Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“No. I’m fine.”
I arched a brow. He had a two-inch-long triangle with half a candy cane lodged in his flesh. “Let me take you upstairs to clean it.”
Was I really inviting a stranger into my apartment? That wasn’t smart. On the other hand, what choice did I have? He was bleeding. The least I could do was clean the wound and send him on his way.
“No. Thank you. I have a first aid kit in my tent,” he said coldly.
I blinked, realizing who this was. Tent Man.
He added sternly, “And you shouldn’t invite strange men into your home. It’s not safe. All sorts of crazy people out there.”
He was right, but did he have to sound like such a dick about it? “Thank you for saving me from serial killers like you. Phew! That was a close one.”
“What gave me away?” he said dryly, clearly taking insult.
“The splash of psycho in your eyes,” I said, not at all serious, but if he wanted to play this game of down-talk, then fine. “And you came to my rescue when I didn’t ask, which means you wanted to impress me, possibly lure me into your white van. Also, you’re not wearing shoes, unless you count my peppermint paradise limited-edition holiday plate sticking out of your foot.”
“Definitely not a shoe.” He winced in pain.
Oh no. Poor guy. “Hey, you’re bleeding. Let me bring you some warm water and soap.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need help.”
“And I didn’t need yours, but here I am with a box full of irreplaceable broken dishes thanks to you.” Honestly, I’d had everything under control.
“What I meant to say is that if I did need help, I wouldn’t ask you.” He turned and began hobbling away, disappearing inside his red tent.
Good. Go hide in your portable gremlin cave. Jerk. I closed my tailgate and started my engine, deciding to call it a day. I parked my truck inside with all of the stuff in the back. Then I got to cleaning up all the broken dishes.
Tomorrow, I’d see if Jason was around and could help unload some stuff. Maybe Kay would be back from her sister’s and help, too.
The good news was Jason had been right. Tent Man wasn’t the rapey type that I could tell, but he sure was a rude butthole.
“Can you believe this tent guy?” I griped on Monday to my coworker and friend Shawna, who sat in the cubicle next to mine. She was one of the only people my age in the office who was single and not doing the domestic-bliss thing. In other words, she could relate to my dating-app horror stories or occasional spontaneous bawling.
No, I didn’t cry because I was single. Not exactly. I cried during certain times of the month when I felt, well, horny. Maybe I was ovulating or something. But there was something inherently deflating about knowing you were going home to the massage head on your shower, a bright purple banana-shaped thing, or your manual bean flicker when what you really wanted was a man who knew you—your body, your smile, your favorite Christmas song—along with knowing just how to move inside you to ignite a fire so hot, so forceful, that your head exploded like a pumpkin tossed from a two-story window. So yeah, once a month, I wept for my empty bed and for my lonely bean. I wept because I knew he was out there somewhere, and if I’d just made different choices in life, I probably would’ve found him by now. Instead, I’d wasted my time with men like Mike.
Shawna, who had long black braids, deep brown skin, and the sharpest tongue I’d ever met, gave me a shrug.
“A shrug? From you?” I said. “Where’s the quippy, colorful language, telling me to go fuck my own asshole? Or, your personal favorite, an ad hoc limerick about whiny bitches?”
She shrugged again.
“Shawna, what the hell? You never hold back.”
She grabbed her sports drink bottle and started guzzling as if stalling for time.
“Shawna!” I hissed.
She stopped drinking. “Fine. I think you should apologize to the guy.”
To Tent Man? “For what? All I did was offer help.” After he’d broken my dishes.
“You obviously did something to offend the guy, and let’s get real, Meri: you’re not the most self-aware person in the world.”
I blinked, allowing that to soak in. So Mike said I was uptight, Kay thought I was superficial in my holiday ways, and now Shawna was telling me I wasn’t self-aware? “You really think that?”
She shrugged again. That was three shrugs in one conversation. And not one snappy talk-down. Shawna was serious.
“I, uh…thank you for letting me know,” I said, feeling deflated. And shunned. It wasn’t as if the feedback was coming from some rando on social media who didn’t know me.
Fuck. I’d always thought I was a giver. A kind person. A thoughtful person. Maybe I wasn’t.