Asking For a Friend Page 10
* * *
The Nap Gangster: But all the locals will tell you there are more futon mishaps over in that neighborhood. So it’s six of one, half a dozen of the other.
* * *
The Nap Gangster: Also, welcome to the city.
* * *
The Mad Flosser: Thank you. Now I’ve learned another insider tip: whatever side of the park you’re on, you are in peril from a piece of Peter Pan furniture.
* * *
As my dog pees, I laugh over the Mad Flosser’s last note, ticking off another item on the suitor checklist: good on his feet.
* * *
The Nap Gangster: Neither beanbags nor futons should be allowed in the home of anyone over twenty-five.
* * *
The Mad Flosser: Beanbags are basically boneless sofas.
* * *
The Nap Gangster: It’s weird, then, that my elbow still smarts from the impact.
* * *
The Mad Flosser: My point exactly. They are deceptively dangerous to denizens of the city.
* * *
The Nap Gangster: Alliteration will get you everywhere.
* * *
I stare at my note. That’s kind of flirty. Did I just say that? I study each word again. Yup, seems I did. But isn’t it useful for this project to learn how he handles flirting? Of course it is. That’s just good intel to keep in mind when assessing promising mates.
I glance down at my dog. “Hey, Shameless Whore, meet Shameless Flirt. But it’s all for a good cause, right?”
He wiggles his butt.
“Why, yes. Thank you for agreeing.”
Trouble is, the Mad Flosser doesn’t reply for the next block. Or the next one.
Have I gone too far?
We’ve been flirty already, haven’t we? Sort of like how I am with Linc?
An image of my off-limits coworker flashes into my mind. His carved cheekbones, full lips, and hot-nerd glasses. His voice, low and smoky. His smile, and those damn unexpected dimples.
I’m quite flirty with him too, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He seems to like it.
I hope I haven’t overstepped with this Boyfriend Material prospect for my friend.
When I reach the front stoop of my building, a notification pops up.
* * *
The Mad Flosser: I hear that “everywhere” is an excellent destination.
* * *
I grin as I unlock the front door and bound up the steps to my floor. Everywhere! Yes, everywhere! He gets it—the man knows how to flirt.
Major points for the Mad Flosser.
I’m beaming, too, when his next note lands on my screen.
* * *
The Mad Flosser: Also, in honor of those pink boots on your Betty Boop avatar, and how “adorable” they are, I’m changing your name to Betty Boop.
* * *
The Nap Gangster: In honor of how adorably dashing your avatar is, you’re now officially becoming Dax Powers.
* * *
Dax Powers: How dishy.
* * *
Betty Boop: How dishy indeed.
For some reason, the new names delight me more, probably because his avatar reminds me of Linc.
I didn’t see the similarities at first, but now I do as I study the cartoon. Linc without glasses, and maybe with his hair unkempt, bears a striking resemblance to this illustrated bad boy.
Plus, Dax Powers is the ultimate book girl’s wet dream—all rough and tumble on the outside, and on the inside, he’s the town’s sexy librarian. I’d be at that library daily.
I’d be racking up late fines on every single paperback. I’d sidle up to the counter, acting all contrite as I hand him an overdue book. “Oh, Linc, it seems I owe twenty cents on this Judith Krantz. Do you want to spank me for returning it late?”
Yup. Linc can be my librarian anytime.
Sexy, witty, wordsmithy Linc. Linc, who isn’t into sports and loves books, and has a certain easy charm about him. He’s perfect for . . .
Well, wouldn’t the office hot tamale be a great type of guy for Peyton to date?
Except the second that thought bubble falls from the sky, I crush it with my bare hands. If I can’t date Linc, no one can.
Besides, I don’t want to date right now anyway. I’m zooming down Work Street and Work Street only.
That’s why when I pack up the banana bread in Tupperware and head to the animal rescue for my volunteer time, I send a message to Dax Powers as I walk.
Since I won’t be dating him, he won’t be distracting me from work matters.
In fact, I’m more focused, because I need to be on my game when we chat—engaging, interesting, selling, selling, selling—which often starts by listening.
I fire off a question asking about him.
* * *
Betty Boop: Tell me more about your prowess at the Ping-Pong table. Are we talking amateur, professional, or world-class Ping-Ponger? Also, is that a word? “Ponger”? *goes to dictionary right now*
* * *
Dax Powers: The way Urban Dictionary tells it, “ponger” refers to either a smelly person or a dude who’d rather hang out with his beer-pong buddies than members of the female persuasion.
* * *
Betty Boop: And I ask again—are you a ponger?
* * *
Dax Powers: Let’s see. Does this sound like ponger behavior? I’m at the local laundromat, watching my clothes tumble in the dryer and reading Where’d You Go, Bernadette (since I didn’t read it when it came out, and I figure I should read it before I watch the movie).
* * *
Betty Boop: Because books are always better than their movies?
* * *
Dax Powers: Always. Without fail. The movie is never better. Except for Fight Club.
* * *
Betty Boop: The Princess Bride too. I swear, when you read the book, all you can think is, “Are you sure that’s where all those fantastically colorful characters came from?”
* * *
Dax Powers: Ah, you got me there. I’ve never read that book. Once you experience Mandy Patinkin’s Inigo Montoya, you’ve reached one of life’s true pinnacles, and it’s better to quit while ahead.
* * *
Betty Boop: Advice that would have been helpful before I subjected myself to the book, Dax.
* * *
Dax Powers: The only cure is to watch the movie over and over until it pushes the book entirely from your brain, leaving only fond memories of Wallace Shawn shouting “Inconceivable!” and then this . . .
* * *
Dax Powers: *inserts gif of Mandy Patinkin as Inigo Montoya*
* * *
Betty Boop: Yes, I can watch those five seconds of “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means” over and over and over.
* * *
Dax Powers: It washes all the bad memories away.
* * *
Betty Boop: *plays gif again* *falls under gentle spell of The Princess Bride in cinematic form*
* * *
Dax Powers: And see, isn’t the thoughtful sending of that gif proof that I’m not a ponger?
* * *
Betty Boop: Yes. Also, reading and cleaning make excellent supporting evidence too. Major points for you, Dax! I feel I should mention that I did my laundry this morning too. Just so you don’t think I’m a slovenly banana bread maker and gif consumer. Plus, I walked my dog. (That’s when the boneless bag attacked me.)
* * *
Dax Powers: I want to ask what your dog’s name is, but it might be weird if I know Fido’s name before yours, and since we’re still in the forty-eight-hour window, plus the nickname window, I’m going to exercise restraint.
* * *
Betty Boop: Grrr. That only makes me want to tell you more. But I will behave too. Except to say he’s named after a literary character.
* * *
Dax Powers: Of course he is.
* * *
Betty Boop:
He’s also dashingly handsome. But enough about Christian Grey, my teacup Chihuahua.
* * *
Dax Powers: I literally just cackled at the laundromat. Well played.
* * *
Betty Boop: Thank you. Also, I’d say how cool it is that we both did laundry, but I’m being nonchalant about our matching Sunday morning laundry habits.
* * *
Dax Powers: And I’m totally nonchalant about our matching taste in books made into movies. Also, did you know that before gifs, humans had to communicate in actual sentences?
* * *
As I stop at a light, I consider the last few notes. Hmm. Seems I might have overstepped with the dog comment. Peyton doesn’t have one. But I did say I was asking for a friend when I started this profile, so I’ll tell him the screener is the one with the dog, just in case it’s not clear. But I don’t need to clarify it quite yet, because I’m having too much fun. Holy smokes—I’m having a blast as I work on selling myself. This rat-a-tat-tat pace makes excellent target practice for work and assessment. Onward!
* * *
Betty Boop: Sentences? No! How does that even work?
* * *
Dax Powers: No idea. It is mystifying to me too. To answer your original query, Ping-Pong players are called . . . wait for it . . . Ping-Pong players.
* * *
Betty Boop: Oh. That’s disappointing. I was hoping for a much more exciting title.
* * *
Dax Powers: You could call me Ping-Pong champion, since I did win the last tournament I played in. I know, I know. Try to contain your excitement.
* * *
Betty Boop: My excitement is uncontainable! I do think that’s cool. Especially since I’ve never played, beyond picking up a paddle in a game room now and then.
* * *
Betty Boop: Oh and yes, as I reread that last part, I see it does sound vaguely naughty.
* * *
Dax Powers: Just vaguely, Betty? When you combine game room and paddle, you could get some interesting results. Plus, there’s the Christian Grey reference . . .
* * *
Dax Powers: Wait. I totally didn’t just talk about BDSM in this chat. I swear I didn’t.
* * *
Betty Boop: And yet it looks like you did.
* * *
Dax Powers: Shoot, I’m sorry.
* * *
Betty Boop: I’m not offended. I feel like if you were trying to pick up a woman for BDSM play, you’d be on a different app.
* * *
Dax Powers: Whew. Thank you. Which also reminds me that I need to switch over to my Paddle Me Please app and keep up the convo there with Ms. Bend Me Over the Chair.
* * *
Betty Boop: No worries. I’ll be on Spank Me Tonight, so I guess we’ll miss each other.
* * *
Dax Powers: Good luck. I hear all the pongers hang out on Spank Me Tonight.
* * *
Betty Boop: Oh damn, you are good!
* * *
Dax Powers: Thank you. I am indeed quite good. *inserts devil emoticon*
* * *
Betty Boop: And a little cocky too?
* * *
Dax Powers: Just a little. But you know what it’s like when you’re champion of a nerd sport, Miss Badminton Champion.
* * *
Betty Boop: Hey, you’re assuming I’m a nerd.
* * *
Dax Powers: Am I wrong, Miss Badminton Champion? *smirks*
* * *
I gulp, nearly dropping my phone in the drain as I cross the street. Shitballs on fire. How do I reply to this? I glance around as if I can locate the answer on the sidewalk.
Am I Peyton? Or me? Do I remind him I’m asking for a friend? It was in the profile though. The description closed with “asking for a friend,” for Pete’s sake.
It must be obvious.
Okay, fine, maybe he thinks I meant it to be tongue-in-cheek.
Someone could certainly read it as tongue-in-cheek.
Because the entire saying is tongue-in-cheek, and no one is ever asking for a friend—they’re asking for themselves.
Ugh.
So I was only honest on a technicality.
My stomach swoops, and a teeny bit of guilt weaves through me.
Who am I kidding? This is a massive, crushing tsunami of guilt.
Ping-Pong Lover Mad Flosser Dax Powers is a darling. Chatting with him is better than drinking a vanilla latte.
And I can’t lie. I won’t lie to this potential suitor.
As I walk along the park, making my way toward Little Friends, I return to the chat, drawing a deep breath.
* * *
Betty Boop: Moment of truth. I don’t play badminton. My friend does. Hence that’s why I said “asking for a friend” in my profile.
* * *
Dax Powers: Wink, wink. Got it. We’ll table badminton for another time. But thanks for the moment of truth. Here’s mine: I’m having a blast chatting with you.
* * *
And there goes my stomach again—swooping up, sweeping down. Not with guilt this time, but with tingles, butterflies, and everything good in the world.
Dax Powers is too much fun, too clever, too everything.
Guilt wiggles through me again because he doesn’t seem to have fully grasped that I’m not who he thinks I am, but I swat it away.
Because I am me.
If he’s having a blast talking to me, I must be doing something right.
That’s why I’m here. To practice confidence.
And maybe confidence comes with honesty.
So I decide to give him some more of that too.
* * *
Betty Boop: Another moment of truth: I’m having a blast too.
* * *
Betty Boop: But I do need to sign off. I have a volunteer thing, and I’m going to share the sugar-butter goodness with the other volunteers.
* * *
Dax Powers: I’m sure they’ll agree that sugar and butter are both good ideas. Certainly enough to outweigh the badness of bananas. Catch you later, Betty. I’m off to the park to go for a run. You know, so I can continue to crush it in Ping-Pong.
* * *
Betty Boop: Crusher! That’s what we’ll call you. A crusher!
* * *
Dax Powers: Works for me. Also, stop distracting me. Go. Do good. Volunteer.
* * *
Betty Boop: You were distracting me.
* * *
Dax Powers: Bye, Betty.
* * *
Betty Boop: Bye, Dax.
* * *
This time, I do end the chat. I sign out of the app, tuck my phone in my pocket, and map out the rest of my afternoon.
Even though I feel the slightest bit wrong, I remind myself that I was honest, I was up-front, and I’ll try harder again later. But tonight, I’ll talk to Peyton and tell her my plan. I can let her know how well it’s going.
I should prime her, after all, that I’m reeling in a big catch.
Because Dax Powers seems like one helluva catch indeed.
With my plan settled, I head inside and say hello to the woman who runs the place then join some of the other volunteers in the back room, where we sort donations.
“Hey, Madison!” I call out when I see the woman who wants to “talk shop” today.
She swivels around from where she’s stacking blankets and smiles. She looks fantastic in a V-neck tee that says “My dog was right about you.”