Avoiding Amy Jackson (20 page)

As I listen to Michael ramble on about something, my mind focuses on the fact that conversation with James isn’t awkward or forced…

Why am I comparing Michael to James? I’m not quite sure. Maybe it’s because James is really the only man who has become a constant in my life. James gets me and understands my hate for small talk. Nothing ever feels forced with him.

“Just spaghetti and meatballs?” Michael asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Mama Rosa’s makes the best spaghetti and meatballs. I can guarantee you’re going to be jealous of my balls once you get a good look at them,” I respond with a straight face. Michael looks at me with confusion when in all actuality he should be laughing. I just indirectly referenced myself as having balls. I mean, that’s kind of funny, right?

Instead, he is staring at me like I’m two cans short of a six-pack.

God, he’s a dumbass.

I obviously don’t have balls, but right now, I kind of wish I did have a giant sac tucked inside my panties. That would certainly scare the crap out of him. If James were here, he would have had made some sarcastic quip right back at me.

Stop comparing Michael to James!

This is becoming a problem. Almost as bad as my chronic Foot-In-Mouth Syndrome. I quickly change the balls subject and ask Michael about his personal training job and clients. I figured this would get him chatting and would give me time to sit around without the pressure of coming up with stupid topics of conversation.

Michael is blabbing on and on about his current client load like he’s some fucking personal training god.
You’re a personal trainer, for fuck’s sake. Get over yourself.
His biggest dilemma is whether or not to do cardio before or after he’s lifted weights.

Blah, blah, blah… “I got the biggest bonus last year for having the largest client base.”

Pffft.

“I was asked to do a cover shoot for
Weightlifter Today
last week.”

Oh, holy ego!

“My balls can bench press one hundred pounds.”

Okay, I made that last one up, but I seriously couldn’t help myself.

“My cock is on a strict protein diet for his next competition.”

Sorry, I had to give you at least one more.

“I’d be more than happy to give you some free personal training sessions,” Michael offers with a giant grin plastered to his stupid face.

“Wow, that’s very generous of you,” I reply politely as I pick up my glass of wine and take a sip. I have the urge to slam the glass down on the table and use the shards to slice open a vein. God, this guy is the worst. He has me contemplating suicide just to escape this date and awful small talk.

While Michael is explaining the difficulties of being an entrepreneur, my phone starts ringing and I can’t deny that I’m thrilled to have the distraction. This phone call might have just saved me from jumping off the roof of Mama Rosa’s.

“I am so sorry. This must be important. I’ll step outside to answer this and I’ll be right back.” I hold up one finger to Michael as I hold the phone to my ear and get up from my chair, promptly heading for the door.

“This better be important, dickhead.”

“No, ‘Hello James. How are you this evening’?”

I laugh into the phone as I stand outside of Mama Rosa’s with a giant smile on my face. “Nope,” I reply, loudly popping the p like James seems to do a lot. “You know I’m out on a date, so why are you calling me?” I attempt to scold him with a stern tone, but my voice betrays me. I can practically hear my own smile.

“I just wanted to see how my friend was doing on her date and I wanted to ask you if you would be interested in going camping in a few weeks with me and some of my buddies.”

“You called me to ask me to go camping? Are you screwing with me right now?”

“Nope,” he says, loudly popping the p. That damn little quirk of his makes my body feel unreasonably warm. “I’m not screwing with you, and you should answer quickly. You’re wasting precious date time, sweetheart.”

“James!” My voice was meant to be terse, but it just comes out sounding whiny and girly.

“Come on, Amy. Say you’ll let your friend James take you camping.” His voice is soft and cozy, and it makes my insides feel gooey like caramel sauce.

“Fine. Okay. I’ll go, but no funny business.” I raise my eyebrow, waiting to hear his response.

He laughs heartily into the phone. “No funny business, sweetheart. I’ll email you all the details.”

“And please stop talking in third person. You sound like an idiot.”

“I only do it because I know it gets you riled up, and besides, I know you secretly love it.” He whispers the last part with his deep, husky voice.

This man is going to be the death of me.

“Whatever, idiot.” I start to giggle and then quickly smack my hand over my mouth, because if there is one thing I despise, it’s girly giggling.

“How’s the date going? Are you already scheduling your next personal training sessions at the gym with him?” His questioning tone is laced with a sarcastic edge.

“Stop being an asshole. And the date, eh… It’s all right I guess.” I shrug my shoulders like he can actually see me through the phone.

“All right?
Just all right?
That doesn’t sound good. You’re bored, doll. I can hear it in your voice. My money says you’re already tired of the small talk.”

I take a heavy sigh, letting my current frustrations from my date out in a whoosh of air from lungs. “You have no idea. I just listened to him ramble on and on about how awesome he is at his job. He’s a personal trainer, James.
A personal trainer
. I’m not knocking his profession, but the way he was talking, you’d think he found the cure for cancer and won the Nobel fucking prize.”

James’s laugh sounds full of relief and utter happiness. Why is he so freaking happy about my horrendous dating experience? “Babe, you need me to come save you? You know I’ll do it.”

I sigh again into the phone, my mind mulling over the possibility of James saving me from this date. Should I let him come pick me up and tell Michael and his bench-pressing balls that I have an emergency? Or should I stay? If it weren’t Lizzy who set me up on this date, I would have already been in James’s car.

“I appreciate that generous offer, but I think I should stay. I don’t want Lizzy to get pissed at me for standing up one of Ryder’s friends. Do you have the number of a suicidal hotline? You know, just in case I need it.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Ignore me. Thanks again for the offer.”

James chuckles into the phone. “All right, well, if you change your mind, you’ve got my number.”

“Goodnight, James.”

“Night, doll.”

Another tingle of disappointment pulls at my heartstrings as I hang up my phone. I’m just going to blame the disappointment on the fact that I have to go back inside and listen to Michael drone on about what exercises are perfect for my body type. His apparent need to critique everyone’s physique and offer up workout advice to people who couldn’t give a shit less has me more than irritated. Just to spite his health-conscious ass, I’m going to shovel those juicy meatballs down like it’s my cheat day on Weight Watchers and I just got home from doing my workout at Curves.

I hang my head dejectedly as I walk back into the restaurant to finish the rest of my date. I’m praying that Michael and I are able to leave this date unscathed. If I can make it home tonight without shoving my balls down Michael’s throat or stabbing myself in the jugular with my fork, then I will consider it a success. I sit down in front of my date and he immediately excuses himself to go to the restroom.

Thank god for peace and quiet.

A few moments later, my phone vibrates inside of my purse.

James:
Where did he take you for dinner?

Me:
Mama Rosa’s

James:
You ordered the meatballs.

Me:
I do love big, juicy balls in my mouth.

James:
You better save some balls for me.

Me:
Who says you’re so special that I should let you taste my balls?

James:
No one said that, but I can say with 100% certainty that you’re special enough… I’ll

always save my balls for you, doll.

Michael comes back to the table and finds me chuckling to myself. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” I reply with a tight smile before sending James one more text and setting my phone face down in my lap.

Me:
For once in your life you managed to one-up me. Good work, Limp Dick.

The waitress brings our food and I dodge small talk with Michael by spooning spaghetti into my mouth like a heathen. Truthfully, I’m all out of small talk kind of topics and I’m getting more annoyed by the second as I watch this guy eat his plain grilled chicken and asparagus. Who in the hell takes a women on a date to an Italian restaurant and yet refuses to ingest carbs?

My phone pings with a text notification, and again, I’m thankful for the interruption.

James:
Three topics: Cam Newton, Paleo Diet & Crossfit. Those should buy you some time.

“So, what do you think about Cam Newton this year?” I know enough about football to know that he’s an NFL Quarterback, and I’m praying that this will give Michael enough ammunition to dominate the conversation through the rest of dinner.

“Well, we’ve got a big game against the Falcons Sunday…” And that’s all she wrote, Michael took that one topic and ran with it while I continued to gorge myself on carbohydrates and juicy meatballs.

I guess you could say that Limp Dick saved the day…
again
.

Chapter Sixteen

“I refuse to become the crazy, masturbating, porn-addicted cat lady!” - Amy

My date with Michael was a bust. I had him drive me home right after dinner with an excuse of a stomach ache. It wasn’t really a lie since I’d inhaled an entire plate of Mama Rosa’s spaghetti and meatballs. That is no easy feat, my friends. Their serving sizes are easily enough for two, if not three, people. I’m pretty sure I thoroughly disgusted my date and quite possibly put on an extra three pounds, all of it going straight to my ass.

A few days ago, James talked me into inviting Ellen and Trent over to his place and making dinner for them in celebration of their upcoming bundle of joy. I still can’t believe that my best friend is going to have a baby. She’s due the first week of June and it’s already February. Her little baby bump is in full view these days. She couldn’t look anymore adorable.

James’s place is to die for. He has this awesome apartment in a popular high-rise building in downtown Charlotte. I’m sure his surgeon salary has made this amazing pad easily affordable. His apartment is a penthouse—
big shock there
. Hardwood floors, stainless-steel appliances, granite counter tops, and beautiful arched ceilings. The floor plan is very open and spacious, yet it manages a modernly intimate feel. The kitchen is
ah-mazing
. Everything you could possibly need and enough space to cook for an entire football team. I’m not much for cooking, seeing as I’m more likely to store my handbags and heels in the oven, but I can still appreciate a nice kitchen.

I picked up a few essentials for our dinner on my way over to James’s place. Wine, beer, and sparkling cider for Ellen. My best friend is a wino and tequila enthusiast, but her current knocked-up state has put the kibosh on ingesting any alcoholic beverages.

As I’m unloading items from the two brown paper bags that are filled with my purchases from the grocery store, a loud buzzing noise resonates inside James’s apartment. His forehead rises in surprise. “That’s weird. I told Trent and Ellen to come over around eight. I’d say they’re kind of early,” he announces as he heads for the door.

I place the beer and sparkling cider in the fridge, fully expecting the happy couple to walk into the kitchen soon. I’m overcome as a strange feeling encompasses me. I decide to investigate who is at the door. I walk into the foyer to find James standing in front of the open door, his back is ramrod straight. His demeanor looks stiff, a little uncomfortable. His hand rests on the edge of the large steel frame.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voicing his surprise.

“I just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you, James,” a feminine voice purrs. The click-clack of her heels is apparent as she steps closer to him. “I thought we could catch up
like old times
,” she adds with a seductive finesse.

He responds immediately. “Well, I’m having friends over for dinner. Now isn’t really a good time for you to just show up at my doorstep.”

My heart pounds loudly inside of my chest. I’m shocked by this feeling, but I don’t have time to sort through my screwed-up psyche. I
need
to see who in the fuck is at his door. Seriously, who in the hell is this woman. Does he know her? Is he dating her?

Is he fucking her?

Nausea overwhelms me as the thought of James in bed with another woman hits me like a freight train. I hurry my steps and come to stand at his side. My eyes take in the unexpected visitor. Long blond hair that falls in soft curls past her shoulders. Scarlet lipstick accentuating her full lips that are formed in a flirtatious smirk. I don’t miss the heated, knowing, provocative expression her blue eyes exude. She is wearing a black satin trench coat that ends just above her knees. Her long calves are toned and her feet don black stilettos.

“Who’s your guest, James?” I question with a bitchy tone to my voice. I can’t help myself. This woman has slut written all over her. He quickly glances in my direction and I sense his discomfort.

She doesn’t even give me a second glance, unabashedly ignoring my presence. “Well, I can stop by later…after your guests have left,” the hussy offers, not allowing James the opportunity to answer my question.