Page 57 of Unsupervised
Trey holds the vacuum and tries to turn it off. “I’m sorry. I programmed it to curse when it runs into things but not that loud, then I forgot to turn it off and—”
“Ow! My dick!” the robot shouts. Its wheels start spinning in midair as it shrieks, “Bitch, I’m stuck! Help!”
Sasha glares at him. “Turn it off!”
“I’m trying!”
Trey struggles with it. It looks like he’s trying to get a battery out while the robot keeps shouting obscenities.
My laughter can’t be heard over all the noise. Rowan’s screams add to the cacophony and the last couple of shouts from the robot I hear before I escape have me laughing all the way out the door. I don’t know what a shitskittle is or why you’d scream “bitch titties” when you hurt yourself, but really, who programs a robot vacuum to do this anyway? Only my brother.
Leaving him to Sasha’s wrath, I hop on my scooter, still giggling. It’s the most I’ve laughed since Layton left. Holding my head back, I let the sun warm my face and take a deep breath. I’m a mess, but clearly, I’m not alone in that. I’m going to be alright.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Remee asks as I get ready for a date with the guy Zara was trying to set me up with. Both her friend and the one Serena wants me to meet were pretty much forgotten as I got more wrapped up in Layton.
Layton. I still can’t get him off of my mind even after a month. I’ve done my best to stay busy, which hasn’t been hard between my job, music class, and getting ready for the concert at the retirement home.
I’ve still been visiting, but I try to pick times when I know he’ll be at work, so I won’t cross paths with him. Maybe it’s immature, but I just can’t look into those eyes right now.
Serena’s motto of getting under someone to get over someone won’t work for me but I’m hoping that meeting other guys will bring some relief and maybe I’ll meet someone nice. Someone who can make me stop dreaming of Layton’s kisses and caresses. Someone who will wipe away the memory of his mischievous smile and carefree laughter.
Fuck, I’m doing it again. Anyway, I talked to Zara’s friend, Miles, a few times and finally took him up on his offer of dinner and a movie.
“It’s not like I’m going to sleep with him,” I assure Remee. “It’s just dinner and a movie to get to know each other a little.”
“Where did you meet this guy, again?” Serena asks Zara.
“He’s in my women’s studies group. He even comes to the women’s rights meetings and is planning to march with us.”
Serena leans against my dresser. “If he’s so great, why don’t you go out with him?”
Zara rolls her eyes. “Because I don’t want or need a man. We’ve been over this.”
Remee sits cross legged on the end of my bed. “You don’t want a husband someday?”
“No, husbands are like algebra. Everyone says you’ll need one later in life, but it’s bullshit.”
A knock on the door puts an end to the husband debate. I’m surprised that I’m not more nervous about this. Every time I was near Layton, especially in the beginning, I had a stomach full of rabid moths. Now, not even a flutter. Maybe because I’m not concerned over whether this works out or anything. I’m just…trying something new.
A cute guy with short dark hair and brown eyes grins at me when I open the door. “Hi,” he says. Before I can answer, he adds, “Are you ready?” He glances back at the parking lot. “In this neighborhood, I don’t want to leave my car long.”
Okay.
“Yeah, let’s go.” It’s not immediately clear which car is his because the way he was talking I figured he must have something expensive, maybe a sports car. I have to swallow a reaction when he leads me to a ten year old sedan. Really? He didn’t want to leave a Camry parked in front of my house?
We get in his car—which smells a little like stale corn chips—and he starts to back out. My scooter is in the next spot, and he shakes his head with a snort. “Look at that bright, horrible thing. Who would want to drive something like that? Although, I guess this is a poor neighborhood.”
Less than five minutes with this guy and I already know it’s a mistake. “It’s my scooter,” I reply.
“Oh, sorry.” There’s not an ounce of sorry in his tone. “I guess it’s okay for a girl if that’s the kind of thing you like.”
“Great. So glad I have your approval. I was worried.” My sarcasm goes right over his head, and he flashes a smile at me.
“No worries, babe. I’m not one of those sexist assholes. Girls can do what they want. I’m all about equality. You don’t have to worry about me trying any of that fake chivalrous crap.”
The night doesn’t improve. The restaurant he chooses is an expensive steakhouse that’s way out of my budget. I don’t believe that the man always has to pay but when he orders an expensive steak, two drinks, and dessert while I have a Caesar salad, then tries to get me to split the check evenly, I almost lose my temper.