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“Not really my thing. I’m a movie guy.”
Stay calm. Sure, that’s one point against him, but I’m not going to marry the guy. I only need a passable five-month boyfriend to appease Mom. Granted, not liking books is a big demerit for a librarian in the dating world, but I can live with it for five months.
Before I can ask about his favorite movie or ask if he prefers Netflix or Amazon Prime, the woman at the microphone interrupts. “Time to move!” she says, and I wince.
Could I just skip out? Ask him if he wants a cup of coffee and ditch the last two speed dates?
I look at my mother, who looks miserable now, and I gloat a little that she’s not having a great time. If I say that I found a great guy and am just going to grab my jacket and go, I think she’d follow me out.
My night changed in the blink of an eye. No loans and going to a couple of holiday parties with Wilder? Yes, please. My heart swoops in my chest and pounds against my rib cage at the mere possibility that I could spend time with him over the next few months, even if it’s just for a Halloween party or maybe his work Christmas party. A nice Valentine’s Day dinner with a handsome man? Worse things could happen.
Wilder gets up to move, and I swoon. His thighs are tight and strong in his brown dress pants, and I stare at the belt buckle and the zipper at his fly. Where does this come from? I’ve never been that type of girl. I’ve only been with one man, and that was a disappointing experience I’ve had no desire to repeat. I’m not the kind of girl to stare at a man’s crotch.
Does he even feel the same about me?
He brushes off his pants and reaches for my hand. “It was nice to meet you, Savannah.”
“It was nice to meet you, Wilder,” I reply, not letting go of his hand. His eyes look down at our connected hands, and it’s now or never. “Would you like to blow this popsicle stand and get some coffee?”
Who am I right now? I’ve never used that terminology before, left somewhere before an event was over, and I’ve never asked a man out. I’m a people pleaser. I’m not going to please the last two guys I’m supposed to meet.
Looking around, the next speed date heads to my table and grits his teeth, an angry look on his face that makes my stomach turn.
I turn around again and double down. “How about it, Wilder?”
He looks me over, appraising my body much the way I did to him. I’m such a brazen hussy with his eyes on me that I almost open my jacket and do a twirl. I usually hate being examined like a piece of meat, but I want to preen for him.
“Think we can skip out of here?” he asks, nodding toward his next date.
“That’s my mother,” I explain, pointing at her. “She’ll understand. In fact, she may get up and applaud as we walk out.”
He puts his arm out at a ninety-degree angle for me to take. “Sure, but we drink real coffee. None of that pumpkin spice shit.”
Maybe this won’t work after all.
October 14 - Wilder
I want to motorboat those tits. Sure, she likes books, but she’ll do for the contract term. In fact, she’ll do nicely.
She’s also a little too independent for my usual taste. So was 2017. She wasn’t as bad as 2019, though, who kicked me out after two weeks after I started that small kitchen fire. You’d think a woman would like having a man around and be willing to overlook a few things, especially if said man is wearing an apron and cooking them a grilled cheese sandwich. Then again, I’d take 2019 over 2020 any day. That entire year was an experience I think we all want to put behind us.
This one will do well for 2023. I think she said her name is Savannah, but it’s not like I need to remember it. In a couple of years, I’ll remember her by the year we ended the contract. Her name will simply be 2023.
I hold the bar door open for her, and the bouncer nods to me, a silent bro code indicating a good pull. As soon as the cool October air fills our lungs, she pulls her jacket tighter around her chest, and I put my arm around her, trying to appear chivalrous and like I want to keep her warm.
Everything about her is intoxicating. Looking at her hair, my fingers ache to run my hands through it. Last year’s woman, 2022, had a pixie cut, and I miss long hair on my skin in the morning. This one smells like soap and something like laundry detergent or a soft perfume that would have a silly name about linen or violet.
Her lips are glossy and supple, and I burn to feel them on me. But I have to play this cool like I’ve done before. I’ll go back to the tent and get in the sleeping bag tonight. Then, I take her to dinner tomorrow. After coffee and a dinner, they’re usually more than amenable to letting me sleep over. Once I sleep over once and show them my excellent dick game, I bust out the contract that gives me a full roof over my head, getting me through the winter months.
It's not that I enjoy breaking up with them the day after Valentine’s Day. It’s just that I like living in nature and doing my own thing during the spring, summer, and early fall. I only need them for the winter.
Gus, my best friend, teases me that I need to settle down and at least get an apartment. Personally, that sounds like absolute hell. I like riding from town to town throughout the region on my motorcycle, living in the woods that I’ve known since childhood, and only showering at whatever YMCA is local to that area. I like sleeping under the stars at night and feeling dew in my hair in the morning.
“Where would you like to get coffee?” I ask, smiling the smile I know works on any woman that sees it.
“There’s a place up the road. I know the owner. She has other things besides pumpkin spice. You can get a peppermint latte or something equally unpleasant.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Do you like pumpkin spice? Have I offended you with my hatred of all things pumpkin?”
