Talented

By Howard Campbell

Twenty-three-year-old Jessica Porter lived an absolutely ordinary life, and for the most part she was content to do so. Granted, she was plagued with chronic low self-esteem, body image issues and relationship misfires. But on the plus side, she had a circle of loving friends, a quirky sense of humor, a comfortable accounting job, a fashionable

• Language: English
• Publisher: Space Chimp Press
• Release date: Sep 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578946658

Book preview

Talented

Talented

Talented

Howard Campbell

Space Chimp Press

Copyright © 2021 Howard Campbell

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN 978-0-578-93144-9 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN 978-0-578-94665-8 (E-Book Edition)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021914617

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Editing by Adam Wing

Cover design by ebookorprint.com. Cover character image by Howard Campbell.

Printed in the United States of America.

Published By Space Chimp Press

Simpsonville, SC

[e-mail]

Visit www.howardlcampbell.com

Dedicated to every person who’s fighting to take their power back.

Contents

1 Background Noise

2 Big Bad Wolf

3 Dead Riding Hood

4 Death by Chocolate

5 Seeing is Believing

6 At the Bottom of Pandora’s Box

7 Show and Tell

8 Making Waves

9 Classmates

10 My Two Worst Subjects: Science and P.E.

11 Tipping Point

12 Learning Curve

13 When One Door Closes…

14 Talent Agency

15 Graduation Exercise

16 Gooey Filling

17 I’ll Huff and I’ll Puff

18 Ba de ya

19 Fallen Angel

20 She’s a Little Runaway

21 Blindsided

22 All Hell Breaks Loose

23 Touch and Go

24 Epilogue

1

Background Noise

I’m Jessica Faith Porter, and I’m the first of my kind.

My friends call me Jess, but I’ve also been Natalie, Denise, Emily and an extensive list of other identities. My enemies have names for me as well. Those aren’t very nice, so I won’t repeat them, but here’s a hint: one of them starts with a C.

I’ve been a daughter, a lover, an accountant, a victim, an experiment, a government agent, a fugitive and a force of nature. Now, I have to be something more. I have to be a hero.

And I gotta tell you, this shit ain’t easy.

I’m twenty-six years old, and I can do something extraordinary. I’ve been told I’m the next step in human evolution. Yay, me! The thing with evolution, though, is for every winner, there’re a bunch of losers. That’s where you come in. Sorry, I don’t make the rules; in fact, I’m trying hard to break them. I’m making every effort to buck Darwinism so we can all share the planet in harmony. That is, if you’ll let me. You don’t know yet, but I’m risking my future so you can have yours. And the odds aren’t in my favor.

You’re welcome.

To look at me, you wouldn’t think I’m a rung up on the evolutionary ladder. I’m a statuesque five feet, three inches with ordinary brown hair and eyes. My weight tends to fluctuate, but I’m generally a size 8, and I totally rock a D-cup. I got my first pair of glasses when I was seven.

Most people classify me as cute or pretty. My mom and grandparents routinely told me I was beautiful. My significant other agrees with them and frequently tells me so. I’ve been gorgeous on several occasions and smokin’ hot multiple times—usually when some guy wanted to get me into bed. I also get curvy a lot.

Personally, I’ve never been satisfied with how I look. I’ll grudgingly accept pretty and cute, and I have to admit I’ve been smokin’ hot more than a few times. I cannot dispute curvy. For the rest? I just don’t see it. I’m too short. I wish my ass wasn’t so wide. So, I try to compensate. I dress as nicely as I can afford to, and I have my hair and makeup down to an art. Ah, well, at least the Universe saw fit to endow me physically in one way.

Well, two ways, if you count my Talent.

I’ve suffered from poor self-esteem much of my life. I’d always thought of it as holding myself to very high standards…which I regularly failed to meet. Other people tended to see me better than I saw myself, which led to the one character flaw I could admit to: deriving my self-worth from how other people valued me. I needed to be liked and wanted. As hard as it was to believe people when they told me I was smart or beautiful or sexy, I needed to hear them say it. This has led me to some poor choices and put me in situations I didn’t need to be in. I’m better about it than I used to be, but I still do it. I still get played. Sometimes I just can’t help it.

See? Totally unremarkable. Except for that One Thing. And I didn’t come by that One Thing easily. The odds were against it. But for a string of highly unlikely occurrences, I’d be living a perfectly ordinary life, blissfully unaware of what I am. But that’s a recurring theme in my life. In fact, my life started purely by mishap.

***

Grace Porter was a high school senior living with her parents in North Olmsted, Ohio, when she met my father. Mom excelled in school. She was in the National Honor Society and student government, graduating third in her class. Generally, she had very good judgment. Fortunately for me, that didn’t extend to my dad.

To hear Grandpa Porter talk, Dad was slick, a handsome and irresponsible dumbass. He said Mom could have done much better, but she was utterly smitten. The only thing Dad ever got right, Grandpa used to say, was me.

I’m not privy to the details of my conception, nor do I want to be. Legend tells of a prophylactic malfunction. However it happened, it was my good fortune that Mom chose to keep me. My staunchly Roman Catholic grandmother wasn’t pleased with my mom’s sin of fornication, but Grandma didn’t love her or me any less because of it.

I’ve never met my dad or my paternal grandparents. There was no thought of Mom and Dad getting married and raising me together. Grandpa Porter said Dad couldn’t be trusted to care for a goldfish, let alone an infant.

Mom had originally planned to go to nursing school after graduation, and her parents weren’t about to let anything derail that. So, from the day I was born—June 28th, to be exact—until the day Grace Porter, LPN, could support her daughter and herself on her own, I was raised by the three of them.

It wasn’t easy once we did move out on our own. Mom worked hard to support us and even harder to raise me. I remember her dating on and off, but there was never anyone serious. She spent most of her free time on me. Mom and I were a team. I did some stupid stuff in my early teens, things that I know broke her heart and that I regret to this day, but she always forgave me.

When I was fifteen, we lost Grandma Porter to a brain tumor. It was the first time death had touched my life, and I didn’t know how to process it. Mom tried so hard not to cry at the funeral. She wanted to be strong for Grandpa and me. In the end, she and I clung to each other in the coatroom and sobbed.

After the funeral, Grandpa came to live with us. Grandma’s medical bills had wiped out their savings, and he’d had to sell the house. It was nice to have him under the same roof again, but I could tell he hadn’t recovered from losing his wife and best friend. One evening, about a year later, Grandpa wished Mom and me a good night, hugged us, went to bed and never woke up. He’d suffered a massive heart attack during the night.

But the true heartbreak was yet to come.

Pancreatic cancer is notoriously hard to diagnose in its early stages. At that point, there usually aren’t any symptoms. When symptoms do present themselves, they’re often confused with other conditions. Jaundiced skin can be one of the first to show, but pancreatic cancer is one of the least common causes. Other symptoms include nausea, abdominal or back pain, loss of appetite and weight loss. In most cases, by the time it’s diagnosed, the cancer has metastasized, and it’s too late.

That’s what happened to Mom.

She received the diagnosis of late-stage pancreatic cancer two months before my nineteenth birthday. She went through the five stages of grief; witnessing these things regularly didn’t make her immune to the process. But she did it quietly, in private. She never let me see her denial, her anger, her bargaining or her depression. With me, she only shared acceptance. I needed this because I was going through five stages of my own, and I wasn’t nearly as dignified about it as Mom.

Then Mom did what she always did. As best she could, given her condition, she made sure I was going to be okay. She updated her will. We made pre-need arrangements—Mom was much more frugal than I would have been. And she fought. God, she fought for every day. For her, acceptance didn’t mean surrender. It didn’t matter that it was a losing battle because that’s just the way Grace Porter was. The doctors gave her five months at most; she stretched it almost to six.

It was sunny and beautiful the day Mom died. I’d opened the curtains so she could enjoy the sunlight, but between the pain and the medication, I think she was too delirious to notice. We did home hospice. Mom said she’d spent enough of her life in hospitals and she wasn’t going to die in one. The hospice people were amazing, and I’ll always be grateful for everything they did for us. They made Mom as comfortable as they could.

It was around 2 p.m. when I stepped out of Mom’s bedroom to answer the door. My best friend, Katie, had stopped by to check on us. We hugged and I gave her a quick update, then we went back to Mom’s room. When I entered, I could see Mom’s lips moving. Her eyes focused on something only she could see.

Mom? I asked gently. Can I get you anything?

I could barely hear her next words. Then I realized they weren’t meant for me.

I’ll be there soon.

I experienced a surge of panic.

Mom? It’s me, Jess. I hesitated. Hey, Mom? Who are you talking to? I asked quietly, taking her hand in mine. I had a good idea what her answer would be.

Dad. My dad.

Oh, Mom.

As a nurse, Mom had seen a lot of people die. She had told me that terminal patients who were near the end sometimes had conversations with departed friends and relatives.

That’s how I knew it was her time.

That’s…that’s really nice, Mom. I could barely get the words past the lump in my throat. What’s he saying?

He says…don’t be afraid, she murmured.

He’s right, I assured her. Grandpa was always pretty smart. I wish I could see him too.

Mom was silent for a moment, still focused on something in front of her. I could barely see her chest rise and fall. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I swiped them away with my forearm. Katie pressed a tissue into my free hand.

Finally, Mom spoke. It was a brief moment of coherence. He says not for a long time, Honey. You still have big things to do. Amazing things. Then suddenly, she smiled. Mama? she whispered. I missed you. Yes…mm-hmm…Okay…

No. Not yet. I need more time. Please. Please just give us a little more time.

Mom? I said, my voice tinged with desperation. Mom, what is it?

So beautiful…

Mom? I love you, Mom! Please don’t…

Then she was gone.

"Mom? Mom! It came out as a child’s pleading whimper. Don’t go! I love you, Mom. Please don’t go."

I threw myself across her and wrapped her in my arms. I think it was a last desperate act to keep her soul from leaving her body. I’m not religious, but when you lose the person you love most in the world, your beliefs take a back seat. I buried my head against her shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. All I wanted was for her to hug me back, but she would never be able to do that again. It was Katie who embraced my mom and me instead.

’S’okay, sweetie, Katie said. Go ahead and let it out. I gotcha. It’s gonna be okay. She’s not hurting anymore. She’s at peace.

Until that moment, I’d thought I’d known what heartbreak felt like. I’d sworn I was heartbroken every time a boy dumped me, or when I got rejected, or for whatever other bullshit high school reason. The sorrow from losing my grandparents had been intense. But this? This was a whole new level of grief. The pain wasn’t just emotional; it was physical. Mom had always been there to love me, teach me, discipline me, comfort me, praise me, guide me, listen to me and chase away the monsters. The thought that she was gone from my life was more than I could bear. I would wake up tomorrow, and the next day and the next, and she wouldn’t be there. I was crushed under the weight of all the big events and small moments we would never share.

She’s gone. I fought to choke out the words between sobs. They’re all gone. It’s just me now. I don’t wanna be alone. I don’t…

Oh, Jessie, no, Katie said softly. No, Sweetie, you’re not alone. You have tons of people who love you. Especially me, and I’m not goin’ anywhere, I promise. We’ll all be there for you.

I lifted my head and kissed my mom’s brow.

Goodbye, Mom. I’ll love you forever.

Katie released her hold on us, and I stood and turned toward her. She was holding a tissue box. She’d been crying too. She pulled out a handful of tissues for herself then handed me the box.

What do I do now? I asked. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without her.

You do what she wanted you to do. You go to college, have a career, find the love of your life, start a family of your own, and somewhere along the way do all the other amazing things you’re meant to do. You make the world a better place, just like she did. And she’ll be there to watch over you.

So that’s what I did.

I earned my Associate’s in accounting from Cuyahoga Community College. I lucked into a great job that paid for a decent apartment, a modest but reliable car and a mighty nice wardrobe. I dated off and on, but while both school and my job put me in touch with some pretty decent guys, none of them turned out to be the one. But I had friends; I had security; I had a comfortable routine, and I had a plan for my life.

The Universe, however, had another plan for me, whether I liked it or not.

2

Big Bad Wolf

I used to adore Halloween. It was my second favorite holiday for most of my life, right behind Christmas. When Mom died, Christmas slid into second place. The yuletide season just wasn’t the same without family.

Halloween appeals to someone who’s not satisfied with herself. It’s a chance, if only one day a year, to be someone or something you’d rather be. I was a different Disney Princess every year, from the age of four—when I was old enough to make my own choices—until I was twelve—when I decided I was too mature for little kid costumes. In my teens, I was all about cheerleaders, vampires and pop stars. I was even an angel when I was seventeen, complete with halo, fluffy wings, and a skirt sure to violate the Almighty’s dress code for His heavenly host. But when I was twenty-three, I had a whole other reason to look forward to All Hallows Eve: Katie and Luis Sandoval’s Third Annual Halloween Party.

Katherine Elizabeth Margaret O’Malley was my first, dearest and oldest friend. Katie came from a staunchly Irish-Catholic family, in which she was the youngest of six children. Mr. O’Malley had his heart set on a daughter, so after five boys, each spaced roughly ten months apart, his persistence and poor Mrs. O’Malley’s intestinal fortitude were finally rewarded with little Katie. Her place in the O’Malley clan—little sister to five spirited and very protective big brothers—had forged Katie into a precocious, resourceful, passionate, loyal and extroverted young woman.

Katie and I met when we were both two years old. She was one of the great constants in my life. Between her desire for a sister and my longing for a sibling of any kind, we soon became inseparable. It helped that the O’Malleys lived two doors down.

When it came to our personalities, we were polar opposites. Where I was cautious, Katie was impulsive. Where I was insecure, Katie bristled with confidence. Where I was timid, Katie was brave and bold. Maybe that was why we were so close; we balanced one another. Even the differences in our appearance were obvious, with Katie’s red hair and freckles, and her several inches’ greater height.

Katie was the only person on Earth with the dispensation to call me Jessie. She’d staked that claim the first time we watched Toy Story 2 together. Katie realized gleefully that I shared a name with Woody’s cowgirl counterpart, and I was Jessie forevermore. She also has me trained to answer to Sweetie, a term of endearment she tends to overuse a bit.

Katie met Luis Big Lou Sandoval through their church when she was eighteen and he was twenty. The attraction started with furtive glances and smiles at each other during mass. Then Katie would engineer opportunities for the two of them to innocently spend time together during church functions. Not long after, they began dating openly. The courtship ran for two and-a half years, culminating in their wedding, where I proudly served as maid of honor.

Big Lou is not one of those ironic nicknames. Luis is six foot one and built like a defensive tackle, which is the position he played on his high school football team. I never saw him play, since he went to a different school than Katie and me and he was two years ahead of us, but I’m told he was fantastic. They say he hit like a freight train. In spite of his power and ferocity on the gridiron, off the field, he was kind, gentle and reserved. Big Lou and I hit it off immediately. He dubbed me J.P., so I took to calling him Louie.

Restricted by the size of their apartment, Katie and Luis’s first Halloween party had been a relatively small affair. The second was bigger and really taxed the limits of their living space. This year, though, with their dual-income and no-kids, they had moved into a two-story home with a finished basement in Medina. The guest list had expanded accordingly.

Since the party, and Halloween itself, fell on a Saturday, we decided I’d spend the night at Katie and Luis’s. I agreed to show up early to help them prep, and to bring the pinnacle of my culinary expertise, my spinach bread bowl dip. By mid-afternoon on Saturday, the dip was ready, and I set about dressing for the occasion.

My costumes over the last few years had skewed toward the risqué. Sexy cop. Sexy flight attendant. Sexy pirate. Sexy schoolgirl. You get the idea. This year, I decided to limit the racy stuff to private viewings and go with something a little more wholesome. I was a bit wary of the message the tight, revealing costumes seemed to send in public venues. I just didn’t want that kind of attention this year. Plus, I was self-conscious of the few extra pounds I’d put on since Labor Day.

While there were no shortages of sexy Little Red Riding Hood costumes, I managed to find one that was both cute and a touch more conservative than the standard. The red skirt’s hemline fell just a couple of inches above my knees, so I wouldn’t be flashing anyone. It did have a white peasant blouse top and black faux corset that called attention to my breasts, but let’s face it, there was no hiding them anyway. Its mid-length sleeves reached my elbows, so at least my shoulders and upper arms would be covered. To my mind, it was innocent enough without being puritanical, but I guess different people have different definitions of sexy. Maybe it was too innocent, or maybe Little Red Riding Hood has connotations I’m not aware of.

I considered wearing my black Mary Janes. Then I thought to check the weather and realized the temperature was going to be in the low to mid-forties. Such is Northeast Ohio in October. I opted instead for the black, knee-high Calvin Kleins I’d gifted myself when I landed my accounting job. Even on sale, they’d been obscenely expensive—certainly more than Little Red could ever afford—so I was damned sure going to get all the use out of them that I could. Not to mention that they gave me an extra two and a half inches of height. I had no idea as I zipped them up that it was probably the one good choice I would make in a night of truly shitty ones.

***

You know, you don’t have to escort me, right? I told Katie as we climbed the stairs to the second floor. "I have been here before. I know where the guest room is."

I know, but I need to check on your roommate, she replied. She wore an elaborate pirate captain costume. Luis’s first mate costume paired with hers. They joked that they were dressed according to their roles in the relationship.

My roommate?

Katie unlocked the guest room door, and we entered. Across from the bed was a large table with an open-topped cage sitting atop it. A rustle came from within.

Heyyy, Miss Peanut! I called excitedly as I set down my purse and overnight bag and tossed my coat on the bed.

Peanut was by far the sweetest guinea pig on the planet. She was white with large brown patches and had a black ring around her right eye. I’d never given guinea pigs a second thought until Katie and Luis brought Peanut home from a rescue shelter about five months prior. Since then, I’d discovered they possess the kindest and purest little souls on Earth.

Hearing my voice, Peanut popped out of her transparent pink plastic igloo—dubbed the pigloo—and waddled over to see me. I reached into the cage and rubbed the bridge of her nose, which was one of her absolute favorite things.

We moved her up here for the party, Katie said, to keep her safe and secure. Luis and I’ll check on her throughout the night. We can move her downstairs once everyone leaves, so she doesn’t keep you up all night.

No worries, I replied, We’ll be fine sharing a room, won’t we, Peanut?

We’re going to get her a little friend pretty soon. Guinea pigs are social animals. They do better in groups. And I hate leaving her alone all day.

Ooh, hear that Peanut? A little boyfriend, maybe?

Nooope. A little girlfriend. I do not need to deal with a piggy pregnancy. They can be real complicated and even risky sometimes.

Well then, a little girlfriend it is, I said. Okay, Peanut, I’ll see you later, little one. I know you’ll be a good girl. I turned and followed Katie out of the room. She locked the door behind us, and we headed downstairs.

I’m sorry about you and Frank, Sweetie, Katie said as we entered the kitchen. Frank Driscoll had been my boyfriend until five days prior when I’d discovered him cheating on me.

Thanks.

You doing okay?

I don’t know, I sighed. I guess so. I was freaked at first. I mean, shit, I caught them in the act. There they were, bare-ass naked. Her against the wall with her legs around his waist, and him pumping away. You know, he and I tried that once. He couldn’t hold me up. I just kept sliding down the wall.

Maybe she has a sticky ass. Anyway, it’s his loss. You were the best thing to happen to him. I’ll bet the new girl isn’t half the woman you are.

I sighed. "She is half the woman I am, that’s the problem! She’s gorgeous, Katie! She’s like Teutonic Barbie. Seriously, she should be gathering fallen Vikings from the battlefield. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes. Flat stomach, and—swear to God—her ass was so toned she could stack dimes with it. I don’t know how he managed it, but Frankie traded up."

"Jessie! Stop that! Young lady, I would put you across my knee right now if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it! You are beautiful, Sweetie, outside and inside, and everyone sees it but you. Hey, Luis?"

"Sí, mi amor?" Luis called from the living room.

Isn’t Jess beautiful?

Oh, hell yeah! She’s gorgeous! Why, did somebody say she wasn’t?

Yeah, her!

Hey, J.P.! Don’t be dumb, he said. You’re gorgeous!

Thanks, Louie! I laughed.

See? Now knock that shit off, or I really will spank you, and that would totally scramble Luis’s mind. Katie paused. Hey, wait a minute. You didn’t mention Brunhilde’s boobs. Now, why is that? Yours are bigger, aren’t they?

Actually…yeah. Much. She’s totally an A-cup. Surprised the hell out of me. I could have sworn Frankie was a tit man. He was always fascinated with mine. That’s probably the only reason he was with me.

Ah! What did I say? she admonished, pulling a spatula from a drawer and waving it at me threateningly. "What did I say I would do? Anyway, hell with him. Let him have his anorexic Aryan. You can do so much better. There’s gonna be a bunch of hot single guys here tonight, and they’ll all be fighting over you. You’ll be able to pick and choose…"

"Nope! Nope, nope, nope. I am not jumping right back on the hamster wheel. Not even lookin.’ The guys are going to have to find other bodacious breasts to fawn over. Miss Peanut’s got the right idea. I don’t need any little boyfriends, just my little girlfriend!"

Aww, you’re so sweet! she said. Although, technically, of the two of us, you’re the little girlfriend.

I was still talkin’ boobs, Hon.

I spent the next hour helping Katie with such skill-heavy tasks as chopping veggies, filling bowls with chips, and keeping our wine glasses filled. The guests started to trickle in around 6:45 p.m. At 7:15 Katie kicked me out of the kitchen with instructions to, go mingle and break some hearts.

Katie and Luis kept the party contained to the first floor, the basement, and the garage. I floated between all three as each space filled with partygoers. I knew a lot of the guests, but there were many unfamiliar faces. Three of the five brothers O’Malley were there—Tommy, Pat and Sean—and we spent time playing Let’s Tease the Shit out of Jess, as was our tradition. It was good-natured, and I gave as good as I got. I caught up with some friends from school and from the neighborhood, as well as some of Luis’s family. I exchanged pleasantries with people I didn’t recognize, but the long line of potential suitors Katie’d predicted never materialized.

Then things took a turn.

It was about 8:30. I was in the living room, scanning for people I knew. I’d just sighted Luis’s little sister, Marisela, when someone bumped into me from behind.

Oops, I’m sorry, a masculine voice said.

It’s alright, I replied, turning around. I…

He was gorgeous. I was drawn to his eyes first; they were impossibly beautiful. I couldn’t describe the color—light gray, maybe? His face was clean-shaven. His skin was flawless. His hair was styled to complement his handsome features. He was about five or six inches taller than me, and his clothes (American Eagle? H&M?) couldn’t hide his broad shoulders and tight, muscular build.

Hey, Little Red Riding Hood, right? he asked, gracing me with an immaculate smile.

Y-yeah, that’s right, I answered, beaming back. And you’re…um…a model?

No, but thanks, he laughed. I didn’t have time for a costume. I got invited at the last minute. Besides, I don’t usually do costumes. That’s a shame, because I can think of a couple you’d look fantastic in. Anyway, your costume’s great, he continued. Looks good on you. Really cute. I didn’t know Red Riding Hood wore glasses, though.

What the hell do I say? Think! Wait, humor! Win him over with your witty sense of humor! Well… if she couldn’t tell the difference between her grandmother and a wolf, maybe she should have. Kill me…

Yeah, that’s pretty good. Hey, where’s your boyfriend? I’d think he’d be standing guard to make sure nobody hits on you.

My who? Oh yeah, my… No, there’s no… I mean, I’m not with… Umm, I’m sort of temporarily between relationships right now. Jesus, Jess, settle down. It’s just a conversation. He’s just being nice. This isn’t going anywhere. His girlfriend is probably in the bathroom and she’ll be back any second and she’s tall and gorgeous with single-digit body fat.

Really? I’m sorry. He looked like he genuinely was. But, hey, that’s okay. I’m not here with anyone either. Maybe we should keep each other company, you think?

You want… With me? Sure! Yeah. I’ll, uh…I’ll keep you company.

Oh, for fuck’s sake Jessica, pull your shit together!

"Hey, I didn’t get your name. Mine’s Mitch. It’s short for Mitchell."

"That’s a great name. One of my favorites. It’s so masculine. Oh, I’m Jess. Short for Jessica."

Oh, I’m Jess. Short for tremendous fucking dork.

Truth be told, Mitchell had not been one of my favorite names until just that moment. It would soon become my most hated.

Nice to meet you, Jess. You wanna sit down?

Sure! And it’s nice to meet you, too.

We found a spot at the end of Katie and Luis’s incredibly comfortable couch and settled in with Mitch on my left. We had to share the couch with another couple, so it was a bit tight, but that was fine with me. We sat and talked for at least an hour and a half, me nursing my glass of merlot and Mitch with his Michelob Ultra. At one point, he went to get us refills while I held our spot on the couch, and I was certain he wouldn’t return. I figured he’d find someone prettier or more interesting to spend his time with. I was relieved and grateful when he returned and handed me my newly filled wine glass.

Our conversation was light for the most part, just small talk. No politics or religion, nothing of consequence. It didn’t matter to me; I was just happy he was talking to me. He was charming, and I was entranced. I hung on his every word. He was vague about how he’d come to be at the party. Something about being the roommate of a friend of somebody Luis worked with. I didn’t give it a second thought. Mostly, he was interested in me. How did I know the hosts? Where did I grow up? What did I do for a living? What kind of music did I like? How was it that I didn’t have a significant other? I answered that one as briefly as I could then steered the conversation away.

Against all better judgment and my game plan for the evening, I was falling for him, and I wanted him to know it. I oriented my body toward him, leaned in, maintained eye contact and smiled. Occasionally, I bit my lower lip, twirled my hair or ran a finger around the rim of my glass. I sent every nonverbal signal I knew, short of humping his leg. Eventually, we started dropping subtle sexual innuendo into the conversation, testing the waters.

Mitch’s right arm rested behind me on the back of the couch. As the innuendo grew more obvious and explicit, I felt his fingers slip under my hair and touch the back of my neck.

Mmm. Hey…what are you doing back there? I asked, already knowing the answer. He was stroking the nape of my neck. It’s one of my weaknesses, guaranteed to get me worked up. I was simultaneously melting and becoming aroused.

Why? Do you want me to stop?

I had a decision to make. Do I tell him to stop, and then we’re back to being two strangers talking at a party? Or do I let him continue, with the potential that it would lead to something more? I have to confess, my reasoning at that moment was strongly influenced by the marvelous sensation of someone fondling the back of my neck.

Mmmm…nope. That’s nice, I purred, and in so doing, damned myself.

If you subscribe to the Many Worlds Theory, I just created a parallel universe. In that other universe, Other Jess told Other Mitch to knock that shit off. They went their separate ways and now Other Jess lives a perfectly ordinary life…or at least a different life than mine.

I envy that bitch so much.

You know what I’d like to do? he asked.

I have no idea.

That wasn’t true. There were plenty of things I hoped he’d like to do.

Mitch leaned in and kissed me. Our lips met. His gently urged mine open. It was a kiss meant to test my response. My lips parted as I yielded to him. It didn’t top the list of things I wanted him to do, but it was definitely on there, and it was a promising start.

Wow, I whispered as we parted.

Wow?

Mm-hmm, wow, I repeated, smiling. That was pretty great. Although, um, I do it a little differently.

Yeah?

Yeah. Here, I’ll show you.

I reached behind Mitch’s neck with my left hand, placed my right hand on his cheek, and pulled him to me. There was no tentativeness or testing in the way I kissed him. It was both passionate and desperate, fueled by all the longing and desire I felt for him.

Wow, I definitely like your way better, he said. I wish my girlfriend would kiss like that.

Huh? Whatthefuck?

Wait. W-what did you just say?

I said you kiss better than my girlfriend.

Oh, God damn it!

"You have a girlfriend?"

Are you kidding? Look at me. Of course I do.

Of course he does. Of course he does.

So…what are you doing hitting on me?

Well, you’re cute, your tits are insane, I can tell you want me and you’d probably really appreciate a hook-up. And don’t deny it. You were sending out all the signals and you know it. It’s like you’re carrying a sign that says, ‘Fuck Me Now.’

Yeah, but…that was before I knew you were with someone.

Okay, fine, I am. So what? What difference does it make? What, are you worried about her? She’s not even here. She’s at home bein’ a bitch about some dumb shit I supposedly did but really didn’t. And nobody here knows her, so no one’s going to tell her we hooked up. So come on, let’s just go somewhere, away from everybody.

"Oh, no, no, no. We are so not hooking up. I told you about my ex cheating on me. What makes you think I want to be the other woman in your dysfunctional relationship and hurt someone else the way I was?"

You’re not going to be the other woman, or whatever. This would be just a one-time thing. We’re not going to see each other after tonight, right?