~ Aaron ~
Mid February â Boston
âNext!â
The booming voice of the harried Starbucks employee shakes me out of my zombie-like stupor. My body is protesting being awake this early, but I have a shift at the animal shelter in thirty minutes. Weâre beginning our six-week puppy obedience training workshop, and I oversee all of the shelterâs training programs.Â
All I really want to do is collapse in a warm bed with something soft and cuddlyâpreferably a woman and not Russell, my three-year old chocolate brown English Labrador.
God, I hate Mondays.
Sadly, the reason Iâm dead on my feet has nothing to do with being up all night enjoying myself. I wasnât exhausting myself hitting some hot piece, or getting into any other kind of trouble. I donât even want to think about how long itâs been since Iâve gotten laid, itâs just too fucking depressing. My sex lifeâmy social lifeâhas been pretty pathetic lately. As in, I donât have much of either.
I havenât sought out any sort of relationship for nine months. Nine long months of self-imposed abstinence. Iâd grown bored of meaningless relationships with woman who I only mildly tolerated. The truth is, I probably donât deserve any woman who I would want to form a long-term and meaningful relationship with.
The real reason Iâm a Walking Dead extra this morning is because I covered someone else's shift last night at The Pint, where I bartend. It has a pretty rough clientele. Pimps, drug dealers, and local bosses are all frequent patrons.
Why am I working there? I have a degree in Business Management from BC, for fuckâs sake!
In this economy, a man with a past as rough as mine canât be too proud when looking for a job. Iâm lucky enough to be able to do what I love and work with the animals at the shelter. I usually spend my mornings there, and then I bring Russell back home to our studio apartment above The Pint for his afternoon nap.
Dealing with the more rowdy, disgusting animals at the bar in the afternoon and evening seems like a fair tradeoff. Not to mention, I make pretty decent tipsâmainly because the patrons know I keep my fucking trap shut. They reward me in a roundabout way for my discretion.
I was hired by Troy, the manager, under the barâs legitimate business heading, and every two weeks, Iâm given a paycheck, where I see my taxes and social security have eaten up all my hard work. I do my best to ignore the disreputable clientele, though. I keep my head down and do my job. Pouring drinks, filling bowls with pretzels, wiping down the bar, and decontaminating the johns.
Fuck, I hate my job!
Life never seems to go the way you imagine it will.
âHi, how are you today?â asks the sweetest voice in front of me, pulling me from my depressing thoughts and waking me to my surroundings.
Iâm standing in line at a small-overcrowded Starbucks with a dozen other Bostonians, waiting for my morning fix of caffeine. I usually go to the Dunkin Donuts across the street from my apartment, but this morning, for some reason, I felt like trying one of those ridiculously expensive, specially brewed coffees that my younger sister, Sarah, is always going on about.
âWhatâs yaâ ordaâ?â is the curt response from the haggard and clearly overworked employee.
âCould I please have a grande, no-whip mocha, with an extra pump of mocha? Thank you,â the voice says pleasantly, undeterred by the cashierâs borderline rudeness.
I smile. I love a woman who knows what she wants and isnât afraid to ask for it. Flighty, air-headed, and indecisive woman drive me bat-shit crazy. I may like controlâmostly during sexâbut itâs sexy as hell when a woman knows what she wants, and that Iâm the only one that can give it to her.
Especially, when it comes in such a sweet, polite package as the woman standing in front of me seemingly is. Sheâs young, probably early twenties, and has a mass of light brown ringlets falling haphazardly down her back. My hand itches to reach out and touch one of her glossy curls. To see if they are as soft and springy as they look.
Quickly scanning her body from the back, I canât make out much of her figure. Most of it is hiding underneath a long, black down jacket, and the wildly bright purple bag hanging off her shoulder. The sight of her black, slightly heeled boots peeking out from the bottom of her coat make me grin.
Sexy. Classy. Fucking hot.
The boots give her a little more height. My guess is that in bare feet, sheâd come up slightly above my chin. Sheâd fit perfectly in my arms. I shake my head, attempting to clear my daydream.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Hereâs hoping this mystery woman has a double-bagger face, or else Iâm fucked. Which would honestly make for a nice change.
âName?â
âNina,â answers the sweet, friendly voice.
âThatâll be three sixty-nine.â
After Nina pays, by scanning the app on her phone, she says cheerfully, âHave a great day.â
âNext!â The barista says loudly, ignoring her friendliness once again.
As she moves off, I step forward and go through the motions of ordering. My thoughts, however, are on the woman standing by the counter across the room, currently waiting for her drink.
What is it about her?
After spending a small fortune for a grande specially brewed Clover coffee, I make my way through the crowd toward the counter to wait for my order. I soon find myself standing next to the mystery woman, Nina.
âGood morninâ,â she says, turning and flashing me the brightest, most beautiful smile I have ever seen.
Fuck! There goes the hope of her being fugly.
Itâs not that her perfectly shaped mouth turns up, showing just the right amount of teeth, or that her green eyes sparkle and crinkle warmly. Itâs the fact that her whole being seems to shine, like Iâm staring at the sun, and itâs momentarily stunning me. Itâs like Iâve suddenly come out of some bizarre sexual hibernation. I can breathe again.
Fu-uck!
âHello,â I answer brightly, maybe a little bit too brightly. Iâve probably come off sounding like an overeager puppy.
Midway through what Iâve been told is a nervous habit of mine, I realize Iâm tucking my long hair behind my ears. I know Iâm staring. Grinning like a manic, and probably frightening her, Iâm looking at her like Iâm suddenlyâawake.
Maybe for the first time in years.
I jump, when my cellphone begins vibrating in my pocket.
âExcuse me,â I say, pulling it out and quickly glancing at several new text messages, coming in quick, annoyed secession.
Richard: Where r u asshole?
Richard: If ur dead, Iâm going to kill u!
Richard: Donât make me call Sarah!
The persistent texter is my best friend, Richard. We met in college nearly ten years ago, and our friendship has withstood some of the best and some of the worst moments in each otherâs lives.
Iâve been out of contact with Richard for several weeks now, and Iâm not even sure why. Aside from Sarah, my sister, heâs one person who Iâve always been able to count on. He stuck with me when my life was going ass over tits. He may be my closest friend and confidant, but over the last year, Iâve been feeing lost and adrift. When I first got out of prison everything seemed to go back to normal, but now I feel disconnected from everything. Most of all, from myself.
âDo you like dogs?â I find myself looking up from my phone and blurting out stupidly.
âDo you like dogs?â
What the fuck?Â
Where did that come from?
In my defense, the last woman I datedâand I use the term looselyâLisa. She didnât get along with Russell, and he didnât like her much, either. At first I had thought it was mutual jealousy, but really, my dog has better taste in women than his master. Lisa wasnât a fan of kittens, or Bao Bao, the new adorable baby panda at the National Zoo, either.
Why did I ever fuck her?
âDoesnât everyone?â Nina asks, smiling and looking at me curiously.
âThey should,â I reply, tucking my phone back into my pocket so I can give the woman in front of me my full attention. The annoyed messages donât warrant an immediate response. Iâd much rather soak up the sunshine in front of me.
âDo you have a dog?â Nina asks curiously, no doubt wondering why I blurted out such an inane question to a complete stranger.
âYes.â I reply simply, and she looks at me expectantly, as if sheâs waiting for more. âRussell. Heâs a chocolate English Lab.â
âHow old is he?â
âHeâs three,â I reply. Then, since she seems interested, I ask tentatively, âWould you like to see a picture?â
âOf course,â she says, smiling enthusiastically.
I dig out my phone and find several of the pictures Sarah had uploaded onto it. Picking the one where heâs standing by Harry whoâs in his playpen, laughing and patting Russell while being licked, I hand her the phone.
âIs that your son?â she asks softly.
âMy nephew. Harry,â I reply quickly. For some reason, I donât want her thinking that Iâm married, or have children.
âTheyâre both adorable. Totally photogenic. Iâd love to shoot them,â she smiles again. Then, realizing how what she said must have sounded, adds quickly, âIâm a photographer.â
After handing me back my phone, she lifts the camera up from where itâs hanging around her neck, as if to prove her point.
I hadnât noticed before that along with a purple knitted scarf, Nina also has an expensive-looking camera strapped around her neck. I briefly wonder if sheâs one of the millions of tourists who visit the city each year.
âYou a tourist?â I ask, shoving the phone back into my pocket.
âNope. You?â
âNo, Sunshine,â I say, grinning down at her. Iâm staring again, unable to tear my eyes off of her face.
âA grande no-whip mocha with an extra pump of mocha, for Nina,â comes a voice, breaking through our grinning-like-idiots-and-staring contest.
âThatâs me. It was nice meeting you. Have a great day,â she says sweetly.
âYeah, you too.â I reply, as she turns to move through the crowd and collect her coffee, taking a bit of sunshine with her.
I canât seem to keep my eyes off of her as she moves towards the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a ferret-like little man approaching at the same time. He goes to reach for the only drink sitting on the counter.
âHey! What are you doing?â I can hear her ask loudly, grabbing her cup.
âPicking up my order,â he says slowly, acting like sheâs an idiot.
âWell, I recommend you get in line, order something, and pay first. Thatâs how it works. This one is mine,â I hear her say tartly, standing her ground.
âExcuse me?â he sputters, puffing his chest up indignantly.
âIs your name Nina?â she asks angrily, pointing to the cup. âBecause thatâs what it says right here!â
âThe idiot cashier must have made a mistake,â the asshole argues back.
An innate need to protect her comes over me, and I find myself making my way towards the two. Everyone else is oblivious to the interaction. They are all buried in their cellphones or staring at their shoes. This never happens at Dunkinâs!
âI saw you walk in the door, and head right over to the counter,â Nina replies.
âOh really?â The asshole asks, stepping forward and getting into Ninaâs face.
âYes,â she says, attempting to step away from him.
Stepping between the two, I growl, âLeave.â
The would-be coffee thief looks up at me, takes a step back, and then quickly scurries away. I watch him leave and then turn to stare down at Ninaâs beautiful, stunned face.
âThank you for being a gentleman,â she says, quickly recovering. Smiling brightly up at me, her eyes are soft withâcomplete and utter trust. Shaking my head, I ignore how appealing she looks and forcibly push out the lustful thoughts that start creeping into my mind.
Laughing, I reply, âTrust me, Iâm no gentleman. Far from it.â
âOh, but I think you are,â she says as a slight blush graces her cheeks. âI hadn't realized the stories Iâve read about people coming in and stealing drinks from customers that have paid were true.â
âThe world is full of assholes, Sunshine,â I reply sagely.
Wait, âSunshine?â What the fuck? When did I suddenly start calling her that? It fits her perfectly though. She is sunshine incarnate.
âSomeday, heâll learn that karmaâs a real witch.â Nina says smiling, before adding sweetly, âThank you for proving that there are still some nice people in the world. As my Mom always says, âKind people are the best kind of people.ââ Without giving me a chance to reply, she turns and quickly walks towards the exit, back out into the blowing cold and snow.
Iâm suddenly warm all over.
It's time I start living again. I may never deserve sunshine the likes of Nina, but I donât need to keep punishing myself, either. I need to follow through with my New Yearâs resolution of âgetting my head out of my ass.â
Iâve punished myself long enough.
I need to make some serious fucking changes in my life. Iâm done putting my life on hold and living in limbo. If I'm being honest, for whatever reason, I haven't been motivated enough to make a change. That changed this morning. Sunshine came back in my life, if only for a moment, and I saw things clearly for the first time in months.
My parents, God rest them, are probably rolling over in their graves. I have a degree Iâm not using, and a life Iâm not living. Iâm stuck in a rut that I need to crawl my way out of. I donât want to be working for and cleaning up shit for people I donât like or respect. What Iâm lacking is a sense of direction, purpose.
God, whatâs happened to me? Iâm standing in the middle of a Starbucks having a mid-life crisis. Maybe not a crisis exactly, but a fucking epiphany.
Grabbing my surprisingly delicious coffee, I reach into my pocket again and dig out my phone. I suddenly know what I have to do.
I need to formulate a plan, but first I need to seek advice from the one person Iâve always been able to count on. Even if itâs something I donât want to hear. With his texts this morning, I know Richard isnât holding my radio silence against me. I havenât pushed him away, like I know Iâve done with people in the past. With a few taps on the screen, the phone is ringing in my ear.
âHey. No need to call my sister, Iâm alive. Call me,â I say, leaving a message.
I walk out into the cold feeling more alive, and warmer, than I had earlier.
* * *
I enter into a nearly-deserted Champions and quickly find Richard sitting at a far table, nursing a beer and picking at a pile of wings. Yesterday, we made arrangements to meet up tonight at his favorite sports bar.
âHey, Dicky!â I call out loudly as I approach, knowing he hates that nickname.
âLong time no see, asshole.â Richard says, laughing and standing up from his chair. He gives me a rough slap on my back, which I return heartily.
âIâm surprised your wife let you out on a school night,â I tease, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite him.
âBecca knows whoâs in charge,â he replies firmly, biting into a wing aggressively.
âYou may think that, but I know who really wears the pants,â I laugh, reaching across and stealing one of his wings.
âHey! Get your own,â he says, grabbing the plate and moving it out of my reach.
I grin as I swallow and then ask, âWhat are we drinking?â
âNo idea, whatever was on tap,â he says, looking at his glass with sudden interest.
âYou have no taste.â
âAnd yet Iâm friends with you,â he quips back.
I breathe a sigh of relief and exhale the breath I didnât know I was holding in. Just like that, I know our friendship hasnât suffered during the weeks Iâve been ignoring him. It had nothing to do with him.
âIâm sorry I've been out of touch, man,â I say honestly. I never meant to shut out my closest friend. He is the one person, aside from Sarah, whoâs never turned their back on me.
âDonât worry about it. I knew you were just a phone call away.â Richard isnât the type of man who holds someoneâs nature against them. He knows I wasnât shutting him out personally. Rather, I was closeting myself from, well, myself.
âAlways,â I say sincerely, just as the waitress comes over to take our order.
I ask for a cheeseburger sans the pickles, fries, and a Harpoon IPA to drink. Richard orders the same, except with the disgusting pickle, and mustard instead of ketchup.Â
âWhatâs going on, Aaron?â Richard asks giving me a hard look, breaking the silence weâd lapsed into.
âI need your advice. What do you think I should do?â
âAbout what?â Richard asks, clearly confused.
Before I can answer, the waitress delivers our beers and promises to return shortly with our burgers.
Taking a long sip of the cold beer, I collect myself before finally saying, âAbout life.â And then I admit, for the first time out loud, âWhat do you think I should do? Iâm fuckinâ lost.â
âHonestly?â
âNo, I want you to lie to me.â I say sarcastically.
âFirst of all, you need to distance yourself from The Pint,â he states, his tone resolute. âIâd start by moving out of that shit apartment, and quittinâ your fuckinâ job there.â
âI wouldnât be able to afford a decent place on my salary from just the shelter. Itâs pretty much nonexistent,â I reply coolly. Not all of us make bank managing the exclusive nightclub, St. Andrewâs. They make a ton of money on the cover charge alone, not to mention the food and beverage sales. The club is only open Thursday through Saturday nights, and the rest of the time the restored church is used as a venue for other events, such as weddings. My sister and brother-in-law, Bennett, had their reception there when they got married, over three years ago.
âYou asked for my opinion, so Iâm going to tell you. If I were you, Iâd get as far away from that element as possible. Do you want to end up back inside?â he asks harshly.
âOf course not,â I snap.
âThen Iâd move in with Sarah while I looked for something permanent. You know your sister would take you in,â Richard says rationally.
âI donât know. I donât want to impose on her family again. It was fine when I lived there after getting out, before Harry came along, but itâs her home now, not mine.â
âWhat do you think you should do?â he asks, turning it back to me.
âI donât know. Thatâs why I asked you,â I say exasperatedly, as the food is delivered to our table.
Just as Iâm about to pick up and take a bite of the delicious-looking burger, my phone buzzes. I quickly dig it out of my pocket and glance down at the screen.
Fuck!
Itâs a message from The Pintâs manager, Troy, proving Richard correct. I need to distance myself from anything to do with the bar and its patrons.
Troy: A package will be delivered 2morrow night, put it in the safe.
Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I shove the phone back into my pocket and focus on my meal. Thereâs silence as we both enjoy our burgers.
âIâm sure I could find you some hours at the club, until you find something else. Weâre always looking for decent bartenders who donât take any bullshit,â Richard offers in between bites.
âThanks, Iâll think about it,â I say, and then seeing his hardened look I add seriously, âI promise, I will. Youâre right.â
In the past, Iâve been hesitant to accept a bartending job at the club for two reasons. One being, they are only open three nights a week, and I need more hours than that, and the second reason is my own foolish pride. It could easily be me running the place, not Richard. Watching him manage the place would be a slap in the face, showing me all my mistakes.
After swallowing his bite Richard says, âYouâve been out four years. Itâs time you leave it behind you. Stop punishing yourself, man.â
âI know.â I take a sip of my beer, swallowing the lump in my throat. I turn back to my burger, and after taking another bite, ask, âSo, whatâs been going on? Howâs Rebecca?â
Rebecca, Becca, is the woman he married three years ago. Richard and I met her at the club back in the day. Iâve always liked her, and itâs an unspoken rule that we never mention that she and I briefly hooked up before they got together. The sex was fine, but we never really connected on a deeper level. Iâd just been released at the time too, and was in no place to begin a long-term relationshipâsomething I know she was looking for.
Afterwards, I could tell Richard was interested in her, and I told him he should go for it, and he did. Not one to mess around, he claimed her as his woman right away. I was thrilled for my friends. They are perfect for one another, and have exactly what they need in each other. By all accounts it was a whirlwind relationship, and it didnât take long for them to get engaged.
I was the lucky bastard who got to be Richardâs best man, which meant I planned the bachelor party. It wasnât up to The Hangover standards, though. We didnât hit Vegas, and luckily, no one got arrested. But it was an epic sendoff into matrimony in its own right. I was the designated brain, meaning I was stone cold sober the entire time. That doesnât mean I didnât have a great time, taking photos and laughing at my friendsâ expenses. I was on parole, so being sober was the best option at the time. I steered them away from any real trouble, but not before a lap dance or two. I still have several blackmail photos safely tucked away.
Itâs funny how you donât realize how much youâve missed someoneâs company until you see them again. Richard is a great friend. I shouldâve never shut him out like I did. Luckily for me, heâs a forgiving bastard.
âWeâve actually been trying to get pregnant,â he answers me, smiling brightly.
âThatâs great, man.â I know how much he wants to have a family. In a lot of ways, Richard and I are no different in what we want out of life. Heâs just more on target to achieve it. Youâd think I would be jealous, but I can honestly say that Iâm not. I am truly fucking happy for him. At least one of us is getting our heartâs dream.
Your heartâs dream is that thing you wonât ever allow yourself to admit to truly wanting. You donât believe youâll ever get it, and admitting that itâs your deepest desire only makes the loss of your dream hurt more. So you pretend that itâs nothing you wanted to begin with. That way, you never have to feel the pain of not being granted your heartâs dream.
Finding an amazing woman, getting married and starting a family is my heartâs dream.Â
âIâm exhausted. Every time I turn around, she wants to have sex,â he complains before biting into his burger ravenously. Clearly, heâs been working up quite the appetite.
âDude, youâre living the dream! We could all be so lucky.â I grin at him.
âJust wait âtil you meet some nice little woman, and the next thing you know, youâre married and exhausted from having to perform,â he says, waving a fry in my face.
âI donât think Iâm that lucky. Iâm not settling for just anyone,â I reply firmly. After meeting Sunshine yesterday, whether I deserve a woman like that or not, thereâs no way Iâd settle for anything less.
âI didnât. And neither should you,â he says seriously.
âAt least when it comes to women, I now know what I want. So thatâs something,â I say, smiling.
âWhat do you mean?â Richard asks curiously, picking at his fries.
Leaning across the table, I say softly, âI need a woman who trusts me completely, one I can give myself entirely to. Someone I can be myself with, and who wants the same things out of life. A family.â
Iâm not sure whyâthe pub is nearly deserted this earlyâbut I feel the need to keep the conversation private. Probably because Iâm exposing what's been hidden in my heart for a long while, but would never even allow myself to acknowledge.
âI sound like a fuckinâ woman. I think I need another drink.â I say, leaning back in my chair, rubbing my face and then tucking my hair behind my ears.
Richard simply gives me a knowing smile, and doesn't say anything. What else is there left for him to say?
âI donât want to hookup anymore. Well, I doâyou know what I mean.â I laugh as Richard chuckles along with me.
âIf you want to meet women, then you should come to the Valentineâs Day Date auction at the club,â he says casually.
âI donât know if Iâm readyââÂ
âItâd be good chance for you to catch up with everyone, and meet some single women, maybe go on a date with one,â he interrupts enthusiastically.
I canât help but laugh at his enthusiasm for my potential sex life. âI donât know.â
âItâs for a good cause,â he reminds me, draining the last of his beer.
âIâll think about it,â I say honestly.
âGood, Iâll make sure youâre on the approved bidders list,â he says excitedly.
âI didnât say Iâd buy a date. Iâll just go and catch up with everyone,â I caution him. Iâm ready to start my life again, but Iâm not sure Iâm quite ready to step back into the dating world. Or that I even have the energy to find the right woman. Someone who is sweet, kind, knows what she wants, and gorgeous. Sunshine.
âFine. But just in case, Iâll make sure youâre on the list,â he replies, not put off in the least by my answer. I have a feeling heâs stuck on the idea of me dating again.
âWeâll see,â I reply.
âGreat. I almost forgot to tell youâBecca has this new friend you should meet, man. I think youâd really hit it off, and sheâs the sweetest little thing,â he says animatedly, smiling at me encouragingly. Richard has found his happilyâeverâafter, and is determined that everyone else should as well.
âWeâll see,â I say again, noncommittally.Â
âAt least come and hang out. You havenât been out in ages,â he encourages.
âFine. I can do that, but youâre paying my cover charge,â I reply, and his laughter tells me that I wonât have to break the bank just to attend the auction.
Not that I blame him, but I really donât want him trying to set me up. Even if I know itâs done out of the goodness of that fucking romantic heart of his.Â
Itâs why he started the Valentineâs Day Date auctionâas a chance for singles to meet and raise money for charity. Maybe I should go to that auction on Thursday night. Who knows, I might just find a woman Iâm interested in. Itâs for a good cause, after all.
Food, drinks and women.
Really, what more could a single guy ask for on Valentineâs Day?