Crazy Girl(9)

RinTinTin: Can I get your number? Texting would be easier than using this app.

He was right about that. The app had lapses in time making the conversation slower, but did I really want to give him my number? I didn’t even know him. Glancing down at my chest, I curled my lip when I noticed the dusting of Cheetos crumbs on my shirt.

And just the sight of those tasty little processed crumbs hit me hard.

This was what my life had become—a woman in her thirties, sitting alone in bed, eating a bag of Cheetos that clearly indicated the serving size was for 2.5 people, yet I’d almost inhaled the entire bag. I was mentally torturing myself, trying to create a romantic love story, yet I had no romance of my own; no experiences that inspired me. Courtney was right. Something had to change; I had to change if I was ever going to get out of this slump. And that meant I had to start getting outside of my comfort zone and take some chances, no matter how scary that seemed.

Typing in my number, I hit send, then closed the app. If he texted or called, great; if not, it’s not like my world would end. I had plenty of things to distract myself with or to stay occupied. This is what I told myself anyway. Putting my phone on the charger, I cleaned up my Cheetos mess and went to brush my teeth, committing to running my ass off on the treadmill the next day to work off the insane amount of calories I’d just consumed. As I brushed my teeth, I took a moment to stare at my own eyes as I remembered what Wren had said about them.

I gave my reflection a firm frown of disapproval, and asked myself, “Really, Hannah? Is that all it takes to get you all smitten with a guy?”

“Intense. Beautiful.”

I imagined what his voice sounded like as I repeated what he’d said and smiled.

Apparently, that really was all it took.





“Writers are the exorcists of their own demons.”

-Marito Vargos Liosa





Two days passed. No text.

I signed on to the app and looked. He’d read the message where I’d sent my number. He had it. But he wasn’t texting or calling. Well, that was a waste of time.

“This is how it is out here,” Kate assured me. She had just picked me up, and we were heading over to Deanna’s house to provide counsel on the best shade of yellow to paint the nursery. I’d told her and Deanna about the app Courtney had so insistently suggested, and it was the center of attention as we drove to baby central. For our most respected opinions, Deanna had promised us dinner and sangria. It was definitely a trade tilted in our favor.

“You’ve been married for 800 years, Kate,” I pointed out. “How do you know how it is?” I laughed.

“I watch reality TV and stuff,” she defended with a shrug. “And there’s always all of these articles on Facebook about how to date and tell if he likes you, and so on.”

“So you’re a wealth of knowledge in the thirty-something dating world?” I asked dryly.

A giant grin spread across her face as her blue eyes twinkled. “Damn, Hannah.” She said my name with her long, Southern twang. “You’re really twisted up about this.”

Shaking my head, my cheeks heating slightly in embarrassment, I insisted, “No. Not at all. I just don’t get why he asked for my number if he had no intention of calling.”

“So just message him and ask him. Simple as that.” She shrugged again as if it was, in fact, just as simple as that. She was driving so she couldn’t see the Are you serious? look I was giving her. How was I really, as an adult woman with any amount of pride, supposed to message Wren and ask him: Why didn’t you text me? It would make me look completely pathetic. “Or sit here and torture yourself over it. That’s a good idea, too,” she teased when I didn’t respond. Smartass.

“I’m not torturing myself over it,” I argued, busying myself by picking a piece of invisible lint from my jeans.

Flicking her blinker, she turned into Deanna’s driveway. “You don’t even know him. What does it matter if you ask?”

She had a point. How could I be embarrassed if I’d never even met the guy? Reaching down, I blindly dug in my purse from where it sat between my feet, seizing my cell phone. “Fine,” I murmured. She was right. It was obviously on my mind for some weird reason. I didn’t want to believe my ego was offended, but maybe in part it was. Had he not thought I was attractive enough? Had another woman on the app caught his eye and he’d forgotten all about me? But it was more than that. You don’t ask for a woman’s number and just not use it. Pulling the app up, I went into messaging.

Me: So you asked for my number…haven’t heard from you. Just curious why you asked for it.

Hitting send, I shut my phone off and chucked it in my bag. “Okay. Message sent. Now let’s get inside and have a drink. I need one.”



The evening was awesome. Deanna cooked us an amazing meal and her husband Allen was acting like the most adorable father-to-be in the world as he kept suggesting atrocious baby names just to get a rile out of us. I was pretty sure we melted into a puddle when he bent down and kissed her belly just before heading up to bed. He had a flight out of town the next day for work so he left our little henhouse gathering to get some sleep.

By the time Kate dropped me off, I was still slightly buzzed from the four glasses of sangria I’d drank. I stepped into the house, letting my keys fall on the floor. Peeling off my skinny jeans and shirt, I tossed them aside and flopped on my bed and pulled the covers up. I wiggled a bit trying to find a comfortable position, letting out a sigh. I really needed to pee, but I was just too tired. Laziness at its finest; my kidneys would probably feel like they were about to burst out of my back by morning. A heaviness, that feeling that weighs you down just as you’re about to drift asleep, fell over me and I was seconds from giving into it when my phone chimed indicating I had a text.