Every Girl Does It(4)

I need to refocus. Where is his name? I scroll down to the bottom of the page and see “staff”. I click and pray it will be the correct information. Moving down the page again, I see his picture and click on it. They have stats right next to the names. Wait. No. Well, I just almost swallowed my tongue – didn’t know it was possible, but here you see it documented. It almost happened to a perfectly healthy twenty-seven year old, and my parents would have found me in my apartment, asphyxiated on the floor with my computer screen opened up to a hot fireman. The shame would be unbearable. My poor parents would be humiliated and have to lie to everyone about how they found me.

There’s no way it could actually be him. The irony would be too perfect. I have to look closer to confirm my eyes aren't deceiving me. With a sinking feeling, I remember him when he had braces, ugly sweater vests, and too thick glasses.

It’s Preston, and the memories of egging his house more than once during high school hit me full force. I remember him holding my hand with those sweaty palms as he asked me to prom in front of the entire school. Right now the only one with sweaty palms is me! Oh, no. I turned him down. The sad part is, if he’d ask me now, I’d say yes.

At the time, it was more important for me to look cool. So I said, in front of everyone, “Thanks, but I’m already going with my cousin, Brad”. I don’t even have a cousin named Brad. Just wait. It gets worse. He showed up at prom with his sister, saw me dancing and kissing another guy, and, I’m sure, assumed I probably wasn’t that close with my family.

Ladies, let this be a lesson. People always say you need to be nice to nerds, because you might end up working for them some day. The same goes for nerdy guys who ask you out. You should be nice to them, because one day they might be smoking hot.



Chapter Two



As women, I’m sure we can all agree that when we see a man whose gorgeous, cut, and confident, we automatically assume he’s arrogant. So the natural road to take is search for the one that’s slightly unfortunate looking with the hope that his personality makes up for any other deficiencies. We wouldn’t have this assumption if we didn’t have good reason. Few men are as attractive on the inside as the outside.

One time I dated a guy who, for anonymitie’s sake, we’ll call Bob, and he was eye candy. We met at the gym. Bob and I were running next to each other on treadmills. His towel fell off the side of his treadmill, and I picked it up. It was love at first sight.

Feeling rather confident, I struck up a conversation. He asked for my number, and two nights later he called. We went to a fancy restaurant that weekend, and I fell in love for about five minutes. He ordered for both of us, without asking. “Yes, we’ll get salad with no dressing, chicken with no gravy, and no bread, we don’t do carbs.”

If you ever want to get in an argument with me, just tell me that I shouldn’t eat carbs. Be prepared, I’ll spit in your face. Maybe not, but the whole low carb mentality is ridiculous, and for me, a deal breaker. When I heard him say that I shouted “But wait! I like carbs!”

He gave me a look I’m guessing he only reserves for fat people, and told the waiter that I was “confused” and “please proceed to hold the carbs”.

Seething, I went to another table next to us, stole the bread and ate it right in front of him. Now in hindsight, I looked like an insane person. But for argument’s sake, let’s be clear; I was angry at the time. Bob smiled tightly and never called again.

Since Preston is hands down the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, I doubt he isn’t aware of this fact and uses it with reckless abandon. Even though he was a good guy back in the day, how could he not know he’s “got it” and knows how to “flaunt” it too? With all this revelation, I’m bursting with nervous energy, I need a good hard run. Eight o’ clock pm usually means the gym is empty, and it’s Saturday night. Who goes to the gym on a Saturday night? Me. I grab my workout stuff, not bothering to put on anything remotely cute, and run out the door.

****

The air of the valley hits me as I get out of the car. A mixture of rain and cold hit my nose. It reminds me of a fresh start, which is exactly what I need. I already feel better. Nampa may be small, but they have an awesome rec center. It’s my haven, but not because of the TVs. They’re great, but it’s also right next to my favorite fast food restaurant. Walking through the doors, I inhale the sweet smell of sweat and chlorine and scan my card.

Yes, this is where I need to be. There’s only one other person running, and I think he’s going for some record. If he keeps this ridiculous pace, he might actually wear the treadmill out. But something about him seems familiar. No, I can’t. Why would I go to the treadmill right next to him when there are twenty other ones open? We all know how things worked out with Bob. I don’t want another man telling me I can’t have bread.

But upon closer inspection, this man has the best legs I’ve ever seen. The formation of muscles that gather at his calf and linger up to his—whoops, he just glanced this way. Look busy. Why did I choose tonight to where my old, ratty high school cheerleading shirt? And why did I also choose to wear the yoga pants that I spilled paint on last year? I grumbled something out loud, not realizing it, and jumped onto my treadmill. Five miles, here I come.

As I run, the anxiety of the day turns into fuel, pushing me harder and faster. No, I don’t need Derek, I don’t need Bob, I don’t—wait a second. While closing my eyes, I missed something. Mr. Runner is coming over to me. Why? What do I do? Oh my goodness, he’s getting on the machine next to me. Competition. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s in for a race. Why? Because I can’t help it. I must win. It’s also why I never turn down dares, but that’s a different story. He starts running, and again I feel the pressure to win. Please. He may be a fine male specimen, but I’m fast, ridiculously fast.