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Cuddling leads to strings which leads to tangles. And the way my life is being held together bythreadsmeans I cannottanglewith anything whatsoever.
This also means that today when I get into work, I need to tell Marco I’m done with the private dances, period. It might piss off Paulie, but clearly, they’re fucking with my mind. I have a mission at Jerzy Girls, and chatting with a wealthy client and thenlosing my virginityto one is absolutely not helpful.
With that ounce of fortitude, I glance at the handsome man and calibrate what I should do. As I take in his arm, the distance from the edge, and where the door is, though, he rolls.
His arm leaves my waist.
He faces away from me.
That has to be God telling me I’m not a total fuckup, giving me the out I need, right? Helping a girl out?
Either way, I use it as my chance to roll, my feet landing soft on the hardwood.
My eyes skim the room, trying to find my sweatpants and sweatshirt. Finally, I find the pants in a corner, pulling them over my ass, not even bothering to look for my undergarments in my panic. I remember my boots are at the door, and I keep looking for my sweatshirt, silently cursing how I didn’t even look where he tossed it last night.
I was so lost in him.
Fuck it, I think, grabbing a men’s sweatshirt thrown in the corner and claiming it as my own. I ignore the way I shiver at the way it smells, letting it take over my senses, and tell myself it’s just a final memento.
Then with one last look at the man in bed, I grab my phone before sneaking out of the house for good.
* * *
I wave at the Uber driver, thinking how I’ll need to move money around to make sure the charge doesn’t bounce, and walk toward my apartment.
And then I stop.
I stop fully in the middle of the parking lot because in the parking space designated for me is my shitty-ass Saturn with four shiny new tires. I stand, staring at the ugly greenish color, before a car honks, the driver screaming at me.
“What the fuck, lady! Are you drunk?! Get out of the road!”
Without responding, I slowly move, walking toward the car, a bit scared that I might actually be insane.
There is no reasonable way my car is sitting in my parking spot less than 12 hours from when I abandoned it with the promise of some tow service bringing it to the local tire shop.
But there it is. I move my hand, hesitating to touch it, but when I do, I find that I’m not hallucinating. It’s real, the October cold making the metal hurt my fingers. I move to the front door, shocked and horrified when it opens, the car beeping to let me know the keys have been left in the ignition.
So, not only was this car somehow brought to my apartment, but the keys—which I could have sworn were in my bag—are in the car, andno one stole it?
Someone in the spot next to me stares at me, waiting for me to move, to get in, I assume, so they can back out. Confused and delirious, I do just that, moving to sit in my car and slamming the door despite my original destination being my apartment.
I look around.
The tank is full.
The tank of my car has never been full, even when I had a nice car and a well-paying job. I always run it just a little past E before putting in twenty bucks and calling it a day.
What kind of twilight zone am I living in?
But then I look over to the passenger seat and see a note.
Thank you for choosing Mike’s Towing Service! If you enjoyed our services, please remember to leave a 5-star review online.
And then scribbled beneath that is a man’s messy handwriting.
4 tires
Oil change
