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ONE
Sophie
The bare skin of my shoulders sticks irritatingly to the firm faux leather passenger seat of my best friend’s seven-year-old Hyundai. The August heat in New York is unrelenting this year, but I’m hardly bothered as I stare through my oversized aviators at the various customers passing in and out of the Chevron station.
Some of them are families, pulling their complaining kids along, parents exhausted from a long summer and ready to ship them away to school again. Some of them are alone, on a mission for a Snickers bar or a chilled six-pack. I sit alone in the car while I study their faces, mostly devoid of expression.
My gaze settles on a young woman with bleach-blonde hair at a large ice freezer next to the doors. She’s wearing a bubblegum-pink, skin-tight top, a skirt that barely covers her underwear, and bright red stilettos. She shoves her Louis Vuitton purse over her shoulder as she opens the door to the freezer and peers in at the bags of ice. She’s probably headed to some big house party tonight. I envision the dozens of red Solo cups that will be filled with the ice she is about to purchase, and the countless types of alcohol that will slowly melt it all down this evening. I try the math in my head, wondering how many bags she needs.
She pulls one out, but after just a second, she pauses and puts it back in the freezer. I shift in my seat, wondering why she stopped. Now she’s as frozen as the ice itself, and she’s staring into the store. I try to see what she’s looking at, but the large windows simply reflect the bright daylight around us, and I can’t make out anything inside.
The woman reaches up to her shiny mane of perfectly styled hair and shoves her fingers through her roots, willing more volume into them. She grasps the hem of her shirt and tugs it down, causing her already plunging neckline to drop even further. Then the door to the station swings open and a tall, overly chiseled man emerges into the sunlight. His chestnut brown hair is perfectly coiffed atop his head, and he wears the kind of thong sandals you only see on college jocks who think they’re really something special.
I focus on the woman again. She sees him too. She stops fiddling with her shirt and quickly shifts her posture to face him. With a hand on her hip, she lets her weight fall to the side and opens her mouth to speak. I can’t hear from inside the car, but the man stops in his tracks when he sees her. I can almost read his mind as he lets his eyes fall to her chest, her hips, her long legs, and then back up again. He's clearly thrilled with his luck.
He grins widely and walks to her side, setting down his six-pack of beer. She points into the freezer, and he reaches in to easily pull out two large bags of ice. Her gaze lingers on his bulging arm muscles, exposed by his sleeveless athletic shirt.
I blink my eyes because I’m staring too.
He must have said something groundbreakingly hilarious then, because she throws her head back in laughter and runs her fingers up his arm. Without hesitation, he leans into her touch.
She bends forward to pick up his pack of beer and points toward a bright red Volkswagen Beetle. He stays close to her as they walk toward it, making sure his arm is just barely grazing hers. He sets the bags in the back seat, and she hands him the six-pack.
I expect her to thank him now and send him on his way. Or at least, that’s how things would play out if it were me driving that lipstick-red beetle.
But Miss Stilettos takes a step toward Mr. Muscles and places the tips of her fingers on his chest as she looks up at him through her fake eyelashes. The smirk grows on his face as he begins to trail his hand up her hip to her waist. He grasps it tightly and they giggle as their faces inch closer together. She leans into him and whispers something, to which his grin grows even more, and he returns a whisper against her ear as he twists his fingers in her hair.
My mouth drops open as he takes her hand and throws his beer into her car, slams the door, and leads her back toward the gas station. Stilettos wobbles appropriately on her heels as she allows him to pull her through the parking lot. But they aren’t headed for the main doors. Instead, he takes her to the side of the building. Muscles pulls open the door to the unisex bathroom, and they both check for anyone watching before they dart inside.
With my mouth still gaping, I lean my head back against the seat and roll my eyes under my sunglasses. I’ve never fully grasped the intricate art of the one-night stand. Or in this case, the one-afternoon stand. I’m a self-identified dork, and flirtation is not my strong suit. It has just never come easy to me.
Besides, one-night stands seem a bit shallow and lazy, like an excuse to avoid actually putting in the work and getting to know someone. All these people want is something easy, something quick; just something to scratch an itch.
It’s instant gratification over self-control.
Lust over love.
I stare intently at the bathroom door with my brows pulled tightly together. I can’t help but imagine what’s going down on the other side. Is it really that easy? Do a few moments of passion simply require a low-cut top and a feigned weakness for lifting heavy objects?
Just a few moments of passion.
There are no real feelings there.
It can’t be worth it.
“I bought ALL the snacks,” my best friend, Leah, exclaims as she opens the driver’s side door and plops into the seat with a bag full of colorfully wrapped treats showing through the thin white plastic.
“Thanks.” I open it to admire its contents.
“Speaking of snacks, Sophie, did you see that absolutely beautiful piece of man who checked out a few minutes before me?” she squeals.
I sigh. “Yes, he’s currently enjoying himself with some blonde in the bathroom.” I point at the door on the side of the building.
“You’re kidding!” She snaps her head in that direction and sits up taller in her seat. “A gas station bathroom? Eww… Even I wouldn’t stoop that low.” She shakes her head. “Good for him though I guess…and her.”
I choose a bag of Cheez-Itz from the sack, tear it open, and pop a crunchy square into my mouth. “They’ll barely remember each other in a week. All they’re after is a few moments of fun.”
Leah cranks the engine and buckles her seatbelt. “A few moments of fun is not the worst thing in the world, Sophie.” She accelerates slowly back onto the main road.
