I finally managed to tell my mother and, Jemma, my slightly psychotic yet well-meaning sister, about the break up. Jemma has had her fair share of mangled relationships. She has a variety of kids with a variety of fathers. Jemma is a can of twisted worms all on her own. My mother just rolls her eyes when men walk out of Jemma’s life, but, when I told her that Will cheated on me, she clutched her chest dramatically informing me I was “cuckold.” If cuckold is code for “your boyfriend just went on a coed fucking spree,” then yes, Will very much cuckold me in the most heart-wrenching manner.
I knew it would be hard for us going to different universities, in different states no less, but like a good, wide-eyed, unassuming girlfriend, I trusted him. I gifted him my heart two years ago and then six months after that my virginity. It turns out collecting V-Cards is something that William Abigail—whatever his highbrow middle name is—Richie does best. It’s true I don’t quite remember his middle name. Honestly all I remember thinking at the time he told me was holy hell that’s a girl’s name! I was drunk off the idea that this gorgeous, incredibly rich (as his last name attests) boy would want anything to do with me. Turns out he just wanted to do me—along with a few other people, of course. I was simply standing in a very long line of “things/people to do.” Apparently he does “it” quite a lot—so much so that he’s officially a card-carrying member of Assholes United, an exclusive club that only cheating boyfriends belong to.
It’s his fault I’ve decided to eschew relationships for the time being (the words time being and lifespan are interchangeable). Everything that’s wrong in my life is Will’s fault at this point. It’s his fault I’m alone on a Saturday night. It’s his fault I’ve shattered my heart and ego to shards. It’s his fault I’ve developed a slightly skewed yet alarmingly real rage toward anyone with a dangling appendage in general. It’s most certainly Will’s fault that I’ve paired my pricey convertible fit and flare dress (better suited for temperatures in the triple digits) with an unfortunate pair of bright blue patent heels that peacock for attention. I thought red might scream desperate and perhaps suggest a cash exchange for the adventure I’m about to embark on because on this fine night I’ve set my mind, and my vagina, on staking out a one-night stand.
The dark-haired man keeps sneaking glances my way—most likely because I pretend to giggle and call him with my finger each time he happens to gaze in my general direction. He’s literally tall, dark, and handsome, built like a linebacker, oozing a palpable sex appeal that has women of all ages craning to glean a better look at him. He’s already dismissed an entire slew of Alpha Chi skanks that have migrated his way. But I’ve marked him as my one-night stand, and I’m determined to make this happen. Although, admittedly, I have no clue how other girls actually go about luring strangers to their dorm rooms. I’ve seen it done on numerous occasions, but most of those were boys, and staggering drunk at that, vomiting their way down the hall as they trot off to “get some.” I cringe at the lengths some of my dorm sisters have gone to procure a walking dildo. But tonight it’s my turn.
Annie has already informed me she’s staying over at Blake’s for the weekend, so there’s no fear of an awkward run-in with my roomie and said one-night stand. Besides, it’ll be awkward enough with just me in the room. One-night stands are new territory—no thanks to Will and the sisterhood of his traveling pants.
Annie and Blake head over toward my Tall, Dark, One-Night Stand, and he’s quick to pull Blake into a man hug—probably congratulating him on a job well done. The Sins really did rock it tonight. God—maybe he’s some high and mighty record producer with his own label? Maybe he’s offering Blake a contract right here on the spot! I swear it’s as if Annie and Blake are walking on sunshine. Everything goes right for the two of them, so this wouldn’t surprise me at all.
The Tall Dark One glances my way and nods. Annie and Blake turn to look at me before whispering something to him.
Oh, wow, this is getting awkward a lot quicker than expected. I turn and pretend to laugh at whatever it is the gaggle of girls next to me are cackling over. Instinctually I duck behind the mob of coeds and peer around a blonde with shoddy hair extensions who’s currently masking me from further humiliation by way of poorly weaved horse hair.
I bet he thinks I’m stalking him—or worse, that I’m a hooker trying to reel in a john! He’s cradling his phone in his hand. I bet he has the Hollow Brook PD on his contact list, and his thumb is just itching to partake in a little social justice. Way to go. I close my eyes and cringe.