Page 3 of This Time Around

In theory, it’s just a part of the experience; in reality, it feels like a lingering shadow threatening the enjoyment of the night, morphing what should be fun and carefree into something more uncomfortable. I hate how people are so damn judgmental.

I turn on the shower wanting, no needing, to wash off the lingering remnants of last night. As the warm water cascades over me, it feels like I’m not only cleansing my body, but my mind as well. The steam and the rhythmic pulse of the showerhead help me reflect on what had happened last night and why I am feeling so damn unsettled.

I replay Cash’s words in my head, “I don’t want this song to end.”

He was so into me; why did he leave so fast? Did I come on too strong? Too desperate for love?

I have a hard time placing all of my actions through the alcohol induced fog.

It hits me.

Last night had been more than just sex for me; it triggered something at my very essence, something I hadn’t expected. I’ve always prided myself on keeping things light and uncomplicated, enjoying the thrill of the moment and the orgasms without getting too caught up in emotions. Last night though, something shifted within me. The connection I felt with Cash, the way our conversation flowed so effortlessly, and the genuine chemistry we shared made me realize I was craving more.

I am longing for a meaningful, committed relationship, something I haven’t openly admitted to myself before now. Honestly, I’m not even sure if the connection with him was actually there, or if it was simply a figment of my imagination ignited by this newfound need inside me. Maybe it wasn’t different with him at all.

Reflecting on my feelings, I realize, the shame didn’t come from the sex itself, rather from the contradiction in my mind it created. I set my mind on love, a profound and transformative love, to change my ways and seek something more significant.

“Why do you let your pussy lead?” I scold myself as I rinse the shampoo from my hair.

If I can’t keep a focus on what I truly want for mere minutes, how will I ever make it happen? I have to make a genuine change.

I feel better stepping out of the shower having placed an actual reason behind my feelings. As hard of a pill it is to swallow, this self, reflection made me feel a bit more optimistic about the day.

“You’ve got this B,” I reassure myself in the mirror as I throw my hair up in a messy bun, grab my favorite hoodie, leggings, and running shoes, and head out the door of my hotel room.

Running always clears my mind, so I decide to do just that after stopping by the cafe in the lobby for a light breakfast.

“I’m starving, so I’ll take my bag to the car after I eat,” I whisper to myself on the way downstairs.

I get a table and set my bag in the booth next to me and thumb through my phone for my favorite podcast, “The Best One Yet” by Camron and Samantha. It’s a business podcast, and it perfectly blends advice with humor. They keep things entertaining, mixing in, jokes and banter with various entrepreneurial topics and sharing their experiences in starting a new business. The next episode is Marketing, The Art of Creating Content That Sticks. I fucking hate marketing, so I have a lot I need to learn here.

I work at the same bar where Ana and I first met, and let’s just say the owner is an actual piece of shit. He struts around like he’s God’s gift to anyone who walks into the bar, but in reality, he’s completely clueless.

If you asked him to distinguish between a mule and a mojito, he’d probably just shrug and offer you a margarita instead. His inflated ego and micromanaging style make every shift feel like hell on earth.

Despite my disdain for him and the bar’s atmosphere, the job has its perks, including the generous tips. I’ve made the most of this situation by using it as a learning opportunity. My dream is to open a bar of my own someday, and I’m determined to do it right. This means immersing myself in every aspect of the industry and gaining as much knowledge as possible, even if that means working under a pompous shitbag.

As a bonus, I’m using my time behind the bar as a hands, on learning experience. I may not enjoy working under the shitbag, but I’m focused on the bigger picture. Every shift, every interaction, and every tip earned is a step toward my dream. The freedom to work for myself and make my dreams pay my fucking bills.

Just as I go to put my AirPods in and hit play, I hear a familiar voice coming from the booth behind me.

“I don’t know, man.”

Cash, shit!

I sink into the booth, hoping he doesn’t see me, just as I hear his voice again.

“Yeah, she’s great, but fuck, something just feels off. Maybe I rushed into it. I thought she was the right fit but now I’m wondering if I just got caught up in the moment.

“You seemed into it last night,” his friend chuckles, like it’s a joke.

“I was,” Cash lets out a deep sigh, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s got a great feel. She looks good, but that only gets you so far. She was just kind of underwhelming, ya know? I don’t want to waste my time and money on something that’s not worth it. Is she really ‘game day’ material?”

Game day material? He really is an asshat.

“Yeah, plus you’re not really the kind of guy to stick with only one,” his friend pipes up.

“True. What if she’s not worth the hype?” Cash adds.