping on my new-to-me area rug.