Crazy Girl(21)

After a quick shower, I climbed into bed when my phone chimed indicating I had a text. It was Kegs.

Kegs: They want us in a 5 a.m.

Me: All right. See you then.

My job required long days and sometimes weeks without a day off. It made it tough to date and try to turn anything into a real relationship. Women like attention and unfortunately giving it to them requires time, which was something I was short on. But my job was important to me—and I didn’t just mean monetarily, even though I did get paid well. I had been offered this position because I was one of the best at what I did. Chosen to train young men and women to be like me. I was proud of my life and work, even before I took the position at Morrison. I’d served this country as a marine, fighting beside some of the best men and women I’d ever known. It was my greatest honor. They say work isn’t everything, but to me, it was. My dedication, success, and accomplishments were what made me who I was. Some people couldn’t appreciate that. That was their loss. I couldn’t deny I was rigid, stoic even. Even abrasive. I rarely showed emotion and had little tolerance for those who did. It wasn’t because I thought I was better than anyone, or that I lacked feelings, it was that I had trained myself to overcome obstacles and setbacks. When people feel, they tend to let those feelings hinder them; stop them from fighting on to reach their goals. Women especially weren’t crazy about my lack of emotion. Which was perhaps why I was in my late thirties and still single. I hadn’t found one that could either deal with it or found a way to break it out of me, if that was even possible, which I wasn’t sure that it was.

Before I switched my phone off, I scrolled through and tapped on my photos. The first picture to pop up was the one I had wanted to see. It was of Hannah from the night before. The bright scarf wrapped around her head and face, only revealing her dark eyes, was a great shot. Even though her mouth was covered you could still see the smile in her gaze.

Letting out a loud sigh, I scrubbed my face roughly with my free hand. “Goddammit, Wren,” I muttered. I didn’t want to do what I was about to do. But I had to. I just had to.

I texted her.

Me: Want to have a do-over?





“Some people never go crazy.

What truly horrible lives they must lead.”

-Charles Bukowski





I had never seen Taz’s face so red. He was laughing—hard. He could barely breathe. Apparently, my mortification humored him greatly.

“Is it really that funny?” I griped as I stood in front of his desk, arms crossed over my chest, waiting for him to calm down.

“Yes,” he wheezed.

“I could have blinded myself, you know.”

His chest convulsed as he struggled to control his deep laughter. “You’re being dramatic.”

Was I? I didn’t think so. It had been three days since my date with Wren and my eyes were just now feeling normal again. Courtney, feeling sorry for me, came Saturday night and picked me up and took me to Brentwood, a brewery we favored not too far from us. They’d just released their summer ale, and we did our best to drain them of their entire stock. Since I’d already given her all the gory details of my date with Wren the night before, we’d decided to discuss everything that was wrong with him. That way I could feel better.

“He was rude. Late!” I’d boomed, raising a fist in the air. A few fellas at a table nearby chuckled as they watched us. “Don’t be late on a first date,” I scolded them. “It’s rude.” They all nodded in agreement. Boy was I well on my way to being hammered.

“He didn’t look that great,” Courtney added. She had no idea, she was only trying to aid in my anti-Wren effort. I patted her hand a few times and shushed her. “No. No. He was really good looking,” I slurred. Even I couldn’t knock his looks as much as I wanted to make him seem like a waste of time in every way. Then lifting my head, I leaned toward her. “He was too hot,” I added, my tone meaning it as an insult. I leaned back and shrugged as if I’d just made a profoundly deep point. “And that’s just as bad.”

“Yeah,” Courtney replied with enthusiasm. “I hate guys that are too hot.”

We both chuckled a little, knowing how ridiculous we sounded.

“And he was all tight-lipped about his job.” I scrunched my face in annoyance. “I mean, why? What was up with that?” Picking up my pint glass, I took a large gulp.

“And even though you’ll never find out for sure, I bet you anything he has a microscopic dick.” With her words, laughter bubbled up and I sprayed her, and the table, with the beer in my mouth. Her mouth flew open in shock, and she held her hands out like she didn’t know what to do.

“Bitch!” She snorted out a drunken laugh.

“I’m so sorry,” I cackled as I wiped at my mouth with my arm. “I couldn’t help it. I’ll get something to dry you.” Stumbling to the bar, I grabbed a few napkins and returned attempting to dab her with them.

“Get right there,” she instructed me as she pointed to her chest. Not paying attention, I did as she asked when I noted her nodding. Looking up, I noticed she was staring at the table full of guys that had been watching us all night as she made sexy faces at them. I hadn’t realized I was dabbing her breast and they’d been watching me touch her boob with hungry eyes. Courtney, being Courtney, decided to egg them on just to torture them.