Page 26 of Hell Bent

That’s the only reason I’m texting.

“I told you,” Kristiansen said, looking over my shoulder. “That girl likes you.”

“She liked the dog. She just said so.”

“I’m not even asking. But no woman likes a dog enough to text a guy she’s trying to avoid. That’s Women 101. Get on the phone with her once you’re alone and make her like you some more.”

“That it?” I asked. “You aren’t going to sit on my bed and coach me on what to say? Why do you care, anyway?”

“Can’t stand to see my fellow humans in pain, that’s why.”

“I’m not in pain. I’m fine. I am a self-actualized being who’s achieving my human potential.”

“Yeah, right. Tell me another one. Call her. But don’t be an asshole.” Some guys are full of helpful pointers. He stood up again, so at least this romance-coaching session was done, then hesitated with his hand on the back of the seat.

“What?” I asked.

“Bring her to Christmas dinner,” he said.

“Oh, that’s no pressure. Are you crazy?That’show I convince her I’m not pushing too hard or going too fast, asking her to a glamorous holiday dinner with a bunch of rich, entitled people? She knows rich, entitled people. I told you, she doesn’t like them. The only way I get anywhere is by convincing her I’m a regular guy. Which I am. And you heard her. She has jeans and a hoodie, and I happen to know that she has one pair of cheap tennis shoes. From Target.”

“Trust me,” Kristiansen said, “it’s not going to be glamorous. My wife’s grandpa is going to eye me up and down to make sure I’m still on the straight and narrow. My kid’s probably going to throw up or fall on his head. My little sister’s going to be shy and need to be coaxed into talking. My wife’s going to pay attention to that, and to you, because you’ll be new, and she’s wired to help. And Dyma’s going to be all over the place, going a mile a minute, making Owen more crazy in love than he already is. The turkey will be barbecued, the cranberry sauce will come out of a can, the pie crust could be burnt, and you might have to play ping-pong. That’s exactly how glamorous it will be.”

Alix

When my phone rang, I grabbed it fast out of my jacket pocket, saw the name, hesitated, let it ring once more, andthought,You are ridiculous. Just talk to him like a human being.After all that cognitive effort, I swiped the slider and said, “Hi, Sebastian.”

“You sound breathless,” he said. “You working?”

“No. I’m running across from the coin laundry in the rain.”

“Well, get inside,” he said. “Want to call me back?”

“No.”

“Hey, you were the one who texted me. No. Wait. That came out wrong.” An exhale. “OK, I’m starting over. I’m supposed to not be an asshole.”

Suddenly, I felt a whole lot calmer. A whole lot more amused, too, the bubble of laughter welling up from my chest. “According to who?” I reached the trailer, tried to juggle the phone for a moment, said, “Hang on,” tossed the phone on top of the folded clothes, and got inside. “OK. I’m back. According to who?”

“Kristiansen. You know any Yiddish?”

“Uh … no.”

“Yenta. That’s what he is. Like an old neighborhood lady with her nose in everybody’s business. Thinks he’s a romance coach.”

“You’ve never been an asshole.” There was something else joining the laughter in my chest now, something a whole lot warmer. “You’ve actually been …” I sank onto my teeny-tiny couch. “Pretty great. Actually.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence, then, “Well, that would explain why you kept saying no.”

“Excuse me? I was gettingmarried.Then I was running away! None of that was my best moment. And then I was in my Carhartts with mud all over my face! I looked in the mirror when I got home and just about died. There you are, doing the wealthy-investor field trip deal, and there I am, wearing half the field. That does not inspire romanticconfidence in a woman.”

“Ah,” he said. “Would it make you feel better to seemewearing half the field?”

“Definitely.” I moved to sit cross-legged and pulled my ancient cozy throw over myself. “When do I get to do that?”

“Oh, wait,” he said. “I never end up wearing half the field. Cleanest guy out there. Well, shoot. I could say I’d miss to make you feel better, but …”

“What are you talking about?”