The What If Guy Read online

  * * *

  Logan: Begrudgingly good. Annoyingly so.

  * * *

  Bryn: Because you want them to suck as much as their pretentious name.

  * * *

  Logan: Of course. Don’t you?

  * * *

  Bryn: I’m a pacifist, Logan. I wish suffering on no one.

  * * *

  Logan: I suppose you’re a better human than I am. But is being bad at making music truly suffering?

  * * *

  Bryn: Ah, there you go, all philosophical again. I would think so. But then again, I also think true suffering is running out of pinot grigio. So, hold on one hot second.

  * * *

  Carefully, I rise out of the tub, reaching for the open bottle on the floor. I pour another cup, take a drink, and set it down. The wine is making me warm and happy, and I like it. I sink into the water again and return to the text. Maybe this is all I wanted tonight, just to hear from him, because texting is easier than thinking. Or maybe texting is helping me think, is taking my hand and leading me to the answer.

  * * *

  Bryn: I’m back. I’ve been double fisting. Mug in one hand, phone in the other. But I needed a refill . . .

  * * *

  Logan: Double fisting, Bryn? Sounds like this conversation just went to a new level.

  * * *

  Bryn: Oops. :) I’ll try being appropriate again. It’s just hard when you’re rocking out to Heartbreakers in the bubble bath on a Friday night with your third mug of wine.

  * * *

  Logan: Is this what you do every Friday night? A bubble bath wine tasting?

  * * *

  Bryn: Yes. And if you’d come around last week, perhaps you could have enjoyed this too.

  * * *

  I stare at the text I just fired off. Whoa. I did that. Maybe Amy was right. Maybe all the bath bombs are going to my head, making decisions for me. Making my choices.

  * * *

  Logan: *dies* It was sushi plus bubble bath and wine? Now I am triple devastated that our second date was canceled.

  * * *

  Bryn: Try quadruple. There was going to be sex.

  * * *

  And evidently I’m not contemplating too much anymore. I seem to be sliding right back into a certain zone with him.

  * * *

  Logan: Missing that makes me sixteen times sadder because I’m exponentially more depressed now. (Apologies for texting you. I should be giving you space, but as you can see from the band name, I had NO CHOICE.)

  * * *

  Bryn: I completely understand. Also, I was going to text you anyway to show you Bruce’s latest action shots—the other night, he swatted a mug. Tonight, he played with bubbles in the tub. Also, I’m glad you wrote to me, and I only partially blame the wine for me writing back.

  * * *

  Logan: Should we blame the wine marketers partially too?

  * * *

  Bryn: Actually, they deserve all the praise and all the blame for my state of mind tonight.

  * * *

  Logan: Since we’re praising and blaming, I’d like to be fully apprised on what they’re responsible for. Might as well set the scene, Bryn. They say a picture is worth a thousand words . . .

  * * *

  Feeling frisky, feeling risky, I snap a picture of my toes wiggling above the water. I send it to him.

  * * *

  Logan: You have purple toenails. That’s hot, and I don’t even know why. Why is that sexy?

  * * *

  Bryn: You tell me . . .

  * * *

  Logan: I don’t have a toe fetish, but purple on your toes is damn sexy. Hmm. Now that I ponder this, I’m sure they’d be sexy painted green. Or orange. Or pink. Or bare.

  * * *

  Bryn: Whoa. I got the unpainted toes seal of approval. I’ve never been happier.

  * * *

  Logan: Where is the emoticon for sticking my tongue out?

  * * *

  Bryn: Bet you can find it. Keep looking.

  * * *

  Logan: You are on fire tonight.

  * * *

  Bryn: Baths and wine and music have been known to have that effect on me.

  * * *

  Logan: You’re a woman who knows how to feel good. Who knows what she wants. Who knows and deserves her own pleasure.

  * * *

  Bryn: Be good to yourself is one of my life mottos. Though, credit given—it came from my mom. She was the queen of sayings. She wrote a ton down on postcards for me as we traveled. That’s actually what I wanted the lunch box for. Silly, I know. But that’s the truth.

  * * *

  Logan: That is not remotely silly. It is incredibly heartwarming and real. Did you put the postcards in the lunch box?

  * * *

  Bryn: I did. It makes me happy. Just a little way to remember her.

  * * *

  Logan: There is nothing little about remembering the ones we love. Do you have a favorite saying of hers?

  * * *

  Bryn: My second favorite is this: Life is short. Eat the chocolate, wear the dress, take the trip.

  * * *

  Logan: Chocolate is always a good idea.

  * * *

  Bryn: But my top one is: Don’t fall for someone who’s a shitty ex to someone he’s dated before.

  * * *

  Logan: Ah, that’s interesting. Was your ex a shitty ex?

  * * *

  Bryn: He was one of those guys who described his exes as, “But she was crazy. No, I mean it. She was legit crazy. Bipolar.” Every ex he had was crazy. That should have been a tip-off, I suppose. What about you?

  * * *

  Logan: I don’t know, actually. My ex didn’t have a lot of exes. I met her freshman year of college.

  * * *

  I sit up, surprised at his statement, because that’s such a long time to be with someone. But the water is cooling, and I need to eject from the tub. I write back, wanting him to know I’m still here, I’m still on the other end.

  * * *

  Bryn: Hold on a second, getting out of the tub . . .

  * * *

  Logan: Feel free to send a pic.

  * * *

  After I step out and grab a towel to dry off, I snap a shot of my calves and send it to him, a buzz of excitement winding through me. Talking to him, texting him, warms me up. It makes me happy. I put down the phone for a minute to slather on lotion, then I wrap the towel over my breasts, pull the plug on the tub, grab my wine and phone, and head to my bedroom, where I curl up on the ruby-red comforter and pull a soft silvery fleece blanket over me. I drop the towel to the floor.

  When I open the thread again, Logan has replied with one word.

  * * *

  Logan: Gorgeous.

  * * *

  Bryn: Thank you. I’m now snuggling under the covers on my bed. Here’s my view.

  * * *

  I snap a pic of the bottom half of my bed, lifting up the bottom edge of the soft cover just enough to see Bruce’s handsome face. He opens one eye, then closes it. Sleep is far more interesting than I am.

  * * *

  Logan: I see you have company.

  * * *

  Bryn: Lately, he’s been joining me at night.

  * * *

  Logan: He didn’t used to?

  * * *

  Bryn: No. He was distant. He slept in his cat bed.

  * * *

  Logan: Maybe he’s falling for you.

  * * *

  Bryn: Or maybe he senses that I’m in a good mood tonight, and he wants to be near it.

  * * *

  Logan: I’m jealous of your cat. Also, your bed looks like it belongs to you. It’s very . . . lush. A bit decadent.

  * * *

  Bryn: Funny, I just realized you didn’t actually see it when you were here. Yes, it’s ridiculously full of throw pillows and pretty blankets. Feel free to send a shot of, say, your hand. Also, college sweethearts is so . . . wow.r />
  * * *

  Logan: Yeah, I suppose it is. We were together for a while. And here’s my hand.

  * * *

  As the image comes through, I grin, savoring the view of one strong, firm hand, remembering how both felt on my body, around my waist, gripping my hips.

  * * *

  Bryn: And THANK YOU. Your hands belong in a hand-porn contest.

  * * *

  Logan: And I am sure that’s a thing. Anyway . . . I think your mom’s advice is right. About exes and such.

  * * *

  Bryn: She was pretty wise. Are your parents around? Together?

  * * *

  Logan: Yes, healthy and happily married. Ridiculously so. My dad is a consultant, and my mom helped build his business. They’re one of those couples who still like each other after all these years. They kiss at barbecues and give each other a hard time with teasing and jokes, but he’s always touching her, and she rubs his shoulders, and it’s kind of awesome and weird at the same time. It’s only weird because they’re my parents. Mostly it’s awesome.

  * * *

  Bryn: That sounds exactly as it should be. I love that. I’m grinning like crazy, and I don’t think it’s the wine.

  * * *

  Logan: Wine and stories of happily-married-for-more-than-thirty-five-years couples can do that to a person.

  * * *

  Bryn: Are you close with them?

  * * *

  Logan: Yes. They live in Connecticut. I see them a lot. Amelia and I go there twice a month usually, and they also come into the city and we have family dinners with my sister. She’s the advice purveyor in the family.

  * * *

  Bryn: Best advice she’s ever given you?

  * * *

  Logan: This is a direct quote from Summer: Treat a woman like you treat your sister. Except don’t put a frog in her bed like I did to you.

  * * *

  Bryn: She put a frog in your bed???

  * * *

  Logan: Such a meanie, right?

  * * *

  Bryn: I love her already.

  * * *

  Logan: You would. I love her a lot. She’s outgoing and positive and funny and giving. She gives her whole heart to everything and everyone.

  * * *

  Bryn: I always wanted to have a sibling. Never did. Obviously.

  * * *

  Logan: I have to ask—is your dad out of the picture?

  * * *

  Without any tears or sadness, only years of reality, I insert a GIF of a plane.

  * * *

  Bryn: He took off long ago. Never knew him. Never felt I needed to. It was Mom and me against the world. It worked for us. She was mom and dad and friend and warrior.

  * * *

  Logan: Warrior. I like that. No wonder you miss her so much.

  * * *

  Bryn: I do miss her, but I’m grateful for good friends like Teagan and Amy. So now I have to ask—has the band turned out terrible? Is that why you’re talking to me?

  * * *

  Logan: Um, they’re still good, and I hate them for it.

  * * *

  Bryn: Are you ignoring your friends?

  * * *

  Logan: No, they ditched me! My buddy Fitz is talking to some guy at the bar. Probably someone who wants to go home with him. My sister and Oliver are dancing. I’m by my lonesome, texting you.

  * * *

  Bryn: Are you lonely?

  * * *

  Logan: No. Not at all. Not in the least.

  * * *

  Bryn: Me neither.

  * * *

  In fact, I’m having such a good time I’m thinking that, no matter how hard it is to come clean at work, I might seriously need to do it.

  The choice I should make is becoming more obvious with each text.

  Double bath bombs, wine, and a great guy I want to get to know have a way of making things crystal clear.

  23

  Queen LaTofu

  The man was singing a happy tune. Heck, he was whistling. Clearly, all her plans to help him become savvier about the fairer sex were working.

  As he clambered under the covers with her, she purred, her way of telling him that she was pleased with his progress.

  “The cat’s not the only one succumbing to her charms,” he said. “I should probably stop texting her so much, but . . .”

  She heard something new in his voice. A touch of hope? Hope for a little something special in his life? He deserved it. She stretched a paw and placed it on his arm, reassuring him.

  “What do you think? I mean, it’s crazy. Because it’s only been a short time. But it feels like . . . it feels like there could be something there. Something special.”

  She flipped onto her back, wiggling her front paws.

  He laughed.

  He hadn’t laughed like that in ages. She’d have to do everything she could to make sure he made that sound again.

  She had that power, of course. She was a cat.

  “You agree, Queen?”

  She thumped her tail.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  24

  Logan

  The message makes no sense.

  One word.

  One terrible word.

  * * *

  Bryn: Liar.

  * * *

  Rubbing my eyes, I sit up, grab my reading glasses, and read her text again. It’s the first of many.

  I scroll down, trying to understand what she’s getting at.

  * * *

  Bryn: I know I only had a few drinks last night.

  * * *

  Bryn: But the evidence on my phone points to only one thing.

  * * *

  Bryn: You have a foot fetish.

  * * *

  Bryn: Or possibly I do. Because last night . . . I sent you THREE PICS OF MY FEET.

  * * *

  Bryn: Can we pretend that didn’t happen?

  * * *

  I sink back into the pillows, laughing out loud, my chest warm, a smile spreading across my face, and it’s barely eight. Queen LaTofu pads across the bed, curling up next to my head.

  * * *

  Logan: Nope. I have the pics. And it definitely happened.

  * * *

  Bryn: *groans*

  * * *

  Logan: But feel free to even things out by sending pics of other body parts.

  * * *