The Guy on the Right Read online

  “I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but how good can you be if you didn’t seal the deal with the ex?”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  “Point taken. But in my defense, she always got off. Always. And more than once.”

  “And you?”

  “Rarely.”

  “So, she was selfish.”

  “Very. I was too passive with her. Catered too much. I know that now.”

  “You were a stepping-stone.”

  “Yeah, well, I like to think I killed that guy.”

  “Good on ya.”

  We settle into a comfortable silence that only two drunk strangers could manage.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks sometime later.

  “Of how badly I want to kick my roommate’s ass.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, this is mostly his fault. The problem is the last fight I got into was with a girl.”

  “Do tell.”

  “My sister, Courtney, she wracked me in the balls, and I wracked her back when I recovered. I was eight.”

  A giggle bursts out of her, and I turn my head to try to capture her likeness and fail. “You wouldn’t think that would hurt a girl, but she went down like a sack of potatoes.”

  Her laughter bubbles around us, and it’s musical. I can feel the light tickle of her hair on my arm.

  “My mom was laughing too hard to punish me.”

  “Hey, it’s still a foolproof way to bring a man to his knees.”

  “Truth,” I say, smiling. Something I thought I was incapable of tonight. “Hey, thanks.”

  “For?”

  “Talking me off the hedge.”

  “Cute.”

  “So, what about you? You okay about your breakup?”

  “Oh, yeah. That had to end. I didn’t want to lead him on. Just sucks because…well, as long as we’re being honest, can I tell you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve lied to some of the guys I’ve dated. I’ve never felt what you felt for your ex. Like I’ve gotten butterflies and stuff but nothing more. When they say I love you, I say it back out of obligation, but I don’t think I’ve ever really meant it.”

  “Heartbreaker,” I jest.

  “I know that’s horrible. I know you should save those words for when you mean them. I just feel terrible when I don’t say it back. And then we break up and it doesn’t matter if I’ve said them or not because it’s over. I think I’m done.”

  “Dating?”

  “Yeah. At least for a while.”

  I nudge her with my shoulder. “So, the right guy hasn’t come yet. It’ll happen.”

  “That’s what I hoped too, but…what if it’s me? I’ve dated a lot. What if I’m just not built like other girls.”

  “You are.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

  “I’ve gathered you have a mind of your own and you won’t settle. So at least, in a sense, you know what you’re looking for.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Just give it more time.”

  “I’ll be twenty-two in December. I just feel like maybe I won’t get a first love.”

  “Nah. Have faith.”

  “Says the guy who just lost his virginity because he felt he had hit his time limit.”

  “Touché.”

  “Truth hurts, and we’re being brutally honest here.”

  “Right. So, what bothered you about your ex?”

  She uncaps the bottle with a sigh. “For one, he was ridiculously lazy. I work and study hard. My gran used to tell me not to respect or fall for a man who isn’t doing as much as me.”

  “It’s good advice.”

  “Yeah, it is. And I’m ashamed to admit I think I’ve been letting my eyes do all the leading. He was pretty, but not enough to ignore the red flags.”

  She leans up enough to take a pull of the bottle. “Damn, this is disgusting. Only bananas taste like banana.”

  “Ironically, true.”

  “Anyway, I’ve been letting my eyes dictate what’s right for me, giving into the butterflies. But I think it’s about time to give the pretty boys a rest, you know? At least until one of them can prove themselves enough to be worth my time.”

  “Sounds like a good decision.”

  “Well,” she says, passing me the bottle, “all is not lost. At least tonight I gained a new friend.”

  “Yeah,” I take another sip, “with no face and no name.”

  She sits up fully and looks back down at me. Suddenly I’m cursing the dark Texas sky and the lack of moon. I want a good look at her. She seems to be thinking along the same lines because she leans down briefly in an attempt to get a better look at me.

  “This is ridiculous. Let’s de-mask,” I suggest.

  “No.” I can sense her wheels turning, “let’s keep it a mystery. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

  “Alright.” I agree, though I know it’s not likely to happen.

  Her phone lights up in her palm, and it’s too brief to see anything.

  “Shit, it’s late. My mom is gonna pitch a bitch.”

  I can’t help my chuckle.

  “What?”

  “Your accent. It’s pretty thick.”

  “Yeah well, you’re obviously not from around here.”

  “Not that far at all.”

  “What can I say? I was raised in a vat of Texas-grown.”

  “I’m not criticizing. I like it.”

  “Damnit, I really have to go, but I hope we run into each other again sometime. Preferably when we’re livin’ our best lives.”

  “What does that even mean anyway? A two thousand calorie day including all food groups and a four-mile run? The perfect yoga beach pic on social media?”

  “Right?” She snorts. “More like living our best lie.”

  “Exactly. Maybe if we ever hang again, we’ll do it while living our realest life.”

  “I love that.”

  She lifts to sit on her knees, facing my direction. “You know, this is probably the most truthful I’ve ever been with any guy in my entire life.”

  “I can honestly say the same. And I’m flattered it was me.”

  “Why do we do that with the people we’re with, hide what we’re really thinking?”

  “Maybe because it’s safer than being alone.”

  “You know what, stranger?” she drawls out. “I think at this point I’d rather be honest and alone.”

  “Welcome to my level. It sucks here.”

  We’re both smiling. I can tell.

  “Okay, I’ll go first.”

  “You aren’t driving, right?” I ask, concerned.

  “Nope. Bottle is all yours. Be careful.”

  “You too.”

  I feel her pause. “This was actually kind of fun.”

  “It was.”

  “Houseman, where the hell are you, man?” Troy calls from the porch.

  “Shit,” I mumble. “I have his keys. I was supposed to be DD.”

  “Better get an Uber,” she warns.

  “We will.”

  “So, you’re Houseman, huh?” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Fair is fair, I’m Laney.” Her hand finds mine on the grass between us, and she squeezes it briefly. I move to grasp her somehow and end up clutching her fingertips. She laughs. “See, awkward. Well, Houseman, I’m so glad I met you.”

  I grin and rest my forearms on my knees. “Same here.”

  “Thanks for holding my hair.”

  “Anytime.”

  Troy manages to block her out as she retreats into the party. Dusting myself off, I join him on the porch.

  “Where the hell have you been, man? We’ve been ready to go a hot minute.”

  “I’m not driving,” I say, eagerly glancing over his shoulder. “Did you just see the girl who walked inside?”

  “No,” he barks, uninterested. “Give me the keys, Kevin is good to drive.” I lo
ok past him to see Kevin on bended knee.

  “He’s just been iced.” Troy turns his head and sees Kevin guzzling the bottle.

  “Shit. Okay, I’ll order an Uber.”

  “Do that,” I’m distracted, still searching the party for any sign of her and coming up empty.

  Much like the rest of my night, it just wasn’t meant to be.

  Grannism—The world is full of assholes, don’t be one of them.

  Laney

  “Where were you?” My mother asks, scaring the piss out of me just as I clear the front door.

  “Momma, you scared me,” I say, turning to see her perched in the kitchen in wait. Annoyed, I let the screen door slap closed behind me.

  “I guess we’re even then.”

  “I told you I would probably be out late. Breakup…had to be done.” Sitting on the couch, I pull off my boots and stretch my toes.

  “I thought you liked this one?”

  “This one? His name was Patrick, and he wasn’t for me.”

  “What happened?”

  “He wanted too much for too little.”

  “Well, it’s three a.m. A text would have been nice.” Though she works nights, she looks exhausted, and guilt kicks in. I’m a fun-sized replica of my mother, with dark hair and olive skin we inherited from Gran. My mother is beautiful, but I can’t remember the last time she put on anything other than her work uniform or a robe. She’s only forty-four but has already aged herself well past her years with presentation alone.

  “Sorry. I was going to come home earlier and got sidetracked.”

  “Oh, and what was his name?” She sips her coffee at our old wooden breakfast table. The table Gran used to make homemade biscuits on. The image of her nose dusted with flour as she cuts the dough tugs at my heartstrings.

  “Mom, geez, I’m not ready to move on.”

  She raises a skeptical brow.

  “All I know is his last name is Houseman. I didn’t even see his face.”

  She chokes on her coffee as her eyes widen.

  “Not like that! Ugh, forget it. You’re basically accusing me of being fast. I’m going to bed.”

  “You need to be careful with your body and who you spend time with.”

  It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. “You swore to me if I stayed with you through senior year you would give me some room to make mistakes.”

  “I just don’t want you repeating my mistakes. Be patient, you’ve got to wait for the right tide to test the waters.”

  “Not this again.”

  And then she’s up on her feet, and ready for a fight I’m too tired to indulge her in.

  I lift my hands palms up, in surrender. “Let’s not go down this road.”

  Balled fists planted on her hips, she cocks her head. “You can barely afford to pay tuition with what your loans won’t cover. Stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by staying here. This is half your home, but I’m still the one paying the bills.”

  “And I’m thankful. So thankful. That’s why I paid the water bill and bought you some coffee this morning.”

  She bristles where she stands. She’s not mad at me. She’s mad at herself. She’s always hated she hasn’t been more of a provider for me, she just can’t put words to it.

  “I love you, Mom. I don’t want to fight. I hear everything you’re saying. I just have to do my own thing, and you have to trust me.”

  She scrutinizes me carefully for sincerity and finds it before she dips her chin, and her shoulders relax.

  “It’s late. You should go on to bed.”

  I nod. “You aren’t coming?”

  “No. I’m restless, I’m going to make it work for me and make you some biscuits.”

  I round the table and hug her to me. “You read my mind. Thank you. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I pull away and see the worry I’ve caused. “I’ll text next time. Promise.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “You know, Momma, it wouldn’t kill you to get out there and have a little fun yourself.”

  She nods, absently pulling some ingredients from the cabinets. We’re a lot alike in some ways and nothing alike in others. Truth is, I got along with Gran a lot better, and she served as sort of a buffer between us at times. Since she passed away in February, our relationship has been a bit strained.

  Worn out, I make my way down the hall of our ranch home and click my tongue. Our ancient basset hound, Max, reluctantly follows, but not before giving me a grunt that translates to something like, ‘it’s way past our bedtime, hoochie.’

  Max is the man of the house and the only one I answer to. Even if he is half blind with cataracts and I’m forced to lift his fifty-plus pound ass into my bed each night, he’s dependable.

  The other men in our family have never lasted long.

  My grandfather died in Vietnam when my mother was only a year old. And my dad, well, he moved on to greener pastures after I turned three. Years ago, College Station was half its size. It was never, by any means, a small town, but if you’ve lived here long enough, it can feel that way and become oddly predictable. Especially in Polk, and Jimmy Cox never wanted or planned to settle here. The first time Gran got sick; my mother decided she was right where she belonged. They parted amicably, but my mother held a grudge once he stopped coming around. Dear old Dad is now some high-ranking executive in Houston who sent us an annual sum up until the day I turned eighteen to remain his mistake. The checks were a consolation for being his false start.

  My mother is determined not to have me make the same mistake. She doesn’t want me settling for promises that won’t be kept.

  She’s always encouraged me to keep my guard up. She just isn’t a current fan of how much I’ve taken that advice to heart. I guess I am a bit of a ‘serial dater’. I haven’t slept with every guy I’ve had an inkling about, but she is right. I need to respect myself a little more and be practical about who I decide to spend my time with.

  In the hall, I pause at a picture of the four of us—Gran, Mom, Max, and me—that we took on the porch a few years ago.

  “Max, you were a handsome devil.”

  His reply is a cold-nosed nudge to my ankle. “Okay, okay.”

  Though the house is old, I love every nook and cranny. Every memory that makes me up is tucked in some corner of this ranch home. Gran had signed the title over to the both of us the first time she got sick. She died knowing her daughter and granddaughter will always have a place to call home. It was both her legacy and parting gift to us. Mom says she’ll sign it over to me once I figure out what life I want.

  That’s a question I’ve never been able to fully answer with certainty.

  Circling my bedroom, I glance at the packed suitcase in my closet collecting dust. It’s been packed since the day I started college. I know its contents. Seven pairs of underwear. Seven dresses with the tags still attached. Seven pairs of light socks. A swimsuit. Four sweaters, three pairs of jeans. I swore to myself once I collected my diploma, I would use it. I am only two semesters away, and I still have no idea where I am going, but I am going.

  I’ve never once factored a guy into any of my plans. It could be why I’m hesitant to keep one longer than a few months. Life is hard enough making decisions for one.

  Dressed in my pajamas, I brush my teeth for the second time thinking about my conversation with the guy who’d made me laugh, despite the shitstorm my night had turned into. I can’t help my foam-filled smile. He is holding out for something different himself, and it gives me hope. Not about a future with him, odds are good I’ll never see him again. But his quest is like my own. But first, I need to take a break, and a good hard look at myself. Scrutinizing my reflection, I decide to cut down on Doritos. Satan made that chip specifically to ruin my thighs.

  “Max,” I line my brush with more paste as I spot him in the mirror behind me. He lifts his head and tilts it. “We’re going to do better. Do you hear me? We’re going to g
et more exercise, forget about the other hounds for a while and concentrate on our goals.” Max sighs and drops his head to rest on his paws. I can feel both his dread and judgment.

  “As soon as I figure out what those goals are,” I whisper around my brush.

  We’re natural survivors, my mother and me and we grew up with enough love from the female side not to feel cheated. I have no plans to follow in my father’s footsteps, personally or otherwise, and sit in a corner office ignoring life. I want more than that, I just haven’t put my finger on what yet. I figure my gypsy heart will let me know.

  Theo

  “What in the hell happened to you? Is that from last night?”

  Kevin gawks at my newly-cleaved chest from the kitchen to where I stand in our pantry/laundry room with a massive hangover. It’s everything I can do to keep my head up as I stuff my dirty clothes in the washer.

  Troy catches sight of my back while lifting the orange juice carton to his mouth and bursts into laughter. “Damn, man, did you not get one swing in?”

  “I’ll kill you both,” I mumble, adding detergent, “I swear to God.”

  Troy guzzles down the juice and crushes the carton before tossing it into the trash. He’s a tidy roommate, I’ll give him that. “Hey,” he says in reaction to my hate stare, “you needed the help.”

  “I asked for no such thing!” I stab an accusing finger in his direction. They both erupt into more laughter, and Troy shakes his head before reading my expression.

  “You’re really pissed, dude?”

  “Yeah, dude, I really am.”

  Troy nods toward Kevin. “Give us a minute.”

  “I’m on the X-box,” Kevin says, making his exit to the living room while Troy crowds the space.

  “That bad?”

  “I really don’t remember much, but I’m positive I enjoyed little of it.”

  “I’m sorry, man. I really was just trying to help.”

  “In the future, don’t. Do me no more favors.”

  “No one put a gun to your head.”

  “I know.”

  He paws the top of the pantry door, blocking me in and lifts one shoulder. “Didn’t have to do it to make Papa proud.”

  I raise livid eyes to his, and he grimaces. “Sorry, that was a dick thing to say, but seriously, why do it?” He eyes my chest and winces. “I don’t remember her being that rough.”