Rock With Me(117)

By: Kristen Proby



There’s a part of me that wants to lock myself inside and have a pity party. To call my girlfriends and let them help me drown my sorrows as they have done every single time I’ve needed them to in the last year. But if Todd can change everything about himself, maybe I can too. So I go against my natural instinct to retreat. Instead, I pull my phone from my purse and dial the meter man’s number right then and there. I watch him off in the distance as he extracts his phone from his pocket.

“I’m glad you didn’t make me wait.”

Be still my beating heart. He’s hot, he’s nice and he’s flirty.

“I’m glad I didn’t wait either. So, what’s your name?”

“Dave Dybdahl.”

I try not to laugh at the odd alliteration of his double-D – wait, make that triple-D – sounding name.

“Dave, why’d you leave this note for real? You’re not trying to pull a joke on me and I’m really going to have some massive parking fine?”

He laughs, then assumes a very serious voice. “I never joke about parking meter matters,” he says and I’m liking that he’s got a little sense of humor working underneath that fine exterior. “I saw you get out of your car before you went into the diner and I thought you were pretty. Want to go out sometime?”

I laugh again. A date. I don’t have dates. I have shooting sessions with video games. I have crying fests with my girlfriends. I share a king-size bed with a lab-hound-husky.

And I have a hope that it all may change. That this life of the last year is not my life to come. That this day is the nail in the coffin on my heartbreak. That the songs I listen to could someday be sung for me. The ones about mad, crazy, never-gonna-let-you-go love. Maybe with Dave Dybdahl. Maybe with someone else.

“Why not? I’ll call you later to make a plan.”

“I can’t wait.”

I hang up the phone and stare at it again, still not sure if that conversation really just happened. I push the phone back into my bag and it suddenly occurs to me that Todd doesn’t have to be the only one who gets to win here. I am single, I have a good job, an awesome job in fact, and I’m not bad looking. (Some might even say I’m gorgeous. Who would have thought that?)

Todd took my heart. He took my name. He took himself. He gave it all to Amber, his Trophy Wife. But that moment in the Best Doughnut Shop in the City doesn’t have to be the last word, does it? He doesn’t deserve any more tears. He doesn’t deserve any more of my pain. There is no more room for sadness or hurt.

I have to move on and I finally know how.

Because my brain has hatched the perfect plan, right here, right now, thanks to this handsome young meter man. I can turn the tables. I can even the score and take up the mantle for all the jilted ladies, young and old. This is no longer about me. There is something bigger at stake here. I have been presented with a rare opportunity. This isn’t just happenstance. This isn’t just coincidence.

This is real parking karma at work.

Because if the unbelievably hot Dave Dybdahl thinks I’m cute, then maybe, just maybe, I could land a hot young thing, a delicious piece of arm candy, a boy toy. Maybe Dave Dybdahl, maybe someone else. Because Dave will be just the beginning of my new project.

I am going to score myself a Trophy Husband.

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